#and then i also had to set it down for like an hour for the same reason. i just. im gonna go play minecraft for a few hours. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 3 days ago

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Discipline (Blue-collar Bucky #2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Brat-taming (Bucky). Edging/Orgasm Denial. Power Play. Overstimulation. Spanking. A sprinkle of Degradation. Nipple play. Dub-con Elements (induced paralysis).

Summary: Bucky made the rules, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t break them. And when he does, she’s more than ready to make him pay for it.

Word Count: 5.7k.

note: I just had to do this. Out of all my versions of Bucky, this is the only one who deserved it -so far-.

Also, I know it's unlikely that a simple taser could paralyze him, but come on, play along.

Bucky never planned on coming back after that first time.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, a simple, unspoken exchange that neither of them would dwell on. He’d walked into the bakery to pick up the crew’s lunch, and by the time he walked out, his hands weren’t the only things covered in flour. He figured that was it. A lapse in judgment. A moment of weakness.

And yet, here he was. Again.

The scent of fresh bread and warm sugar wrapped around him as soon as he stepped inside. The bell above the door chimed, and he saw her glance up from behind the counter. He didn’t miss the way her lips parted slightly when she recognized him, how her breath hitched in that barely perceptible way that made his cock twitch. She recovered quickly, though, offering him a polite, almost indifferent smile, like she wasn’t squeezing her thighs together under that frilly apron, like she hadn’t begged him to fuck her in the back room not even a week ago.

He smirked.

He sauntered toward the counter, tossing his gloves onto the surface with a lazy flick of his wrist. His vibranium fingers tapped against the display case absently as he pretended to glance over the pastries. "You know," he drawled, tilting his head, "I think I'm developing a sweet tooth."

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so?"

"Mm." He nodded, dragging his tongue across the inside of his cheek. "Keep finding myself coming back here. Weird, huh?"

She snorted, shaking her head as she reached beneath the counter for the already-prepared order for the workers. "Yeah, real weird. Almost like you have a job that sends you here regularly."

He liked this little game they played, this dance where she pretended his presence didn’t affect her, and he pretended he wasn’t counting down the hours until he saw her again.

"Convenient, isn’t it?" He leaned against the counter, letting his gaze flick over her slowly, deliberately. "Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back."

She rolled her eyes, setting the bag of sandwiches in front of him with a little more force than necessary. "Try not to strain yourself."

He chuckled, reaching for the bag but making no immediate move to leave. Instead, he let his fingers graze hers in a way that wasn’t exactly an accident. She tensed, just for a second, but it was enough for him to notice. He could see it in the way her pupils dilated, in the way her chest rose ever so slightly as she inhaled.

Yeah. She wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to think.

Good.

He stepped back, slow and measured, still smirking as he adjusted the bag in his grip. "See you around, muffin."

And just like that, he was gone.

----

The visits kept happening.

Sure, the foreman had asked him to handle the lunch pickups a few more times, but even when he didn’t, Bucky found reasons to stop by. Maybe he needed a drink. Maybe he was suddenly interested in croissants. Maybe he was just bored.

The excuse didn’t matter. The outcome was the same.

He’d show up, she’d pretend not to notice him lingering too long, and by the end of the day, he’d have her pressed against a wall somewhere, muffling her breathy moans against his lips.

Not that he was thinking about it too hard.

It was casual. No expectations, no obligations. She got off, he got off, and they both moved on. Just as he told her, the only thing he can offer her at the moment.

So why the fuck was he in front of the community center, squinting at a stupid flyer about free baking classes?

He stood there for a long moment with his arms crossed, his jaw ticking as he stared at the neatly printed words. "Learn to bake! Free classes every Tuesday & Thursday evening! No experience necessary."

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head at himself. This was stupid. And yet…

The class was across the street from the bakery. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to sign up. He’d learn something, sure. Might be useful. But more importantly, he’d get to spend more time with her. And -if he was being honest- he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea of some random asshole getting too comfortable around her in a class full of strangers.

He knew how men were.

And he was the only one allowed to make her squirm.

Bucky smirked, turning toward the entrance with a sense of purpose. This was going to be fun.

----

He had expected her to be even a little flustered when she saw him walk into the class on that first day. Maybe she’d stumble over her words, maybe her eyes would widen in surprise, or -if he was lucky- she’d pull him aside and demand to know what the hell he was doing there.

But she didn’t.

She looked right at him, blinked once, and simply said, “Find a seat, we’re about to start.”

That was it. No reaction. No acknowledgment of their situation. Just... professionalism.

He hated it.

Not that he wanted special treatment. But it irked him that she could turn it off so easily like she didn’t spend countless nights milking his cock, moaning his name like a prayer. It was almost insulting.

So, naturally, he made it his mission to get under her skin.

It started small. Little things.

When she instructed them to knead their dough for ten minutes, he’d lean back against the counter after five and smirk. “Pretty sure my hands are strong enough. You wanna check?” just loud enough for the class to hear, just enough to make a few people chuckle.

If she ignored him, he escalated.

In the second class, when she passed by his station to inspect his work, he pressed the pipping bag in a very suggestive way and smeared some frosting on his hands. Then, he licked a slow, deliberate stripe of buttercream from his knuckle, watching her reaction closely.

She didn’t waver. Didn’t blush. Didn’t react at all.

And that pissed him off.

By the lack of reaction, he knew she was holding back. And if she was holding back, that meant she cared. At least a little.

Which meant he had to push.

By the third class, the students were catching on to his antics. A few laughed along with him, some just shook their heads, but one particular moment set something off in her.

She demonstrated how to pipe pastry cream onto cupcakes and showed them the proper wrist movement. It should have been a simple, uneventful lesson.

Then he had to open his mouth.

“Real delicate touch there, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning forward on the counter, flexing his forearms against the surface. His voice was smooth, too smooth, dripping with mock appreciation. “Bet that comes in handy for other things, huh?” A few students gasped. One let out a choked laugh.

And she?

She froze. Just for a split second.

Bucky saw it, the slight tightening of her grip on the piping bag, the way her lashes fluttered, the flicker of heat behind her composed expression.

But when she turned to him, her face was perfectly calm. And that was when he knew he was in trouble. Because instead of snapping at him, instead of rolling her eyes or brushing him off like she had before, she smiled.

“Oh yeah, it’s actually really, really handy. You’ll see, eventually.”

-----

When the class ended, she just looked at him with a neutral stare. "Barnes, a word? Since you are more than capable, be a dear and help me carry the supplies to the storage room, will you?" he nodded, grabbing almost all the stuff that was already clean into a couple of boxes and followed her toward a dimly lit hallway.

When they reached their destination, the door shut behind them with a soft click, sealing them off from the rest of the world in the storage room. The scent of flour and vanilla lingered in the air, mixing with something heavier: the unspoken tension crackling between them like a live wire.

Bucky dropped the boxes onto the floor with a dull thud, dusting his hands off on his jeans before turning to face her. She was already watching him, arms crossed, chin lifted in that quiet, unreadable way that made his hackles rise.

"What do you think you’re doing in my class, Bucky?"

His smirk was instant, practiced. "Learning."

She scoffed. "Don’t give me that crap. You made it very clear what our thing was: fuck buddies, no strings, no extra credit." Her expression remained impassive, but her words hit sharper than he expected. "So why the hell did you sign up?"

Bucky bristled.

Yeah, fine. Maybe he overstepped. Maybe this was a little more than what they agreed to. But something about her tone, about the way she looked at him like he was some inconvenient disruption instead of the man who had her coming undone in his hands, made his jaw clench.

His smirk turned sharper, edged with something almost mean. "Well, let me remind you. I may not be the perfect student, but at least I’m honest about who I am." He took a step forward, and his voice dropped just enough to make the space between them feel too small. "You, on the other hand, acting all high and mighty just because you’re wearing a teacher’s badge..." His voice carried, echoing in the empty room as he loomed over her.

She narrowed her gaze, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"Oh, don’t worry," she said, voice deceptively sweet. "I’ll teach you a lesson, alright."

Bucky exhaled a quiet laugh, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head down to look at her. "A lesson, huh?" he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. "Sounds like you wanna play principal for a day." He shifted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Well, go ahead then. Show me what you’ve got."

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Which, if he was being honest, kind of turned him on. He could feel it, the twisted little thrill beneath his irritation. A part of him craved this, to have her undivided attention, to see what she thought would be enough to discipline him. It was a fucked-up kind of want, born from the way she brushed him off in front of her students, pretending like he was just another guy instead of the one who made her tremble behind closed doors.

But he’d be damned if he admitted it aloud.

Instead, he held her gaze, waiting. Daring her to make the next move.

He barely had time to process the sigh that left her lips before she spoke. "Just be useful and give me that bucket over there. Unlike you, I still have things to do."

His brow quirked, amused by the audacity of it, but he humored her, rolling his eyes as he turned to grab it. "Yeah, yeah, princess. Don’t get your apron in a twist."

And then was when she did it.

Years of perfect training, years of being Hydra’s fist, a ghost on the battlefield, an apex predator in human skin… and yet he didn’t see it coming.

The zap of electricity hit him hard, sharp and unforgiving against the side of his neck. His entire body locked up instantly, and his nerves short-circuited as every muscle seized at once. His breath caught in his throat, his vision blurred at the edges, and before he could do anything, before he could even curse her name, he felt himself falling.

But she didn’t just let him collapse, no. She guided him down. Lowered him carefully. Like he was something fragile, something that mattered.

It was almost insulting.

His chest hit the floor first, then his head followed, resting against the side of his arm, his vibranium fingers twitching as they struggled to respond. He wasn’t unconscious, far from it. For the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes was vulnerable.

And she? She simply stood up, walked toward the door, and locked it. The click of the deadbolt sent a slow, crawling shiver down his spine.

Well, shit. Maybe he should have taken this class more seriously.

Bucky let out a strained growl, and his breath was uneven as he fought against the lingering paralysis in his limbs. "You backstabbing vixen," he bit out, roughly but undeniably amused beneath the indignation. "Using a fucking taser on me?"

Despite his predicament, despite the absolute betrayal of being taken down so effortlessly, his eyes still flicked to her legs as she moved. He also took in the way her skirt hugged her curves, the sway of her hips as she stalked toward him. Even flat on his stomach, and his nerves still tingling from the electric bite, he was Bucky Barnes. Cocky, stubborn, and utterly incorrigible.

That arrogance barely had time to settle in before she reached for something on the nearby shelf. A ruler.

Not one of those flimsy plastic ones. No, this was an old, thick wooden ruler, the kind meant for use on chalkboards. Or as he will discover, putting cocky super-soldiers in their place. His brow furrowed slightly as she turned back and closed the space between them, ruler in hand, with an unreadable expression.

Then, without hesitation, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and yanked them down -underwear included- leaving his pert, pale ass bare to the cool air of the storage room.

Bucky’s spine stiffened.

“What the fuck-?!” His face contorted in a mixture of outrage and mortification as his body betrayed him, heat prickling beneath his skin as the reality of his situation dawned. He tried to move, to push himself up, but the taser’s aftershocks still hummed through his system, leaving his muscles sluggish and uncooperative. The best he could do was shift slightly, but even that only served to expose himself further.

Then she spoke.

"You'll learn today, Sarge,” she mused, tapping the ruler lightly against his bare skin as a warning. “That you might be the fearsome Winter Soldier out there on the streets…” The ruler pressed against the curve of his ass, not hitting, just…resting. Teasing. “But I’m not afraid of the needy man who came in his pants not too long ago after just a little grinding."

Bucky froze.

Heat flared in his chest, creeping up his neck, and across his cheeks. She did not just say that. His mind flashed back to the bakery’s back room one afternoon, to the way she had ridden his clothed cock with desperate little whimpers, to the sticky, shameful mess he had left behind, the evidence of just how easily she had undone him.

His fingers twitched against the floor. His face burned.

“Y-you…” His voice faltered, but before he could string together something -anything- to claw back his dignity, she pressed the flat side of the ruler firmly against his skin. The sensation sent a jolt through his gut, and his stomach coiled tight with something unnameable. Humiliation? Frustration? Anticipation?

He didn’t have time to figure it out. Because then-

Smack!

A sharp, biting pain bloomed across his sensitive flesh.

He gritted his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache, curling his hands into fists as he swallowed the instinctive whimper threatening to escape his lips.

“You don’t get to talk if I don’t talk to you first.”

Smack!

“I won’t tolerate this bratty attitude inside these walls, won’t have you jeopardizing my job just because you can’t control your mouth.”

Smack!

"You think you’re so rough, huh?" She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something syrupy sweet, something dangerous. "Newsflash, Sergeant: you're just a bratty, horny little thing who needs to be put in his place."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Each sharp crack of the ruler on his ass sent a fresh sting through his body, each strike perfectly placed, each one burning a little hotter than the last.

His thighs tensed, his hips shifted, as if his own damn body was reaching for it, arching into it despite himself. His cock twitched against the hard wooden floor, and fuck, that was a problem.

His breath hitched, the telltale prickle of unshed tears burning at the corners of his eyes, not from pain, not really, but from how fucking overwhelmed he felt.

He didn’t know whether to curse her or beg for more.

And judging by the way she was watching him, ruler poised for another strike,

She knew it.

“Muffin, p-please…” Bucky choked out between sharp, stinging smacks, his voice raw with something he couldn’t name, something that tasted too much like desperation.

The floor beneath him was merciless, rough wood pressing into his chest, his hardened, pierced nipples rubbing harshly through the fabric of his shirt. Every jolt of sensation, every sharp crack of the ruler against his skin, fed into the unbearable pressure coiling low in his stomach. Shame and arousal twisted together like an inseparable duo. And fuck, his cock was aching, straining, leaking, trapped between his trembling body and the cold, unyielding ground.

She tutted, watching him squirm beneath her. “Since you used the magic word -please- I’ll humor you,” she cooed.

Her icy fingers, smoothed over his scorched skin, caressing the very spots she had punished. Bucky’s breath hitched. The contrast between the sting of the ruler and the gentle chill of her touch was almost unbearable, a heady mix of pain and comfort that made his thighs twitch. His body, traitorous and weak, leaned into her hand, silently begging for more.

“Are you going to behave around me?” she asked, in a sweet, knowing tone.

His throat worked around the lump forming there, as the humiliation and need kept dancing inside him. His instincts screamed at him to fight back, to reclaim his dominance, to snarl something cocky, hurtful, something that would undo the growing control she had over him.

But instead-

“…Yes, Muffin,” he whispered. It was barely a breath, barely more than a surrender. “I’ll behave. I promise.” The words felt foreign, bitter on his tongue, but they left his mouth without hesitation. And the worst part? He meant them.

Because the desire to please her, to earn her approval, to make her touch him again, was overwhelming. His cock throbbed against the wooden floor, shamefully wetting it with pre-cum.

She must have noticed, because she reached down, wrapping her fingers around his aching length with a grip that was mocking and possessive.

“What’s this?” she mused, giving his hard, neglected cock a deliberate squeeze.

Bucky’s entire body jerked at her touch, a choked, pathetic moan escaping his throat as his hips bucked helplessly into her hand.

“Are you turned on because I put your bratty ass in its place, hmm?”

His cheeks burned at the realization.

Yes. He fucking was.

The evidence was right there, dripping onto the floor for her to see.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Look at the mess you’re making.” She stroked him slowly, deliberately, gripping just firm enough to keep him on edge. “I think I’ll have to teach you a lesson about taking care of the establishment’s property, Sarge.”

His still-paralyzed body betrayed him, his head thrashed side to side in a futile attempt to regain control. But she was in charge now. And she was going to prove it.

“You defied my authority in front of the class today,” she murmured, tightening her grip for emphasis. “You can fuck me stupid in whatever situationship bubble we have, but I’m going to make sure that what has been transpiring in my classroom won’t happen again” Before he could process what she meant, she moved, flipping him onto his back with just enough force to remind him of how little power he had at this moment.

He sucked in a sharp breath, as she studied him—watched the way he twitched under her gaze, helpless and humiliated. Then, with calculated ease, she reached up, pulled the elastic band from her perfectly pinned bun, and-

Tied it at the base of his cock.

Bucky’s lungs stalled, a strangled whimper tore from his throat as the tight constriction bit into his swollen flesh, cutting off the blood flow.

Fuck.

His cock pulsed violently in protest, the restriction making his entire body thrash, but she didn’t stop there. No. She lowered herself, grazing her lips through the tip of his deep red, neglected length, and kissed it. A high, desperate sound tore from Bucky’s throat before he could stop it, and his hips jerked upwards as if begging for more.

She licked slowly, teasingly, flicking her tongue along his leaking slit, gathering his shameful arousal before pulling back just enough to watch him fall apart beneath her.

“F-fuck, Muffin-“ His voice cracked, and his muscles coiled tight as the heat surged through his body, building his orgasm. But then-

Nothing.

His release, -so close, so inevitable, so fucking unbearable- never came.

His eyes shot open, and his breath ragged as the realization hit him. She was denying him, trapping him on the edge and refusing to let him fall.

She tilted her head, with mock sympathy. “What is it, Sarge?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Does the bratty little soldier need to cum?”

Bucky’s throat bobbed, his eyes wide as he struggled to form words. But before he could beg, before he could even think of it, she pressed her lips on his throbbing cockhead once more and purred. “Well… you won’t get to.”

His entire body convulsed, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as the her words penetrated his brain.

She leaned in. “If you had paid attention in class, you’d know that it’s physically impossible until I remove the tourniquet from the piping bag.” She explained with amusement while swirling her tongue around his leaking tip.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back, and his muscles tensed violently as his cock twitched uselessly against the unrelenting knot, pulsing with the orgasm that would never come. His body shook, his skin flushed, and his desperation got humiliatingly obvious.

He whimpered, something raw and desperate spilling from his throat as his cock throbbed violently, aching under the unrelenting pressure of the tight band still restricting him. Every pulse was torture, every slick twitch a reminder of just how thoroughly trapped he was in the pleasure she refused to give him.

“I-I’ll behave, Muffin,” he pleaded, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Fuck, I’ll drop the classes if that’s what you want, just, please…”

The admission burned him, but he’d lost any sense of shame earlier, at the moment his cock started dripping all over the floor. He needed her to touch him, to finish this, to let him fall apart, and he didn’t care what it took.

But she?

She simply tilted her head, unmoved, watching him like he was some fascinating little puzzle she was still piecing together.

“I’m not convinced,” she mused, softly. “After all, you’re the fearsome Winter Soldier, and I? Just a simple baker.” She let the words linger, let them sink deep into his buzzing, over-sensitive mind, before shifting her focus -completely ignoring his tortured cock- and zeroing in on his chest.

Bucky barely had time to process before she moved, sliding the fabric of his shirt up, up, up, exposing the broad plane of his scarred torso, the dark ink of his tattoos, and-

The silver bars piercing through his already-hardened nipples.

He twitched violently at the first brush of cool air, and his breath stuttered, clenching his hands into fists against the floor.

She smiled. “I have to make a point, you know.”

Then, with agonizing precision, she dragged her fingers over one of the piercings, then letting her nails scrape just barely against the sensitive flesh.

Bucky’s entire body jerked.

“F-fuck!” The strangled cry tore from his throat, hips buckling helplessly into nothing as his cock twitched pathetically, still bound, still denied. His nipples had always been sensitive, but this, this was too much.

And she knew it.

She leaned in closer, ghosting her warm breath over his exposed chest, watching the way he trembled beneath her.

“Poor thing,” she cooed, toying with the pierced nub, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger before giving it a sharp little tug.

Bucky shouted, the noise wrecked, broken, and fuck, fuck, fuck- his cock ached so badly he could barely think. His hips lifted uselessly, but she kept her focus above, kept him on the razor’s edge of something devastatingly unsatisfying.

Then, without warning, she lowered her head and took one into her mouth. He choked on air, arching his back sharply as her hot tongue laved over the hardened bud before sucking, teasing, biting just enough to make his thighs tremble.

Every little movement sent sharp, electric pleasure bolting straight to his cock, a cock that was still trapped, still denied, still leaking helplessly onto his lower belly.

“F-fuck, Muffin-” he gasped, in a high and wrecked tone, as his chest heaved beneath her mouth when she moved to the other nipple, repeating the same exquisite torture.

His thighs shook again, his muscles locked, and his cock twitched violently… but his orgasm remained agonizingly out of reach.

She stared at his wet, tender nipples, the silver bars glistening under the dim light, and hummed in satisfaction. Then without a word she moved, straddling him, settling her weight over his hips, pressing herself down against his aching, trapped cock.

Bucky’s vision blurred at the sudden slick, teasing friction of her pussy dragging along his length, sending a jolt of pure, blinding ecstasy through his still-paralyzed body. His hips bucked involuntarily, chasing more, chasing anything, seeking relief that he already knew she wouldn’t give him.

“Ahhhn… just, please,” he moaned, voice thick with need, desperation, surrender. Then, through the haze of pleasure, something darker surfaced. His teeth clenched, “If you know what’s good for you-”

She cut him off immediately.

“Poor, defenseless Sergeant,” she mocked, in a tone drenched with sickeningly sweet amusement as she slammed herself down onto his cock, impaling herself fully in one smooth motion.

Bucky’s head snapped back, and a hoarse scream tore from his throat as her slick heat swallowed him whole, gripping him like a vice.

“See,” she continued, settling herself above him, grinding her hips to fully seat herself on his fat cock, “you don’t get to threaten me, Sarge.”

She began to ride him mercilessly, bouncing with wild abandon, taking exactly what she wanted from him.

“This is a valuable lesson,” she panted, rolling her hips as her fingers dug into his tense, flexing abdomen for leverage. “I’m going to discipline you so every time you think about disrespecting me in front of other people…” Her nails scraped down his stomach, and her pussy clenched tighter around him as she rode him harder. “…you’ll start leaking like a fucking faucet.”

Bucky’s back arched violently, his body betraying him completely as each ruthless downward thrust drove him closer, closer, closer-

“F-fuck, Doll!” he howled, his voice raw, wrecked, echoing off the walls. “Y-you’re killing me here!”

Each intense, wet slide of her inner walls around him had him spiraling, hovering right at the edge of relief, his entire body coiled so tightly he thought he might snap apart. The sight before him, her breasts bouncing despite being confined by her bra, her moans and panting filling the room, the sheer fucking confidence in the way she rode him like she owned him…

It was too much.

A pathetic, broken sound left his lips as she used him, took him, denied him.

“Shut it.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through his haze of pleasure. “I gave you tons of opportunities, and you kept pushing further and further.” She leaned forward, pressing her chest against his, and her breath came hot and heavy against his ear. “This is what you get for being horrible to me.”

Bucky whimpered, and his hips trembled beneath her, as his cock twitched violently inside her tight heat.

“I won’t take the hair tie off your cock,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his sweat-damp skin, “you won’t get to cum.”

His eyes flew open, and his breath stuttered.

“Me, on the other hand?”

Her fingers slipped between them, finding her swollen, needy clit, and she moaned loudly, circling it in quick, precise strokes as she chased her own release. “I’m gonna cream all over your fat, bratty cock.”

Bucky’s whimpers of pleasure morphed into anguished wails as she rode him mercilessly, grinding down harder, clamping around him tighter with every roll of her hips.

“P-please,” he gasped, his voice breaking with desperation. His cock was throbbing, pulsing, aching, each squeeze of her pussy only made the pressure worse, worse, worse-

“I can’t- I’m going to- Ahh, FUCK!”

But nothing happened.

His body wanted to cum, needed to release the unbearable tension, but the hair tie held firm in place, trapping him in a state of endless, excruciating denial.

She, on the other hand…

Her rhythm stuttered, and her movements turned erratic as her moans grew desperate, and her brows knitted together tightly as she neared her climax. “So big, so fat, Sarge,” she mewled, trembling as she rode her orgasm out over him, soaking him with her slick.

Each pulse of her pussy sent pain-pleasure waves radiating through his cock, threatening to tear him apart. Bucky was shaking, thrashing, begging-

“Fuck!” he gasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. “Stop, I can’t-”

Despite his pleas, he couldn’t deny the way her praise sent a twisted thrill through him. It fueled his ego, his need to please her, even as his body screamed for release.

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, she lifted herself, sliding off his cock with a wet, slick sound. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and his entire body trembled as he stared up at her. His eyes were glassy, his nipples red and swollen, and his shaft almost painfully engorged.

She looked him over critically, tapping her finger against her lips as if thinking.

Then, without warning… she spat.

A slow, deliberate string of saliva landed on the tip of his cock, glistening, mixing with his pre-cum, adding more slick to his aching, desperate length.

His gaze snapped down, staring at the wetness on his cock, with his pulse hammering. She smirked.

Then, kneeling beside him, she wrapped her fingers around his twitching, neglected cock and started jerking him off. “Do you wanna cum?” she asked, mockingly sweet.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and his hips bucked wildly into her grasp.

He nodded quickly, so quickly.

“T-thank you, Muffin,” he whispered with gratitude and lingering lust. “I promise, I’ll be good for you.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were hollow. Deep down, he knew he’d push her again. Provoke her again. And oh, when he’ll regain control of his body…

She tightened her grip, stroking him harder, faster.

“Beg for it.”

Bucky snapped.

“Please, Muffin, please let me cum!” he whined, pleaded, and sobbed. “I need it so fucking badly! I can’t take it anymore! I’ll do anything- please, PLEASE let me finish!” his body shuddered violently as he begged.

She hummed, pleased.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Since you begged so pretty.” She pulled the hair tie free. “Cum for me, Sarge.”

And the instant the band snapped free, the dam burst.

Bucky’s cock erupted, thick ropes of hot cum splattered across her hand, his stomach, and pooled messily onto the floor beneath him. His back arched violently, and every nerve in his body was ignited as an earth-shattering orgasm tore through his entire body.

A guttural roar ripped from his throat, his hips jerked wildly, and his cock twitched and pulsed nonstop as if making up for every second of denial.

“Ah, ah, ah- YES!” he howled, as his vision blurred at the edges, the intensity of his orgasm consumed. “FUCK, IT FEELS SO GOOD!”

His body convulsed, the aftershocks hitting hard, every lingering stroke of her fingers making his overstimulated cock twitch helplessly in her grasp. He had never felt so wrecked, so drained, so utterly destroyed, and yet…

He was already thinking about the next time.

She held him just a little longer, letting his final weak spurts dribble down his spent shaft before finally, slowly, releasing him.

And then -without a single word of praise or sympathy- she wiped her cum-coated hand on his shirt.

Bucky barely had the energy to glare, but his jaw clenched, his cheeks burned, and a fresh pang of humiliation mixed with the post-orgasmic bliss.

Her eyes flicked over his wrecked form. “I estimate the taser’s effect will wear off in about half an hour,” she said matter-of-factly, brushing invisible dust off her skirt as if she hadn’t just broken him into pieces. “So,” she continued, leaning down just enough to press a single teasing peck to his damp forehead, “you have plenty of time to reflect on your behavior.”

With that, she straightened, adjusting her skirt back into place, retrieving the wooden ruler from where she had left it, and placing it neatly back on the shelf. Then, without looking back, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door.

She just…left.

Bucky watched her go, helpless, spent, ruined, still lying in a pool of his own cum on the floor.

His breath was uneven, his body still tingled, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at the ceiling, floating in the limbo between debauched satisfaction and simmering frustration. But as the post-orgasmic haze began to clear, as the sting of humiliation faded beneath something darker, sharper, his thoughts slowly began to shift.

Her parting words echoed in his mind.

The taser’s effects will wear off soon.

And when they did?

Payback’s a bitch, Muffin. And she wouldn’t see it coming.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #subby! bucky

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honeyedmiller · 1 day ago

Text

A Burning Desire part eight

firefighter!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist

rating: 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: fluff, vulnerability, shimmer mention!, brief mentions of past verbal abuse, angst, mentions of pregnancy (reader’s sister), extremely inaccurate descriptions of how insurance / payout works (just go with it, it’s fiction lol), smut (fingering, m!oral receiving, masturbation, phone sex), no use of y/n. if there’s anything i missed, please lmk.

word count: 10.6k

synopsis: joel and tommy are sent on a dangerous work trip.

a/n: fuck. thanks for being so patient with me. there’s hints of foreshadowing in this unrevised (sry) monster of a chapter, and the next chapter will be angsty. i hope you enjoy tho. thx for sticking around and reading my silly little story <3

Getting back into the swing of things after the holidays has always deemed itself to be arduous. You’re lucky you work from home, but you’d taken on the responsibility of getting Sarah out of the house in time to drive her to school. It’s not that you mind at all, you just hate getting up out of a warm bed, especially when you have Joel as your own personal furnace now.

Having two weeks off of said responsibility was nice because you and Sarah got to sleep in and you made her breakfast with hot cocoa nearly every morning before you had to clock in for work. She’d spend most of her break over at her friend’s house or reading a book either in the living room or her room, anyway.

She has since gone back to school, and having the house to yourself again is still a bit unnerving, which is why it’s nice on days like this where Joel has off from work and can spend some time with you. Even if you’re stuck in your home office on days like today, he checks in on you once in a while to make sure you’re doing okay.

Today has been particularly hard, only because the client you’re working with is demanding as hell and your boss is jumping down your throat to make sure you appease said client. Your face is buried in your hands as you sit and decompress for a minute, and that’s when Joel decides to check in on you. It’s like the man has spidey senses for when you’re going through it or something.

“Hey baby, I brought you some—” He stops short when he sees the state you’re currently in.

“You okay, honeybee?” His voice is gentle and honestly concerned, and your heart melts yet again at how sweet he is.

“Work’s just stressing me out a bit,” you answer truthfully. You look up at him from your seat as he stands beside you, setting down a small bowl of fruit for you to snack on next to you on the desk. You softly smile at the fruit before looking back up at him. “Thank you, handsome.”

“Ain’t a thing, baby. ‘M sorry you’re so stressed. Anythin’ I can do to help?”

He steps behind you now and his large, warm hands land on your shoulders before he begins to massage them. You groan softly and loll your head to the side, rolling your lips into your mouth before shaking your head.

“Nah. Luckily this is my last day dealing with this client, so it’ll only be for a few more hours. Thank you though, baby. It means a lot.”

You reach up and grab one of his hands, giving it a thoughtful squeeze before you let go to reply to an email your boss sent you.

“Well what if I told you that I have a date planned for us this weekend?”

You look up at him with furrowed brows. “Where?” You ask, excitement taking over your body.

“Well, I know everythin’s been kinda hectic with my accident and me healing, your sister’s news, you movin’ in, the holidays, and Tommy and Maria’s engagement. We’ve been so busy n’ we’ve barely had any time to ourselves outside of the house in a while, so I wanna take you somewhere kinda peaceful.”

He doesn’t give away too much, but you’re already on board.

“You’ve got me intrigued. Can’t wait to see what you have up that sleeve of yours.”

“Good, ‘cus I also bought you a couple ‘a things to go along with this weekend’s date.”

“Oh?” You give him an incredulous look, but his boyish shit-eating grin is all you need to see to not ask any further questions, no matter how piqued your curiosity is.

You smile up at him and shake your head, focusing back on your work. You sit in silence for a couple of minutes as he continues to massage your shoulders while you type away.

“I’m gonna go on a run. I’ll be back in time to fix you up some lunch.” He kisses the top of your head before you look up at him with a small smile.

“If I wasn’t glued to this desk right now I’d join you,” you laugh. “Be careful out there, baby.”

“Always am. Maybe I can exercise you in another way later on,” he says, smirking down at you with mischief written all over his face.

“You’re insatiable, Mr. Miller.” But the idea doesn’t sound half bad.

He holds his hands up defensively. “Can’t blame a guy for wantin’ to love his lady right, can you?”

You roll your eyes with a laugh and tug him down gently by his shirt before giving him a lengthy kiss. You release him and pat his abdomen twice. “Have fun on your run, cowboy.”

After a long week, the weekend finally rolled around and Joel still wouldn’t tell you exactly what you two were going to do on your date.

He just kept reassuring you that you’d love it, and you’ve slowly learned to just go with the flow and not ask anymore questions.

He insisted you wear a blindfold this time, and made you get into his truck as he took the next few minutes to put whatever it was in the back seat before you both took off.

You ride passenger for about thirty minutes or so with soft tunes of George Strait playing in the background before you hear gravel crunch under the tires of the truck as Joel turns left.

“You aren’t exploring a new kink right now, are you?” You snort, turning your head in his general direction. “Blindfolding me like this just to take me in the middle of nowhere and have deliciously rough sex with me and make me fall in love with you even more, hm? Is this your diabolical plan?” You can’t help but wiggle your eyebrows at your own absolute absurdness.

He chuckles deeply and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you as the brakes squeak slightly and the truck comes to a slow stop. It’s silent for a moment before you hear him move, and you feel the heat of his body right next to you.

“Not today, sweet girl.” The deep raspiness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He huffs a laugh before kissing your cheek and taking off your blindfold.

You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the light, the sun shining brilliantly on land—lots of it. Something shimmers in the distance, and you realize it’s a creek that runs along a trail that looks like it’s meant for horseback riding.

Then it clicks. You look at him with pure excitement in your eyes.

“Are we going horseback riding?”

He can’t help but grin at the giddiness in your tone. “Yeah baby, we are. Figured we’d eat first, though. Packed us some of our favorites and thought we could make a picnic of it as we sit by the creek.”

Your heart absolutely flutters and grows ten times fonder for the man in front of you, if that’s even possible. You try to hold back your tears of gratitude, but one can’t help it and slips down your cheek.

Joel wipes the tear with his thumb as he leans in to kiss your forehead.

You grab his face gently in your hands before admiring his beautiful brown irises.

“Oh, Joel,” you choke out, leaning in for a loving kiss. You rest your forehead against his as you sniffle once. “This is so thoughtful. This place is beautiful. Thank you.”

“‘Course, my honeybee. Life has been too hectic lately n’ I wanted to treat my woman to somethin’ a little more… relaxing.”

“What a lucky lady she is,” you giggle, smiling against his lips and giving them one more peck before you pull away. He opens his door and hops out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open your door before offering his hand to you. You take his hand and he helps you out, feet hitting the ground with a thud.

You both gather the stuff for the picnic before making your way over to the creek that was no more than a hundred yards away.

You set up the blanket on some soft grass as Joel puts the cooler down beside you both, and you sit down across from each other. You admire the atmosphere, with the sun beaming enough to warm you up some and the song of birds chirping in the trees. The sound of water flowing up the creek adds to the blissful ambience, and you sigh in content before noticing a house off in the distance.

“Does someone live over here?” You ask, stretching your legs in front of you as you lean back on your palms to hold yourself upright.

“This is actually my uncle’s land. Tommy n’ I grew up playin’ in these fields and this creek. We’d used to help him on the ranch to earn some extra allowance durin’ the summertime when we got older.”

You imagine a little Joel and Tommy running around in these fields whose grass sways with the gentle breeze—and then you’re picturing kids of your own. Kids that you’d eventually have with Joel. Hearing their little squeals of joy, chasing them around in the soft grass, making new memories for years to come. You imagine Sarah would be the best big sister, despite any age difference they might have.

“This place is beautiful, Joel. Does your uncle still own the land?” You ask, eyes shifting back to him.

He nods. “He does, but he’s had to hire help since he’s a bit too old to take care of the place himself. I know for a while he’d been thinkin’ about sellin’ it, but he says there’s just too many fond memories tied to this place.”

“That’s understandable. I can just imagine a young you and Tommy causing a ruckus around here,” you laugh, and he nudges your leg with his own.

“Don’t mean our mama and pops didn’t talk some sense into us,” he chuckles, face tilting toward the bright blue sky.

“Looks like it did you two some good. They’d be proud of you both, I’m sure. Wish I could’ve met them.” You give him a sympathetic smile, and he gives you a small sad one in return.

“They would’ve absolutely loved you, baby. I can just hear my mama now: ‘Bout damn time you wanna get settled down with someone nice,’” he sighs and reaches for you, and you maneuver yourself onto his lap. You rest your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, giving you a small squeeze while kissing your hair.

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” you say, nuzzling into his strong chest.

“She was. I’m very lucky to have had parents that gave my brother n’ I a great example of what true love really looks like, whether it was through their relationship with each other or the love they showered us with. I knew even back then that what Sarah’s mom n’ I had wasn’t true love. It was staying together out of convenience because she’d gotten pregnant. I really tried with her, but nothing made her happy. She became verbally abusive toward me after a while, too. It got even worse after Sarah was born. She didn’t want to be a mother. After everythin’ her and I went through, even after she left us, I’m grateful for her bringin’ my daughter into this world. I love my baby girl more than life itself,” he sighs, taking a breath for a minute as he recounts his past.

“Raisin’ Sarah as a single dad truly was full of trials and tribulations. I did have help from my family, which I’ll always be grateful for, but I was doin’ it all on my own for the most part. Havin’ the odd schedule I have now and makin’ it work around Sarah’s took a long while, but we finally got it down. Nobody had ever wanted to stick around after a night together because they thought that me havin’ a kid was too… complicated. I can understand it from their perspective, but truthfully, nobody ever gave me a chance to get to show them the real me. They just saw me as someone they can check off their bucket list and mess around with because of my job and the uniform I wear. And then you come along, unexpected, knockin’ me off my feet in the best way possible and showin’ me that love is still in the cards for me. You’re it for me, baby. I don’t think I can ever express my gratitude to you for showin’ me what it feels like to be seen and—god—to be loved the way you love me.”

You soak his words in before wrapping your arms around his torso. You press a kiss to his stubbled jaw, letting him silently know that you’re here for him.

“Thank you for opening up to me,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over his back in a soothing motion. “I can’t even imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.” Your voice holds a gratefulness and sadness that isn’t missed, and he shakes his head.

“Thank you for allowin’ me to be my true self, emotions and all,” he says, and you hug him tighter. You recall him telling you that his ex would tell him ‘real men don’t cry’, and your heart hurts for him even more. How could somebody be so cruel to such a loving man?

He sighs and lays down, sun glistening against his beautiful golden skin. You admire his handsome features and softly smile as you bring a hand down to run through his curls.

He pops one eye open before giving your wrist a tug, and you land on him with an oof.

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you, trailing his fingers down so he can put both of his hands in the back pockets of your Wranglers.

“I love you so much, baby.” His voice is thick and low, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

“I love you too.”

The easiness of which the phrase rolls off your tongue is a beautiful thing, you think. You’ve come so far with opening up your heart to Joel, and he, you. You look down at him and savor the way his eyes look like a smooth whiskey in the sunlight, the way the skin around them crinkles when he smiles at you.

You lean down and finally seal your lips to his, and you feel him fully relax as he moves his hands from your back pockets up to the middle of your back and back down again. You stay like this for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of each other as the soft breeze causes the grass to rustle and the sound of water and lips smacking is a harmony lost in the wind.

It isn’t until you hear his stomach rumble that you pull apart from him with a laugh, maneuvering yourself off of him to sit up.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” you tease, reaching for the cooler.

“I’m hungry alright,” he says, leaning over to capture your lips in yet another searing kiss.

“I’m serious Joel,” you laugh against his lips. “You gotta eat.”

He sighs and puts his hands up in defeat. “Fine.”

You nudge him with a grin before opening the cooler, revealing sandwiches, grapes, chips, waters, two soda cans, and… chocolate covered strawberries. You raise an eyebrow at him as he smiles sheepishly at you.

“Chocolate covered strawberries?” You parrot your thoughts, moving to sit criss-crossed.

“I know how much you like them so… I made ‘em for you special.”

If your heart could burst anymore, this man would probably be the end of you with his unconditional love. You don’t know how much more you can possibly handle, even though you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. It’s the little things like this that he goes out of his way to do for you that has never been done by anyone, so getting used to his kind gestures has been a rewarding challenge.

“Thank you, honey. This is so kind of you.” You lean over to kiss his cheek before handing his food to him, and you both dive into your meals as you enjoy the serenity surrounding you. Then a pressing thought pops into your head. It takes you a few minutes to conjure up the courage to ask Joel the burning question on your mind, but you eventually find the words.

“Are you serious about wanting kids with me, Joel?” Your voice is soft as you look around again, then meet his gaze.

He swallows his food before nodding. “I’m one hundred percent serious.”

Your heart flutters. “You don’t think the age gap between Sarah and her future siblings would be weird?”

Joel thinks about it for a moment. “No, I wouldn’t say weird. Might just take some time t’get used to. Ever since she was a toddler she’d been beggin’ me to give her a sibling, but I obviously couldn’t do that considerin’ I didn’t have anyone to… procreate with,” he chuckles at the last part. You laugh with him and nod, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich.

“I couldn’t imagine growing up without my siblings. Even when there were times we all fought, we all still laughed about it later on and got over it quickly. Bless my mom and dad’s hearts, ‘cus I know we were all a handful.”

You smile as you reminisce growing up with your brothers and sister. You’d want your future kids to have that type of sibling bond, too.

“I know what you mean. I remember when my mama and pops told me they were havin’ another baby. I was over the moon about it, ‘cus it meant I’d have someone by my side for life. Tommy might be a grade A pain in my ass, but I’m grateful that he and I grew up so close together and stayed that way throughout adulthood.”

“I think Sarah would be a great big sister,” you say, and Joel sports a proud smile that makes your heart melt.

“I think so too, baby.”

“I never thought I’d be talking about having kids with a partner ever again, you know. I’m happy we’re on the same page about this. I think it’s important to discuss this even before we eventually decide to take the next step in our relationship.”

He nods in agreement as he opens the tupperware that has the chocolate covered strawberries, taking one out before bringing his other hand to coax your mouth open. He offers you a bite of the strawberry, and he finishes off the rest of it after you take your bite.

“I’m happy too, baby. ‘S good that we can clarify things now. I’ve never been with someone who can communicate with me so easily, so I thank you for that. I really am just a lucky bastard who got hit on at a coffee shop,” he chuckles, shooting you a wink as you laugh.

“Thanks for taking a chance on me, Miller. Glad I didn’t disappoint.” And with that, you lean in for one last searing kiss before you both finish off the strawberries and dust yourselves off as you take the cooler and blanket back to his truck.

You’re about to head for the stables in the distance, but Joel stops you.

“Wait, I have somethin’ for you,” he says, reaching further into his back seat. He pops his Stetson on and you bite your lip before shooting him a look.

“Haven’t we already established that you in your cowboy hat drives me absolutely wild?” You cross your arms over your chest as you continue to stare at him incredulously.

“Yeah, baby,” he laughs. “But now you get to match me.”

He pulls out another hat and spins around, plopping it onto your head. Your eyes also drift down as he hands you a shoebox.

“Joel, oh my– is this–?” You’re at a loss for words, and he sports a smirk on his face.

“Open the box, sweet girl.”

You do as you’re told, carefully opening the box to reveal a beautiful pair of brown leather cowgirl boots with white floral stitching across the front.

“Joel, these are beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“Ain’t a thing, baby. Try ‘em on.”

You slip off your sneakers and try on the boots, which fit perfectly. Joel adjusts the hat on your head before giving you his million dollar smile.

“Beautiful.”

“You think so, cowboy?”

“Absolutely. And y’know,” he pauses as he slides his hands comfortably on your hips, pulling you flush against his body. “Every cowboy needs his cowgirl.”

He gives you a twirl before dipping you, leaning down to kiss you before standing you upright.

You’re all smiles and giggles as you walk hand-in-hand to the stables, where one of the ranch workers greets you both with a smile.

“Hey Joel, you’ll be ridin’ Stella and Shimmer today,” the man says. Joel gives him a curt nod as the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smile.

“Thank you, Drew.”

Drew tips his hat to you both before walking off to tend to the other animals near the stables, and you turn toward Shimmer as you begin to gently pet her.

“Hi beautiful girl,” you coo, stroking her snout. She nudges you gently and you grin before glancing at Joel.

“She likes you,” he says.

You beam at him before he chuckles and comes behind you, boosting you by your waist as you situate yourself on the saddle on Shimmer’s back. You continue to stroke her mane as you place your feet in the stirrups, grabbing a firm hold of the reins.

Joel follows suit as he mounts himself onto Stella, and clicks his teeth twice to lead the way out of the stables. Shimmer follows suit, and soon enough, you’re both riding side-by-side on the trail by the creek.

“Thank you for all of this,” you gesture your hand around you both before grabbing back onto the reins. “It means a lot to me. I had a lot of fun.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice hopeful.

“Yeah. It’s been absolutely perfect.”

You take a moment to admire him and how the sun’s golden rays shine on him as it slowly starts to set, casting a beautiful orange and pink glow in lieu of bright blue. He gazes at you with such a softness you’ve never witnessed before, and you think it’s a thing beyond love. Devotion, compassion, protection—all in a single look.

A look that has taken care of your heart when it was tender and aching, a look that has pumped it full of love again. It’s a look that flips your world around in the best way possible.

It’s a look that could make you cry. It’s funny, because you never used to be so in-tune with your emotions before. Before Joel, a majority of your life with and after Christian had you feeling so numb and devoid of any feelings or emotions. It was draining, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to feel so lively ever again.

Well, never say never.

There are no words to describe the love and gratefulness you feel for this man riding beside you, but you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life proving it to him, even if it’s wordlessly done so.

A few months down the line, the ranch ends up becoming a small escape for you and Joel. When you both had free time, you’d slip away and drive to the open fields to enjoy the calmness of the water under the starry nights, laid up in the bed of his truck on top of a bunch of blankets.

It’s the only house around for miles, so it’s super private and quiet. It’s like your own little secret with him as you’d lay there, talking about anything and everything—and sometimes leading to more.

You’re in the middle of more, trying to muffle your moans with Joel’s mouth on yours as his fingers curl inside of you. You’re aching and needy, rocking your hips against his palm so your swollen clit rubs against his flesh. It’s intoxicating, the way his fingers move so perfectly inside of you.

You gasp against his lips as a dark chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“Thas’ it. Atta girl, jus’ like that,” he murmurs his praise as you rock your hips so willingly and meet every thrust of his fingers, so close to your release that your whines start to mesh with your panting. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You fist his hair between your fingers and smash your lips to his in urgency, crying against him as a wave of toe-curling bliss surges through your veins.

”Oh, fuck!”

You gush around his fingers and down his wrist, and he lowly hums as your body convulses a few more times, stomach drawing taut as you come down from your high.

“Make such pretty messes, baby. So fuckin’ beautiful.” He kisses your forehead as he withdraws his fingers slowly, sweeping them over your sensitive clit to spread your arousal before bringing his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean. You clench around nothing at the sight as your head falls back against the makeshift pillows, gaze bleary as you try and slow your breathing and heart rate by staring at the stars twinkling so brilliantly.

Joel dips his head down to kiss you, and you tangle your fingers through his curls once more before dragging a hand down his neck, to his chest, and down to the waistband of his sweats. You palm him through the material, arousal blooming in your core once more as you feel how hard he is for you. Feel how much he wants you.

You stop your ministrations for a beat, separating yourself from his lips as you lick the palm of your hand, only to dip it into his sweats and boxers to wrap it around his length. You give him a small squeeze and he groans, eyes fluttering shut as his head tilts back.

You huff a laugh and lean up to kiss at his thick, warm neck, licking a stripe from his earlobe down to his pulse point. You suck a little on the skin there, loving the way he twitches in your hand. He feels so heavy and warm, and all you want to do in this moment is take care of him the way he deserves—so you do just that. You slide your body down after giving him a kiss, and the dazzling look in his eye is all you need to keep this going.

You settle your shoulders between his thighs, now face-to-face with his weeping cock. You hum before giving the silky flesh a few more tugs before leaning forward, licking the salty bead of pre cum from his slit.

“Such a pretty cock,” you praise, rolling your lips into your mouth before you look up at him. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the flush that has taken over his neck and face in the pale moonlight. His lips are parted and his breathing is a bit ragged, and he’s just waiting for you to pounce.

Usually, you love to tease him just to see how worked up you can get him, but you’re too impatient and want to hear those delicious moans only reserved for you.

You lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock before sucking his balls into your mouth, pumping his length as you gently massage him with your tongue.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groans, hand shooting out to cradle the back of your head. You hum appreciatively around him, pumping him at a steady pace now before moving your mouth up onto his shaft again. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times before taking him all, feeling his head hit the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes as you try to swallow around him and refrain from gagging.

“Holy fuck, baby, you like doin’ this don’t you?” His voice is a deep, raspy mess, and you clench your thighs together at the sound.

He pulls your mouth off of him, the tip of his cock coating your lips in saliva.

“Answer me. You like this, huh?”

Fuck. The possessiveness in his tone makes you want to roll your eyes into the back of your skull as you moan, but you opt for a nod as you rasp out a yes.

“Look so pretty with my cock down your throat. Can fuckin’ see it when you take all of me.”

You suck in a sharp breath before your dazed, fucked out mind conjures up the words before you even realize it. “Like this?”

You lower your mouth back onto him, and he’s spewing a string of groans and curses together, and he eventually moans your name like a prayer on Sunday when you keep deepthroating him like this. You don’t let up, either. You know your throat is going to be absolutely fucking wrecked by the time you’re done, but it doesn’t matter.

Not when you get to see him like this.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth as you let up on his length and just focus your tongue and lips on his tip, making his hips buck up involuntarily. His fiery gaze meets yours and you can tell he’s nearly a goner.

“So…fuckin’...sexy,” he grunts. You grin as you kiss his tip and flutter your eyelashes up at him, taking him in your mouth and down your throat one more time before slowly coming back up, tightening your lips around him.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna–”

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s coming undone, coating your tongue and throat with his cum. His body shudders as you slide your tongue up from his length. You swallow and wipe the saliva off of your chin with the back of your hand.

“You really are somethin’ fierce, woman,” he praises. You’re too dazed to respond, so you offer him a grin and a kiss to his thigh.

Joel tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls his sweats up, pulling your body up to his so you’re cuddled into his side. He pulls a blanket over both your bodies and kisses you, and you nuzzle your head onto his chest. His steady breathing and strong heartbeat is what does you in before you even know it.

You wake up in a bit of confusion, amidst hearing a constant buzzing noise. You’re still in the back of the truck with Joel, who’s passed out beside you. His breathing is steady and he looks so at peace, so you try not to move around so much before you finally realize that Joel’s phone is ringing.

You have to dig around a bit to find it before you lift it up and squint against the bright light, only to see he has three missed calls from Tommy. Your heart drops, because Tommy is a huge texter. He only ever calls if something’s really wrong.

“Joel,” you rasp, throat sore from your earlier escapades. His brow furrows and he softly groans, and you softly tap his shoulder. “Baby, wake up. Tommy keeps calling you.”

His eyes crack open and he sits up, grabbing the phone from you. He dials Tommy back and presses the phone to his ear, still clearly trying to wake his mind up.

You can’t ignore the anxious thrum of your heart. You have no idea what it could be about, and Joel’s face reads worry clear as day. You wrap your arm around him and kiss his shoulder in reassurance.

“Tommy, what’s going on?” Joel asks, and you can faintly hear Tommy’s voice on the other end of the line, but can’t make out the words.

“Shit, okay. I’ll be back at the house in 30 minutes.”

Joel hangs up the phone and scrubs his hands over his face before looking down at you. He gives you an apologetic smile before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Sorry honeybee, we have to go back home. Our captain wants everyone at the fire station in an hour. Somethin’ important he needs to tell us all.”

You furrow your brows and sit up, starting to fold the blankets and pack them away in the cab of the truck. You ride in silence for about fifteen minutes, your hand on Joel’s as his sits comfortably on your thigh. His thumb brushes back and forth in reassurance, but your mind is reeling with possibilities of what could be so important for all of them to know.

“Do you have any idea what your captain might say?”

Your voice is soft with a sleepy lull to it, and Joel looks at you for a couple of seconds with a small smile on his lips.

“No idea, baby. It has to be somethin’ big ‘cus he only calls us in like this if it’s super urgent.”

You nod in understanding, giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance. You arrive home fifteen minutes later, and Tommy greets you both at the front door. You give Tommy a hi/bye hug and Joel a kiss before they’re out the door and driving down the street.

You decide to stay in the living room. Watch a movie or something, and wait for them to come back. You settle onto the leather couch, wrapping a blanket around you as you turn the TV on and keep it at a low volume. Exhaustion sweeps through your bones as you lay still. Your eyelids get heavy, and before you even realize it, you’re out cold once again.

The front door unlocking stirs you from your sleep, and the familiar tread of boots is heard walking into the living room.

“Baby, I’m back,” Joel says.

You open your eyes and yawn, gaze landing on the clock. Eleven p.m.

“Hey,” you say, voice timid. “How’d the meeting go? Is everything okay?”

You sit up, allowing room for Joel to plop down next to you. He spreads his legs and leans his head back against the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I have to leave. Well, Tommy and I have to go. There’s a huge fire that broke out in San Angelo earlier today and it’s spreading fast. They need all hands on deck.”

You take in the information and furrow your brows, pausing for a beat before speaking. “How long will you be gone for?”

He moves his hand from the bridge of his nose and looks at you with a sad expression.

“‘M not sure, sweet girl. Could be for a few days or a few weeks. It really just depends on the conditions of the fire and the surrounding areas.”

You nod in understanding before grabbing his hand, once again squeezing it in reassurance.

“When do you and Tommy leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. Captain told us to rest up as much as possible before we head out. It doesn’t look pretty, and it’s a four hour drive for us.”

“I think you should go wake Sarah up and tell her,” you say. He nods and kisses your head before he trudges up the stairs. You turn off the TV and follow suit, settling into your side of the bed after you wash up and change into your pajamas.

Joel comes into the room a few minutes later, closing the door behind him.

“How is she?” You ask, opening the covers for him. He strips down into just his boxers before climbing into bed with you.

He nods. “She’s okay. Sad that I have to leave, but I told her you’d take real good care of her.”

You huff a laugh and nod in agreement. “That I will, Mr. Miller.”

Then realization hits you—since Tommy is leaving, that means Maria will be alone.

“Are you okay if I invite Maria to stay over here while you guys are gone? I know she can take care of herself, but I’d rather her not be alone for however long.”

“‘Course, baby. ‘S your home, too.”

And, it is, which is an aspect you’re still getting used to.

He settles into you, nuzzling his face into your chest as he inhales deeply. He kisses the skin there once before wrapping his arms around you. You rest your head on top of his, running your fingers through his hair. He falls asleep in a matter of minutes, but you remain wide awake, plagued with the thought of him going out to do his very dangerous job.

You sigh and scold yourself for even thinking about that, because even just the prospect of telling him to stay is so unbelievably selfish. You’d never actually tell him, of course, but you think it and the thought is all-consuming.

You just worry, like any partner would, but you worry even more especially after the nasty accident he had. You know he’s been doing this for a long time, but you’ve learned that fires can be unpredictable and life doesn’t deal in absolutes.

A couple of hours pass and Joel is still sound asleep, meanwhile you haven’t gotten a wink of rest. Your eyes roam to the bedside alarm clock—four fifty in the morning. You sigh softly and get up as carefully as possible, trying not to disturb Joel.

Since you can’t go to sleep, you decide to use your energy to make Joel and Tommy some lunches and a few batches of your cookies that everyone at the firehouse loves so they have something to snack on while they’re on the road.

You start with the cookies and make enough dough for at least three batches, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You hand mix everything and put the three baking sheets in the oven, setting a timer on your phone. While the cookies bake, you make both of their lunches and pack them away.

You can’t stand still and need to keep your hands busy to distract yourself from your looming thoughts, so you go ahead and make a fresh pot of coffee, too.

You pour yourself a cup and put a dash of creamer in it, taking a sip as you lean over the counter and sigh. You close your eyes and rub your temples in an attempt to ease your mind.

You hear a door open upstairs and some shuffling down the steps soon after, and a sleepy Sarah emerges.

She rubs her eyes as she gives you a small smile, making her way to the barstool that’s on the other side of the counter from you.

“You’re up early,” you muse.

“Couldn’t stay asleep,” she says, and she looks at the oven as she sees cookies baking. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you couldn’t sleep at all.”

“You’ve got that right,” you huff a laugh, taking another sip of your coffee.

“I don’t want him to go.”

Her blunt confession takes you aback, but it gives you a bit of comfort knowing you and her are in the same boat.

“I know, sweetheart.” You reach your hand out to cup hers, running your thumb back and forth over her knuckles.

“I know he’s doing this for good. I just… I don't want to see him hurt again.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s a catch twenty-two.”

She sighs, and you round the counter to bring her into a hug.

“I know it’s not much of a distraction, but how about we go get a pedicure later on? Just to relax a little.”

She nods against you before leaning back to meet your gaze. “I’d love that.”

“Great. In the meantime, are you hungry? I can make you some waffles.”

“Thank you, but I’m not super hungry right now…” she pauses, eyeing the oven. “I’d love one of your cookies, though.”

You laugh and nod, your phone timer going off at the perfect moment. You take all three sheets out of the oven and set them down on racks, letting them cool down. You serve her one before starting to clean up, and that’s when you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps make their way downstairs.

“Morning cowboy,” you tease, pouring his cup of coffee as he stares at you two in confusion.

“Mornin’…you’re both up early.” He makes his way to Sarah and kisses her hair before moving to you, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. You hand him his cup of coffee and he wraps his arm around you and gives you a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a sip.

“What time do you and Uncle Tommy need to be at the station?” Sarah asks, biting into her cookie.

Joel’s eyes glance at the clock on the stove. “Around nine.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Joel looks back and forth between you both.

“Y’all still haven’t told me why you’re both up so early.” He raises an eyebrow, looking to you for an answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug.

“At all?”

“No. I laid there for a couple of hours before I got up to make you and Tommy some lunch and a few batches of cookies for the crew while you’re on the road.”

Joel’s eyebrows tug together. He sets his cup of coffee down, circling his arms around your waist. He holds his arm out, silently coaxing Sarah to join in. She hops down from the stool and hugs you both, and you nuzzle into them both. You all stand there for a good minute before Joel is giving you both a squeeze and kisses your heads.

It’s like the sense of dread and anxiety hung in the air, and he clocked in almost immediately.

Not much gets past him—you’ll give him that.

“I love you both very much. I’ll be alright,” he says. “I promise to check in every day when I can, okay?”

His comforting embrace and reassuring words warm your heart.

You all untangle yourselves from the embrace, and you give him a soft smile.

“We love you too, Joel. We just worry for your safety.”

“I know baby, I know. Believe me when I say there’s nothin’ I’d rather do than stay at home with you both, but this is an all hands on deck situation.”

“We’d never ask you to stay, dad. We know this is part of your job and it’s important that you’re there,” Sarah says, pausing as a tremble overtakes her bottom lip. She wraps her arms around him, voice broken and soft when she speaks next. “Just be careful, okay?”

You can see a flash of emotion in Joel’s eyes as he hugs her back, leaning his cheek on top of her head.

“I will, babygirl. I swear to you.”

You’re standing in a small group in the fire station, getting ready to send Joel and Tommy off with the rest of their crew. You’re having a conversation with them two, Maria and Sarah when one of their coworkers—Mark, you think—walks up to you, holding up the bag of cookies.

“I just have to say thank you for these. They’re the firehouse favorite.”

You grin and shrug. “Not a problem. Just a small thank you for everything you guys do.”

He smiles at you and looks at Joel. “She’s a keeper, Miller.”

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and kisses your temple. “I know. I’m a lucky, lucky man.”

“Alright, it’s time to head out,” their Captain calls.

You sigh and turn toward Joel. You offer him a small smile as your heart clenches with anxiety, but your expression never wavers.

Sarah gives Joel a tight hug, expression still a bit sullen. You can tell she’s trying her best to hide it, but it slips through and it’s a look you recognize all too well. You give her shoulders a squeeze of reassurance

He has that look in his eyes. The one where it’s filled with worry, with anxiousness. The same look that’s probably in yours, too.

You want to lighten the mood, so you tug him flush against your body by pulling the leather strap of his radio holster that sits across his chest. He laughs as his hands land on your waist, and you push your lips to his.

You separate from him after a few seconds, smiling softly against his lips before you pull apart just enough to see those beautiful, worried brown eyes.

“Be careful out there, cowboy. I love you.”

He squeezes your hips. “I will, baby. I love you too.”

He leans down to give you one more peck on the lips before he moves to say goodbye to Maria. You do the same to Tommy, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a soft little peck on the cheek.

“Take care of each other, yeah? Life’s a lot more fun when you’re both here with us, unharmed.” You look between Joel and Tommy with a sternness they’ve never seen before.

Tommy’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, his dimple showing up along with a flash of white teeth.

“You got it, boss.”

He salutes you, and you sidle up beside Sarah and Maria as you wave them both goodbye. They climb into the same truck, and they’re on their way to San Angelo.

Two weeks have passed, and Joel still isn’t home. He keeps his promise on checking in every day when he can, sometimes shorter conversations than others, but you’re grateful nonetheless.

Today, your siblings all agreed that a lunch was much needed between you four so you could all catch up. It was the perfect distraction, and with Sarah at school and Maria at work, you agree immediately. It’s so odd being in an empty house when you’re not on the clock, and since you’d finished with your clients early, you had the rest of the day to yourself.

You meet up with them at a local diner, slipping into the booth next to Emily. She has a small belly now, and you lean down to air kiss it before greeting her, Andy and Cole.

“I’m so glad we got to do this,” Emily says, and you all nod in agreement.

“I know. It’s been awhile since I’ve harassed you guys,” Andy jokes. You roll your eyes and throw your crumbled up straw wrapper at him.

“So how goes it?” Cole asks, leaning back in the booth. The young waitress stops by your table to take your orders before collecting the menus, and Emily starts.

“Things have been great, actually. Baby boy is healthy and Josh got promoted at work.” She runs a hand over her belly, and your eyes light up.

“I’m so happy for you, Emi. How does Josh like the promotion?”

“It’s great, really. He gets more time off now, especially to come with me to my appointments, and he got a pretty significant increase in his salary.”

“That’s so good. I still can’t believe you’re having a kid. My nephew is gonna be a little stud with the coolest uncles,” Andy says.

“What am I, chopped liver?” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“You’re only semi-cool. You’re with a cool guy, though, so I guess that raises your points.”

“God, you men are so fucking weird with your logic sometimes.”

“Yeah yeah,” Andy waves your words away, before his expression gets a bit more serious. “How is he though? How’s Tommy?”

“They’re okay. They’re exhausted, though. The fire had spread rapidly because of the winds, and they’re still in the process of containment, but I think it’s almost at one hundred percent.”

“Fuck. I can’t even imagine. We had a pretty dry winter too, which probably didn’t help much,” Cole says. You shake your head and gnaw on your lip, deciding to change the subject for your own sanity. Emily senses it, because your sister knows you like the back of her hand, and she finds your hand folded in your lap and gives it a reassuring squeeze. You squeeze right back.

“So what’s been going on with you two? Anything new?” You look between your brothers, and the waitress drops off your food before they can say anything.

Cole’s eyes avert to the basket of fries in front of him, and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him carefully. He finally opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut when Andy starts to talk.

“Not much. Work is good. Can’t complain.” Andy shrugs his shoulders and takes a bite of his burger, and you nod before looking back to Cole. You nudge his foot under the table and his gaze snaps up to yours, and you give him an encouraging smile.

“That’s good, Andy,” Emily says.

“I, uh, I met someone,” Cole starts. Everyone’s eyes shift to him, and he sports a small smile. “It’s still pretty new, though, so that’s why I haven’t mentioned it before.”

“Hell yeah, brother. Happy for you,” Andy claps Cole’s shoulder and he smiles.

“Where did you meet?” You ask, popping a fry into your mouth.

“Met her at the bar we went to a few months back. Finally bucked up and asked her on a date a couple of weeks ago, and it’s been going good ever since.”

Although Cole seems to exude confidence, you know he’s more on the shy side when it comes to romance. You and him have always been the shy kids, while Andrew and Emily were outgoing and bubbly. When Emily first told you to put yourself out there with Joel, the shy shell of a woman you used to be went into fight or flight mode—but she ultimately ended up being right.

You can hear it now: That’s what big sisters are for.

You’re grateful you and your siblings are all close in age. Although you’ve all fought over stupid, miniscule things that seemed like the whole world when you were younger, you all ended up being very close, which is something you’ll never take for granted.

“That’s great, Cole. I hope we can meet her when you’re comfortable enough to bring her around our crazy family,” Emily laughs, and you all chime in and chuckle along.

“I think Josh and Joel can attest to that,” you say. “I told him he could’ve run for the hills before Emi’s wedding, but that man stuck by my side and told me he wanted to meet all of you.”

“Now that—” Cole swallows his bite of food, “—Is a real man.”

“And look at how happy he’s made you. I love seeing you together, especially after everything you’ve been through,” Emily says.

Andy’s face turns sour, frowning at the vague mention of your ex. “If I ever see him in person again I won’t hesitate to deck him in the face.”

You didn’t have to question who he was. You already knew. “Get in line, Andy. Joel has first dibs.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up in amusement before he reaches out to you, palm upward, making a ‘give me’ motion with his fingers.

“Give me my ticket.”

You laugh and push his hand away, and lighter conversation ensues the rest of lunch.

The waitress drops the check off at the table, and you mumble that you’ll Zelle whoever pays as the other three fight over the check. Your phone rings and you pull it out of your pocket to see who it is.

Your eyebrows furrow as you see your attorney’s name across the screen of your phone. You slide the answer button over and cover your other ear so you can hear him better.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Long time no talk. I have some good news,” he says.

“Hey, yeah, how are you? What’s the news?”

“I’m good, but even better now—apparently whoever hit you in your accident was some big wig’s kid, and the parents want to pay you out a big amount for your car and, as they said, ‘any emotional damage caused by this accident’.”

“Oh fuck,” you say. You rub your forehead with your thumb and forefinger. “Sorry, sorry. Uh—how much?”

In all honesty, you’d sort of forgotten about your accident because so much has happened in your life since that day. You smile fondly at the memory of Joel kissing you in the back of that ambulance, within only hours of knowing each other at that point.

You had no idea that it would’ve led to this. A good life with an even greater man.

“They sent out a check to your house, but I think it’s in the hundred thousands range.”

Your eyes bug out of your head and your jaw drops.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Your siblings all look at you in confusion, but you still can’t wipe the look of shock off of your face.

Your attorney laughs at your initial reaction, but you’re still in utter disbelief.

You can’t even fathom that kind of money, but you’re sure your attorney is used to those kinds of numbers.

“Yeah, so keep a lookout for a check in the mail,” he says.

“Um, yeah, will do. Thanks for giving me a call.”

“Of course. I’ll touch base with you if anything else comes up.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and you meet your siblings’ gazes.

And, with a small smile, you pluck the bill from Andy’s hands. “Actually, lunch is on me today.”

You almost fall over when you open the envelope with your check in it.

Half a million dollars. You don’t know who the hell this kid’s parents are, but writing a check for five hundred thousand is fucking insane.

You stare at the numbers in disbelief as you sit at the edge of the bed, sun casting its brilliant golden glow across the paper in your hands. The paper that reads half a million fucking dollars. It’s like a jackpot lighting up in Vegas or something.

You don’t know how long you stare, but if you did any longer, your eyes would burn holes in the paper. You slide the check back in the envelope and put it in your underwear drawer underneath your sports bras, because you honestly just can’t believe that it’s real.

And later that night, when Joel FaceTimes everyone to say hi and check in, you don’t say a word about it.

It’s not that you want to keep it from him, but you have an idea of what you’d like to do with a portion of the money, and you’d rather keep that idea a surprise for the time being.

You trudge upstairs once more after Maria and Sarah say goodnight to Joel and Tommy, but Joel tells you to stay on the phone. He watches you do your night routine before you slip into an old oversized Texas A&M sweatshirt of his, sliding into bed.

“I miss my woman somethin’ awful,” his deep voice rings through the phone. You look at the screen and sigh, a small smile settling onto your lips. He looks so exhausted, and all you want is for him to be safe at home again. By your side in bed.

“I miss you too, handsome. How’s it looking out there?”

He groans as he settles onto a bed himself folding an arm to lay his hand behind his head.

“‘S kickin’ our asses. Embers from the original fire sparked a new one. It’s smaller, but these winds ain’t helping a damn thing.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you say, gnawing on your lip as your eyebrows furrow in worry. “I feel awful that I can’t do anything to help.”

“There is one thing,” he says. You recognize the tone in his voice—want.

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Miller?”

“You wearin’ my old sweatshirt?” He asks.

You purse your lips and nod, watching how his expression turns lustful and determined in the confines of his temporary bedroom.

“Wearing it ‘cus it smells like you,” you confess.

A groan rips from his throat and scrapes low in your belly, and your eyes flutter shut as you feel slick already beginning to pool from the heat between your legs.

“Are we really gonna do this?” You huff a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I was a touch-starved man before I met you, baby. Then you go n’ spoil me with your pretty hands that can’t seem to keep to themselves.”

“You could always tell me to stop, you know,” you purr. There’s some shuffling on the other end, and you see his heavy lidded eyes gaze at you.

“I’d be insane to do so, darlin’.”

“Would you?”

He moans softly, and you realize he’s probably rubbing himself up. God, you wish that was your hand.

“Mhm. Love when your hands are all over me, especially wrapped around my dick.”

You can’t help but giggle, and a ghost of a smile curls at the corner of his lips.

“Love that sound, too,” he adds.

“You know what I love?” Your voice is teetering on the edge of a seductive whisper.

“Hm?”

“I love when my big, strong hunk of a man makes me feel so loved and protected. Allows me to delve into my femininity. Uses his strong hands and thick fingers to make me see stars.”

You realize you’re probably babbling at this point, but your words seem to do the job just fine. Joel’s eyebrows pinch together and that all-too familiar muscle in his jaw ticks wildly.

“Turn the camera around, Joel. Show me.”

He doesn’t hesitate to flip the camera around to face the impressive outline of his cock in the gray sweats he’s wearing. Your thighs clench together at the sight, imagining what it’d be like to grind on him until he came undone. Hear his moans and strings of curses as he reaches his peak.

“Fuck, honey,” you whine.

“This is what you do t’me, baby.”

His voice almost sounds pained, but you know it’s because he’s held in so much tension the past couple of weeks with no way to release it. You’d do anything to distract his mind from the exhaustion he feels and fires at hand, even if it’s for a brief few moments.

You decide to be a little raunchy, because fuck, you’re already in this position, and you want to be a good distraction—again—even if it’s brief.

You make a show of yourself sliding your fingers down the valley of your breasts and down your stomach, wasting no time to reach your desired destination. You swipe your middle and ring finger through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before you bring your fingers up to show the camera—to show Joel—how much he turns you on.

You separate your fingers, and a string of your slick connects between the two.

“This is what you do to me.”

Joel all but growls at the sight, slipping his hand into his sweatpants to grab his aching cock. You can just imagine how warm and heavy it feels in his big palm, and you sigh at the thought.

“Fuck, baby. Be a good girl n’ touch yourself for me.”

He’s breathless, but the sound sends shockwaves through your body as more slick gushes eagerly from your aching, needy center.

You slip your two fingers in your mouth, humming around them as you taste the tangy-sweet flavor of yourself.

“Shit,” he says, a moan scraping from his throat. You grin like the Cheshire Cat before slipping your fingers down again, alternating between rubbing your clit slowly and dipping your fingertips into your cunt.

You flip the camera around to show him, and it sounds like he nearly whines from the sight. You suck in a breath as you stop teasing yourself, slipping the two fingers fully into yourself. You pump them languidly, and hearing Joel’s ragged breath and gasps on the other end of the line has you writhing.

“You don’t know how bad I wish these were your fingers and not mine,” you gasp out, grinding your hips up into your palm.

“Oh don’t worry baby,” he pants, “‘M gonna give you everythin’ you need n’ more when I come back.”

“That a promise?”

“Mmm—mhm.”

He matches the stroke of his cock with the pump of your fingers then.

“Can’t wait to be buried in that pretty little pussy. Take me so well. Fuckin’ made for me, baby. So fuckin’ tight n’ warm. ‘S like a dream,” he babbles, and you have to bite down on the collar of the sweatshirt to keep a moan ripping from your throat.

”Need your mouth all over me too, Joel,” you cry, “Love it when you let me cum by your tongue.”

“Yeah? Next time I’ll have you usin’ my face as a fuckin’ seat. Hold you down so you have no choice but to cum in my mouth over n’ over again.”

“Oh, god.”

“You like that, huh? The thought of fuckin’ my face to get you off?”

The words die on your tongue as you try to speak, but the pleasure that was once a low burn in your belly is now its own full-fledged sun. It’s so white hot and you’re on the edge, gripping the phone in your hand for dear life.

“Answer me,” he growls.

“Fuck, yes! Yes yes yes,” you whisper-cry, and you’re unraveling before him on camera. You soak your hand and undoubtedly the sheets beneath you, but that’s a tomorrow problem. Your body convulses a few times and you moan as you see the white spurts of cum land on his stomach. He moans your name like a prayer on Sunday, and it makes you shiver with seemingly untamable arousal.

He breathes heavily before grabbing a tissue to clean himself up, tucking himself back into his sweats before he flips the camera back around to his face.

His cheeks and neck are flushed, and you can see the sweat on his forehead as he tries to steady out his breathing. You stretch and roll over on your side, laying your head on his pillow to inhale his scent.

“I love you, my honeybee.”

You smile at the nickname and yawn, stretching your limbs one more time before curling in on yourself.

“I love you too, cowboy. I can’t wait ‘til you’re next to me in bed again.”

“I can’t wait either, darlin’. I hope this is all over with soon n’ I can love on you the way you deserve.”

You grin sleepily at his words, post-coital drowsiness wrapping around your body like a weighted blanket.

“Stay safe out there.”

“I will. I promise.”

And you’re fast asleep soon after you hang up. You dream blissfully of life with Joel in the fields by the ranch, of your future with him, of the memories you’ve yet to create.

You dream of Joel happy and safe, not an ounce of the beautiful man troubled.

But this is real life. This isn’t a fantasy where you can wish good things for people and it just magically happens at the snap of a finger, a rub of a lamp.

His resolve was slowly crumbling. The weight of the world was sitting steady on his shoulders, breaking him down piece by piece.

Each broken fragment of him, scattered and fragile, lay in your hands—

and this time, it was up to you to put him back together.

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#fic: a burning desire #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #firefighter!au #firefighter!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel fic #joel x reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller series

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shinningdance · 23 hours ago

Text

Made with love

this is a part two of this :)) but it can be without part one!!

roommate au, my beloved ♡♡♡

warnings: none, pure fluff

The door slams behind you, locking with a small 'click'. The jacket you were wearing only a minute before is now laying on the floor, along with your shoes.

It was just so unfair. The Competition on who gets 2 days paid time off was supposed to be an easy win. You made the best Steak with mashed potatoes on the side, followed by the most delicious apple pie. Your co-workers were also not best cooks, making your win even easier. Yet you still lost, only because your boss was rating the foods and he had to choose his son, who cannot cook to safe his life. Who even pairs instant noodles with Asparagus?! But apparently his food was so delicious he won the competition with ease. And that jerk had the nerve to say to you he was 'just better than average". As if you're average, you're well above that, according to your four roommates who devoured your food.

Speaking of your roommates, one of them stares at you while you storm to your room, ignoring his confused questions. Normally you wouldn't ignore him, any of them really, but you would never ever ignore Kyle, he's always the first one to help you out with anything you might need. Need someone to proofread an e-mail? You go to Kyle. Need someone to talk to? Kyle it is. Need someone? Kyle.

You enter your room and, just like with the front door, slam your door shut. Turning the key to the right, you look it. Not that any of the guys would enter without knocking and waiting for you to say it's alright to enter. You sink down to the floor, clutching your bag to your chest. It's a bit silly to cry over something so silly, it's not like it was a promotion, it was just a silly work Competition. Unfair but still small.

Maybe what set you off were all those small things that happened. Spilling your coffee over yourself right before a big meeting, getting ignored through the entire said meeting, working through lunch - meaning going hungry, and last but not least, that stupid cooking thing.

With a heavy sigh you lift yourself up from the ground and head right towards your bed. You don't bother changing your clothes, just slipping right under the covers and closing your eyes. Maybe sleep will cheer you up for a bit.

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While you were sleeping Kyle went through every conversation he had with you in the last 24 hours, trying to figure out what he did for you to ignore him.

He couldn't figure it out. He always said good morning and good night, he left you your favorite food in the fridge after you got home from work and he saved you from a spider. He looked just like a kicked puppy sitting on the couch, a random show playing in the background.

He had to be sitting there for quit some time because the other three man had been starring at him since they got back home. 5 minutes of starring at Kyle until he finally acknowledged them.

"Did any of you piss off our bird?" he questions the three man locking at him, all of them re-stocking the kitchen after their grocery trip.

"Not that i can remember, last time i saw her, she was smiling like she had no care in the world." John answers quickly, making sure no one can blame him.

"Not me either" Simon replies, giving no explanation.

Three pair of eyes land on a specific Scot, who's currently showing the last remains of your pie down his throat.

He looks up, eyes turning wide as e speaks with a full mouth. "what? i dinnae do anythin'!" He claims as he swallows the pie.

"Are you sure? Like..100%?" Kyle asks while looking towards your bedroom door.

"ay! 100% swear on ma mama" Johnny nods, hoping they'll belive it.

"Then what did piss her off?" John asks, rubbing his forehead in confusion.

"no idea...wasn't today her cooking thing at work?" Kyle questions, looking at the three men again.

"it was." Simon confirms, nodding along. "But there's no way she didn't win." He grunts, placing the milk in the fridge.

"If she did win, she wouldn't react like this." John mumbles, trying to figure out what happend.

The four of them continue to try and solve this puzzle, to no success.

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You woke duo a loud crash, most likely metal falling to the floor. You groan and grab your pillow, putting it over your head. How long did you sleep? It could be 5 minutes or 5 hours, who knows.

A soft knock on your door destroys your plan of getting more sleep. You groan once more, making sure whoever is outside knows your pissed.

"What?" You question, voice muffled by the pillow.

"It's just me, dove." John calls back, voice soft like always.

"What?" You repeat, not wanting to have a conversation right now.

"...Please come out, we prepared something for you." John sighs, most likely pressing his forehead against the door like he always dose when trying to get someone to open up.

They prepared something?

you sigh and very slowly crawl out of bed to unlock your door.

John almost laughs as he sees your state, still in work clothes but very messy, even your hair is a mess.

"Don't even start." You warn him.

John raises his hands in mock surrender, smile on his lips. "Why don't you get changed, something comfy."

Another sigh leaves your lips as you close the door, right in his face.

You change into your pj's, the most comfy thing you own. You open the door again and John is still standing there. With a hand on your back he leads you to a battlefield, or that's just what it looks like. In reality it's just the kitchen in a very messy state. The smell of food fills the air and Kyle appears, a almost shy smile on his face.

"Listen, we really tried to make you food, we really did, but..we kind of failed." He laughs and takes your hand, guiding you towards the couch.

Lots of blankets and pillows, popcorn in a huge bowl and Johnny and Simon already in their seats.

"So we got Pizza, your favorite." He smiles and brings you to johnny, making you sit between him and Simon.

Johnny is immediately clinging to your side, chin on your shoulder as he smiles up at you. "You dinnae have to say why you're upset, you just have to relax an' enjoy the food we got you."

You simply nod, touched by their actions. Almost on cue your stomach starts growling, reminding you that you skipped lunch.

"Got thing we got this then." John smiles and places the carton of Pizza on your lap.

"thanks.." You mumble and pick up one piece, enjoying every second.

After a short bit of silence conversations started flowing like usually. Everyone was eating pizza while watching a movie of your choice, throwing in a comment every now and then.

"I lost the cooking thing at work." You mumble, quietly but loud and enough for them to hear.

It was funny watching Johnnys face, the pure shock on his face.

"You? Wha-?" His mouth opens and closes like a fish.

"How is that even possible?" Kyle questions, showing a bit of popcorn into his mouth.

"The winner was the bosses son." You shrug, watching all of them connect the dots.

"Well you definitely won our votes." Simon confirms, watching the way your eyes light up.

"So you would't mind having to be lab rats for my next time cooking?" You smile and this time watch as all their eyes light up.

"Not at all, it would be an honor." John confirms.

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a/n: not proof read!! Like always i gave up towards the end :))

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #poly!141 #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #john price #johnny soap mactavish #poly 141 #long live rommate au

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thanosscross · 13 hours ago

Text

Found - Dad! Choi Seung Hyun/T.O.P & Idol! Teen! Reader

Summary: Growing up you always had one best friend, your mom, especially after your dad had left you before you were born. So what happens whenever a new career path ends your life-long search for your Appa?

Warnings: None that I can really think of, but if I miss one please let me know lovelies!

Translations:

Ttal-a : Daughter. An informal way for a parent to address their daughter.

You grew up being your mom's best friend, after your father had left her before you were born, it only left the two of you to take care of each other. You were an amazing daughter in your mother's eyes, always doing more than what was asked of you, even if it meant giving up something you wanted or needed.

Even through all of it, you were still weighed down by a question you had for so long, you couldn't remember a time where you didn't have it. It was basically what formed you into the determined person you are today, Who was the man who helped make you? What did he contribute in making you? Did you have his eyes? Or maybe the facial structure you had never been able to match to any of your other relatives on your mother's side. You had so many questions, that you'd always be grounded for asking, so you devoted your free time in trying to find that man, determined to find out everything about your father's family, I mean, they were your family too, right?

Your search would become severely delayed whenever you confidently signed on to an Agency to become a new idol, hoping that it'd come out at least a little successful. It wasn't a secret you came from a rougher side of the city, a small home, with broken floorboards, barely livable, but you did what you could to make it safe for your mother, especially with her worsening health. You'd spend days at a time, training at the agency, if you weren't in training, you were recording and rehearsing for your debut album, and if you weren't doing that? You'd be in meetings with different staff members, if not that? You were doing whatever you could for your mom.

As you'd start to grow in fame, your fans would take notice to certain similarities between you and another Idol, you'd be honored by their theories, with your style of music really ranging, it mainly had one common variant in each song, your ability to rap, being able to rap over 10.13 Syllables per second. The way they'd constantly swear T.O.P from BigBang was a long lost brother, or father, would always charm you, you'd look up to the rapper, especially with him basically setting the bar for any and all K-pop rappers, it was an extreme compliment for you to be compared to him.

You'd never meet T.O.P until your manager would pull him into your first stage rehearsal, it'd be three weeks before you first show, so everybody on your team was stressed, especially whenever you and your chorographer couldn't figure out what you'd do while rapping one of your verses. With rapping, it took a lot of air out of you, especially trying to keep your pitch and keep up with the backtracks, so you couldn't move much, if you'd jump around, run, or dance, you'd surely run out of air before the verse ended, but you also couldn't just stand there. "Y/n! Our little Aein! This is T.O.P, I'm sure you know of him, he's going to help your little problem" YG would cheer, introducing you both before disappearing again into the hall, most likely going to check on other idols and trainees. "Hello, you can just call me Seung Hyun, it's a pleasure to meet you, I've heard you in the studio before, you're rapping is crazy" He smiled, laughing a bit as you both bowed in sync with each other "Nice to meet you! I'm y/n, but you know that" You smiled softly before backing up slightly as your choreographer took over the conversation, as you watched the two converse, you couldn't brush off the feeling of familiarity towards the man, but you couldn't quite place it.

You'd end up spending almost three more hours working on the rest of your choreography, finally calling it quits whenever Seung Hyun spotted you asleep against the wall. He was impressed, for such a young teenager, you were determined to make waves in the industry, yes you were only 17, but you were ready, your kindness and professionalism winning over YG and the others, almost immediately.

You'd barely remember getting home, as you woke up in your own bed, glancing around before you made your way out to the kitchen hearing your mother talking with somebody over the phone. As she finished her phone call, you tiredly sat at the counter, resting your head on your hands as you yawned. "That was your manager, he said you're doing well with your fans" She smiled towards you, handing over a plate of breakfast as she sat next to you "I know! They're so amazing, and they keep coming up with these awesome theories about who my dad might be" You smiled, not noticing her disgusted look, you never understood why she wouldn't ever talk about your father, other than to bash him, and to remind you that he left you, and she stayed. "Some people think it's rapper, T.o.p?" You added on, smiling softly as she looked at you confused "Who would ever name their child, T.o.p?" She asked, her tone dripping in annoyance and disgust "Well, that's his stage name, his real name is Choi Seung Hyun" You replied, jumping slightly as her hand slammed against the counter "That name will not be spoken in my home!" She screamed, you quickly stood up, going to apologize, only to have interrupted by her pointing to the door aggressively. Getting her message, you walked out of the front door, confused, standing there for a moment before pulling out your phone.

You weren't sure who to call, it was still pretty early, but you needed a ride to YG's agency building, walking that far would be damn near impossible to do, especially with you needing to be there, in about 32 minutes. As you held your phone to your ear, you sat on the curb anxiously picking at your socks, only now realizing, you were still in nightclothes and no shoes, but if your Umma wanted you out, who were you to argue? It'd be disrespectful as a daughter if you did. "Hello?" You heard a deep sleepy voice call through the phone, you were hesitant to speak at first, only whenever you realized he might fall back asleep, you spoke "Hey..Um..It's Y/n, are you free?" You asked nervously, hearing the older male sigh, you started to regret calling him, why not call YG? He might've been able to help. "Y-Yea yea, what's..what's going on?" Seung Hyun tiredly asked as he rolled out of the bed, running a hand over his face as he tried to wake himself up more "So...I think my mom might hate you.." You whispered, leaning your head down to rest on your knees "I brought you up..and she kicked me out..I don't know how long for- and! I'm not asking for a place to stay, I-I just..need a ride" You rambled, your anxiety starting to build whenever you heard nothing in reply, it took a moment for Seung Hyun to wrack his brain; maybe that's why your last name sounded so familiar. "Who's your mom?" He asked as he started to get dressed, not planning on leaving you to walk to the agency building. "Y/m/n l/n" You replied, pulling your nightshirt tighter around you as the morning rush started to pick up more, you could hear Seung Hyun's small huff through the phone "I'll be there in about...ten?" He replied, not really replying to your answer before the phone call was cut off. Why were both him and your mom acting so strange? Did they have something going on together?...was he..?

It would be six weeks of you both getting to know each other and picking up on each other's similar habits between you both, there was just something so familiar about each other, but neither of you could place it. Seung Hyun felt a connection towards you, always wanting to make sure you were on the right track, you had everything you needed, and you were protected; You felt almost the same, you just felt calm and safe whenever you were with Seung Hyun, it wasn't that you didn't normally feel safe, but you knew if you needed anything, even if it was a pretty rough situation, you could always call him for help. Your new friendship only fueled fan rumors that Seung Hyun was your father even more, especially with how you interacted during the family concerts, your manager would hold after your debut.

After a while though, Seung Hyun took notice to the fact, you'd never really do what you wanted, he never saw you doing any hobbies, or anything really other than work and favors for others. So, one night he'd find you in the recording studio, sitting at the table as you scrolled on your laptop, groaning loudly whenever you hit another dead end. You were getting so close to giving up, starting to believe maybe your dad just wasn't there out, or at least, wanted nothing to do with you. "Hey...What's going on? Need help?" He offered quickly, taking in your pissed off state, you reminded him of your mother, he'd still be oblivious to the fact he was the person you were looking for, instead, only knowing himself as one of your mother's exes. "No, No. I'm um- working" You rambled, scrambling to close your laptop, turning your attention towards him as you sighed "Working, yes, I am also working then- stop lying and tell me what's up" He replied sarcastically before his tone turned serious as he sat down next to you. "Fine, but you can't..tell anybody" You huffed, opening your computer back up to show him everything you had found out so far from your grandmother and aunt about your dad "I just..want to find him, and I know it probably sounds weird and creepy, but I just-" Seung Hyun cut your rambling off by coughing slightly "It's not either of those things, you're just a kid who misses a parent" He replied, scooting closer to read over what was presented on the screen. Seung Hyun had to hide his nervousness as he read further down the list, as he got to the end, he started to do the math in his head, feeling his heart drop slightly whenever he started to get a feeling maybe your mother wasn't entirely truthful about their break-up.

Seung Hyun did his best to stay calm for the rest of the night, not wanting to give you any false hopes, especially with the way you were speaking of your hopes of one day finding him. The next morning though? He was already out of his home as soon as the sun came up, making his way towards your old residence, you now happily living in one of the dorms at the agency building. Whenever your mother ended things with him, she had told this elaborate story about how she was too old to chase around a K-pop idol, being almost five years younger than her, he believed it, not really thinking much of it. As he knocked on your mother's front door though, he started to heavily question her story, which caused frustration to start growing inside of his body. "Hell- No! Get out of here!" Your mother shouted loudly, glaring daggers at Seung Hyun as she huffed, not wanting to accept the fact her almost 18-year-old lie was finally busted. "Y/m/n. We need to speak about Y/n" He demanded, ignoring your mother's protests as he entered the familiar home, it had severely fallen apart since he had been here last, but everything was still in its original place. "Y/n is my daughter. only mine! You have no right coming into my home! You- You disrespectful-" Seung Hyun was quick to cut your mother off with a harsh glare and a scoff "I don't care if I'm disrespecting you! Unless you were unfaithful while we were together- you know as much as I do, That poor kid has grown up without a dad, because of you" He snapped, standing in his spot next to the door as your mother stepped closer, poking his chest as she stood on her tip toes to get in his face "No! Because you weren't capable of being a father! It's your fault! You were young and immature!" She shouted back, hatred dripping from her tone as Seung Hyun took a step back, laughing sarcastically "How could you possibly know, if you never let me know you were having my kid!" He shouted back, freezing whenever he heard the door next to him open "U-Umma?" You whispered, standing in shock as you stared at the both of them, was he serious? You could tell by their shocked and scared facial expressions; you had finally found out the truth. "Y/n.." Seung Hyun started before you took off back out of the door, needing a moment to wrap your head around the information overload you had just received. "Just let her go, she needs time" Your mother huffed, glaring towards your dad one final time "Get. the fuck. out" She snapped, glaring at her in return, Seung Hyun quickly rushed out, calling your name as he tried to spot what way you went.

You'd be walking down the street whenever Seung Hyun would find you, again, your face bright red from the cold wind, and your cheeks stained with tears. Why was your mom acting so hateful lately? Why did they both hide who your father was? Did Seung Hyun know the entire time? What was Seung Hyun saying about not knowing? You were pulled out of your thoughts by a car door shutting, and quick footsteps behind you. "Y/n! Y/n! Would you just stop for a moment!" Seung Hyun demanded, you quickly halted in your spot, slowly turning around to face him "I-I really don't want to talk to you or my mom right now, I'm sorry" You replied softly, feeling bad for saying it, but you just continued on your trail, only stopping whenever your father grabbed your wrist gently "At least get in the car, and get a ride to, I assume, work" Seung Hyun pleaded, he felt terrible for what you were going through, absolutely terrible, but he was also in a whirlwind himself, he was a dad? He had been a dad for the last 17 years? Does that make him a bad one, for not being there?

You'd sit in silence the entire ride, only speaking again whenever Ji-Yong slowly made his way into your recording studio, a place you found yourself being in a lot. "Hey..kiddo" He whispered awkwardly, not really knowing how to start the conversation, you just sighed, turning in your chair to face him. "Seung Hyun told you?" You asked, pulling your knees to your chest as you watched him take a seat on the sofa in front of you. "He told me his feelings. How he feels terrible, that he wasn't there for you, but I don't think it's his fault" Ji-Yong stated, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he waited for a response. "I don't..know..How can you just not know you have a whole child?" You asked, you still weren't sure how to process your situation, you just felt hurt and confused at the moment. Ji-Yong nodded at your words, taking a moment before leaning back against the sofa "I know it's hard to hear, but he really had no idea, kiddo. I know my hyung, we've been best friends for..well forever, and I know if he did know about having a daughter, he would've done everything for you." He explained, getting choked up by his own words as he remembered how hurt and upset Seung Hyun looked whenever he busted into their shared dorm. "I just don't understand why my mom hid it from me, and even then..who says he wants to be my dad? I'm almost an adult now, a-and I mean, I'm not exactly the best crayon in the box, so why would he?" You rambled, hugging your knees tighter around you, as you felt tears building in your eyes; You had always imagined how it would be, if you finally met your father, but now you were just scared. What if he didn't want or like you as a daughter? What if all of those interactions between you both were just pity? Or something he had to do for work?

"Y/n. I couldn't tell you why your mother hid that from you, I'm sorry..but I can't, kiddo..What I can tell you, is that you are amazing, you're not even an adult yet and how many times have your songs been on the top five? But I think the rest of this conversation, should be with you and your father, I can only tell you so much about how he truly feels, he can tell you better than I can" He whispered, nodding towards the door, you took a deep breath before standing up "I-Is he mad at me?..for not talking to him?" You whispered, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands nervously, Ji-Yong just shook his head smiling, noticing how much you reminded him of your father.

You slowly entered the BigBang dorm, and into the bedroom, your eyes quickly meeting your father's as you froze, taking in how utterly broken he looked. His hair was a mess, eyes bloodshot from tears, along with his cheeks being tear-stained. "I-I'm so sorry" He started, you just quietly walked over, hugging him tightly, trying your best to hold back your tears as you felt him sob against your shoulder. "I don't blame you..and I'm not that mad at you..but I know you figured it out the other night" You whispered, trying your best to get him to stop crying, you hated it, you hated anybody crying, your biggest goal in life was trying to make others smile, so crying was the exact opposite of what you wanted. "You didn't have a father" He whispered, hugging you tightly, still in disbelief that he had a daughter, an almost adult daughter at that. "I was a pretty good Oppa to myself" You joked, trying yet again to get him to laugh, only proving slightly successful as he stopped crying, not wanting to pull away from the hug yet. "You shouldn't have had to be a father to yourself, or take care of yourself and your mom, I-I should've been there" He whispered, pulling away from your hug for a moment to have you sit next to him at the end of the bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders gently as he hugged you again "You hug a lot, you know that right?" You laughed, trying to lean away from him, only for him to pull you right back into a hug "I have to make up for seventeen years of hugs, and 'I'm proud of you'- Oh my god! Am I proud of you? So much! I have one of the biggest Idols as my kid! I'm going to brag about that to everybody!" He rambled, causing you to smile softly, your mom had hated the fact you were an Idol, yes, she loved the benefits that came with being an Idol, but she hated everything else about it, so hearing someone close to you was proud, made you want to cry now.

You both sat for what felt like hours, just talking about everything he had missed in your early years of childhood. Eventually you both ended up at his home, him insisting you ate a real dinner, instead of the same cheap pack of noodles every night. As you sat at the kitchen island, you watched as he started plating the food "Do you know why...Umma hid who you were? Why'd you leave? Was it me?" You whispered, tilting your head slightly, wanting to know exactly what the two of them were arguing about, whenever you had walked into your mom's house. "Your mom had her reasons..they weren't very fair reasons...but she had them, As for leaving, I did, but I didn't at the same time, your mom ended things, telling me it was about my career, turns out, it was because she didn't want to share such an amazing kid with any other parents" He explained, not wanting to bash your mother, especially not to you, while he despised your mother for what she had done, he wasn't going as low as talking badly about her to her daughter. "You don't have to lie..I heard you guys through the door, partially" You protested, watching him drop his head in shame with a sigh "She didn't think I was capable of raising a kid" He whispered, hating that he was even talking about the topic with you, frustrated you just shook your head, smacking your hands down on the table "That's so stupid! I wasn't even born yet! How would she know!?" You shouted, standing up as you started to pace the kitchen floor, running a hand through your hair before Seung Hyun stopped you by grabbing your hoodie sleeve gently, pulling you back over to the counter "I agree, I agree, but it's time to eat, so get to the table" He laughed, motioning you away as he followed behind with two plates, and his glass of wine.

After dinner, you were laid sprawled out on the living room floor, Seung Hyun sitting a few feet away on his couch "Please don't die in my floor" He laughed after a moment, watching as you turned your head to look at him "I will die wherever I please, but I might just sleep here" You huffed, moving to slowly climb onto the couch, the meal Seung Hyun had made was absolutely amazing, one of the bests you've ever had. "I don't care if you sleep here, I've got a sofa, or a guest bed, or you can take my room, and I'll take the guest bed" He offered, pointing to each door as he spoke, you just laughed shaking your head "I'll take the guest room, it's your house, and you're like..an old man" You joked, laughing softly as he gave you an offended look, standing up to make your way to the guest room, feeling like you'd fall asleep any moment, you stopped to look back at Seung Hyun. "If it means anything...I think you would've been an awesome Appa..I think you're already an awesome Appa" You whispered before offering him a soft smile, your dad had to hold back tears as he smiled at you softly "It means the world, I think you're an awesome Ttal-a, Y/n" He replied, his voice cracking as he resting a hand over his eyes for a moment, trying his best to hide his tears. "I know" You giggled before shutting the door behind you, moving to lay down on the most comfortable bed, you had ever touched.

As you fell asleep, you contemplated how you were going to talk to your Umma again after this, or even what you'd say. You didn't let yourself think too hard though, falling asleep rather quickly as you heard your father's muffled voice from the living room, most likely on the phone with someone. As you fell asleep, you noticed something you hadn't ever felt before, when falling asleep, you felt comfortable, with no worries, knowing the only thing you had to deal with tomorrow was work. Your life-long search was finally over, yes it hadn't happened how your younger self always pictured, but you wouldn't change it, and you definitely wouldn't change who your Appa was, because for once in your life, you were happy with the answers you had gotten.

What do we think lovelies? I am SO SO SO Sorry this took so long to post :( My week has been the craziest I've had yet, plus I had my younger brother over for majority of the week, but behold! My newest fic, with more to come!! My likely my next story will 100% be a wedding fic 0.0 so make sure to keep an eye out for me lovely ;)

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#choi seunghyun #t.o.p x reader #top x reader #t.o.p #t.o.p icons #t.o.p bigbang #dad! choi seung hyun x reader #choi seung hyun x reader #bigbang x reader #bigbang #g dragon bigbang #g dragon bigbang x reader

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latrespada · 14 hours ago

Text

ᯓ ✈︎ apple of his envy

You arrive home late, far past the promised dinner time, only to find Caleb soaking in a warm bath. As you approach, you notice his expression, even in sleep, is etched with a scowl of annoyance. Gently, you bend down to touch his cheek, but before you can, he pulls you into the bath with an unrelenting grip. His arms are tight around you, his voice thick with tension and a hint of desperation, as if he had feared you wouldn’t return, or worse, that you had chosen someone else over him. In the steamy embrace, he reminds you with unspoken intensity where you truly belong—by his side. Even if it means sinking together into a bath swirling with sensual, envious passion.

lads caleb x reader

warnings : semi-jealousy, bath sex, bathtub sex, possessive sex, angst and hurt/comfort

6.5k words

rated : m

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62700367

A/N: This was a bit tricky to write—I wanted to make the positioning clear, but bathtubs are surprisingly complicated! Also, I couldn’t help but notice how much you all enjoyed the dry-humping fic. I’m really happy you liked the last one.

You exit West Garden Station and sprint toward home, your heart pounding with worry and a tinge of fear. Thoughts race through your mind, colliding in a cacophony of guilt and dread. You had promised to be home before dinner, but the day spiraled out of control. You meant to take a short break from your reports, but one thing led to another, and now it’s nearing midnight—four hours past when you were supposed to be home.

The air feels heavy, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance as the clouds above flash shades of purple. A storm is brewing, but it’s nothing compared to the one waiting for you at home. You know Caleb doesn’t mind when life gets in the way of plans, but failing to keep him updated? That’s what sets him off. You push your legs harder, running as though you can somehow outrun his disappointment.

You finally reach your apartment complex, breathless, your chest tightening as you fumble for your keys. Your trembling hands make quick work of unlocking the door, and you step inside, greeted by darkness. The faint aroma of red-braised tofu lingers in the air—a reminder of the dinner you missed. The silence is suffocating as you pull out your phone, using its flashlight to guide your way.

The living room is empty, with not a single light left on. The kitchen has been cleaned, and the only evidence of its earlier use is a faint warmth in the air. You move toward the bedroom, kicking off your boots, socks, hunter’s vest, and belt as you go. It’s eerily untouched, and the bed is still neatly made, save for a few wrinkles, as though someone had briefly sat there before moving on.

The bathroom door creaks slightly as you push it open, and your eyes fall on a shadowy figure reclining in the tub. Your hand searches for the light switch, and when you flick it on, the scene becomes clear. Caleb lies there, his head tilted back, a towel draped over his face. His arms rest along the sides of the tub, and his knees break the surface of the water. He looks like a marble statue, serene yet heavy with unspoken emotions.

“Light… off,” he mumbles, his voice low and flat.

“You want me to turn off the light?” you ask cautiously.

“Off,” he snaps, louder this time.

“Alright, alright,” you say, raising your hands in surrender. Turning off the light and stepping out into the hallway, your heart is still racing. After rummaging in the kitchen, you return with a candle and a lighter. The faint glow casts soft, flickering shadows on the tiled walls as you enter the bathroom again.

Caleb hasn’t moved, still draped in his dead-like pose, but the candlelight softens the edges of his silhouette. “I brought a candle,” you say gently, placing it on the counter. “Just to give you some lighting and mood for your relaxation.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, but you think you catch the faintest twitch of his lips—a subtle acknowledgment of your gesture.

“I’m not relaxed,” Caleb says, his voice low, etched with an almost threatening seriousness.

“Why are you in the bath then?” you ask softly, sitting on the edge of the tub, your concern growing with every second.

“I’m stressed… thought this would help. It’s what you do.”

“Stressed? Why’s that?” you ask, leaning forward to touch his cheek. But before your fingers can graze his skin, Caleb’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist and pulling you into the tub with him.

Water splashes everywhere as you struggle against his hold, your clothes heavy and clinging to your skin. Caleb’s grip is unyielding, his strength pinning you down. Finally, you push yourself free, shoving his shoulders with a force that makes his back hit the porcelain edge. “What the hell, Caleb?” you shout, water dripping from your soaked hair.

Caleb doesn’t react immediately. He sits there, his head tilted back, the towel still covering his face, ignoring your anger.

Grabbing the towel, you hit his face with it. “I said, what the—”

“I know what you said,” Caleb interrupts sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He pulls the towel off his face, his eyes locking onto yours with a raw intensity. “You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if you were coming back. You said you’d be here hours ago.” His voice wavers slightly as he sits up, his hands suddenly gripping your face, forcing your foreheads together. His breath is hot, his touch desperate. “I thought you’d finally left. That you didn’t need me anymore. Or maybe… maybe you found someone else too…” He stops, his words choking in his throat. Instead, he rubs his forehead against yours, the motion rough and unsettling.

“Stop it,” you groan, pushing him away.

He falls back slightly, his hand covering his face as if shielding himself from his own thoughts. “Were you with Zayne?” he asks, his voice quieter but laced with suspicion.

“No,” you answer firmly.

“Your colleague. Did he drag you into his work again? You know he shouldn’t need you for everything.”

“No,” you repeat, your patience wearing thin.

“Were you hired as some overnight bodyguard?”

“Enough,” you snap, your tone cutting through the room like a whip.

“Enough?” Caleb laughs bitterly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Am I not enough?”

You try to stand, to pull yourself out of the tub, but Caleb grabs you again, his hold growing tighter. He drags you back into the water, his desperation palpable.

“Caleb, I’m still freaking dressed!” you exclaim, trying to wrestle free.

“Am I not enough?” he repeats, his voice trembling, his eyes searching yours for answers you can’t give. “Answer me!”

“Caleb…” you groan, prying at his hands, but his grip doesn’t waver.

Then, without warning, he places a hand over your mouth and the other on your back, dipping you into the water. It’s not forceful, not meant to harm—there’s no malice in his actions. Instead, it feels like he’s trying to calm himself, to ground his spiraling emotions. He pulls you back up moments later, your hair slicked back, water streaming down your face as his half-lidded eyes bore into yours.

“I was waiting,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “And while I waited, I thought maybe I could distract myself. Played with myself. But every time I tried to think of you, to feel close to you… my mind kept drifting to the idea that you’d found another home.”

“Caleb, I was stuck at work,” you say softly, your voice trembling with sorrow.

“For that long?” he asks, his tone teetering between hurt and disbelief.

You don’t reply. There’s no excuse you can offer or words that would improve it.

“I thought you’d found someone else to hold,” he continues, his voice barely audible now. “Someone else to need. To cook for you.” He laughs bitterly, the sound hollow. Dropping his head onto your chest, he nuzzles into the exposed skin of your cleavage, his breath warm against your damp skin. “Am I really that replaceable?” he asks, his voice breaking, his vulnerability spilling out like the water around you.

As you press his head against your chest, cradling him, your head resting on his, there’s a quiet understanding in the shared silence. His arms snake around your thighs, shifting your legs to fit snugly against his lap, grounding you both in this moment.

“No, you’re not replaceable,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady. “But even if I tell you that, I know you won’t believe me just like that.” Your fingers stroke his damp hair as you ask, “What can I do to assure you?”

Caleb tilts his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an almost childlike vulnerability. “What’s the most important thing I need from you?” he asks, his tone imploring, as though willing you to understand without him saying it outright.

Your brows knit together as you hesitate. “To own me?” you offer, unsure, the words trembling out of your mouth.

He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head before leaning back, still keeping you anchored on his lap. His hands rest loosely on your hips, but his gaze is intense, flickering between the water and your face. He brushes his wet hair back, the strands sticking to his forehead, his usually sharp features softened by the dull ache in his eyes. You’re transfixed, your fingers instinctively tracing the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the swell of his lips. His mouth is slightly swollen, perhaps from his teeth pressing into it—whether out of frustration, longing, or anxiety, you can’t tell.

Caleb catches your hand, kissing it with surprising tenderness. “To feel you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over your knuckles again. “To know you need me.” His voice is raw, the words carrying an unspoken weight.

He shifts beneath you, his legs spreading wider to adjust your position as he pulls you closer, to him. His hands are firm yet reverent. “Though this feeling isn’t the most important thing to me,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “it’s one I don’t mind… as long as your warmth is on me—and me only.”

You’re hyper-aware of his body beneath yours, the press of his erection evident even through the layers of damp fabric. The friction sends a jolt through you as you instinctively move, attempting to kneel, but your movements falter, slipping against the slick surface of the tub.

“Let me help you,” Caleb says softly, his hands steadying your waist. His fingers find the waistband of your soaked pants. “Stand up for me,” he coaxes, his voice gentle yet commanding.

You rise slowly, your gaze never leaving his as he unbuttons, unzips, and peels the fabric away with deliberate care. The water clings to your skin, droplets cascading down, some splashing onto Caleb’s face as he maintains unwavering eye contact. With a quiet determination, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his touch grazing your thighs. You lift one leg, then the other, stepping out of the discarded clothing, which lands with a wet thud on the bathroom floor.

Caleb’s hands trail up your legs, his fingers barely grazing your most sensitive areas before sliding beneath your blouse. His hands are warm despite the cool air, and they skim over your stomach before finding their way under your bra, cupping your breast with tenderness. His thumb brushes over your skin, igniting goosebumps in its wake.

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with emotion, “let me feel you in ways words can’t express.”

You drop to your knees, water sloshing over the tub’s edge, drenching the tiled floor in rippling streaks. Your fingers tremble as they grip the porcelain rim, your body leaning forward until your forehead rests against Caleb’s. His warm breath fans across your skin, mingling with the steamy heat from the bathwater. His hand lingers over the curve of your breast, his touch equal parts grounding and electrifying. Time seems to stop for a moment, the world outside the bathroom dissolving into the sound of rain tapping insistently against the windowpane.

Your hand wraps around his, gently tugging it free from beneath your soaked blouse and bra, guiding it upward until his calloused palm cradles your cheek. His thumb grazes your bottom lip, tracing it with a tender slowness that belies the tension between you. Your lips part under his touch, and before you can think better of it, he closes the gap, his mouth crashing against yours with unrestrained hunger. The kiss is messy, teeth grazing as his lips claim yours, an edge of desperation bleeding into every movement.

His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling it slightly before his tongue sweeps over the sting, soothing and coaxing. His hands slip to your back, the broad span of his palms pressing you against him, molding your bodies together. Your arms loop around his neck in a frantic embrace, pulling him so close it feels as though you might never let go. The friction of your lower halves grazing, ignites a fire that licks at every nerve ending, an ache building deep and insistent.

Caleb pulls away suddenly, leaving you breathless, his chest heaving as he struggles to regain control. His hands find your hips, pushing you back until your spine meets the cold, slick surface of the tub. You let out a soft gasp at the sudden chill, your legs laying open as though of their own accord, your knees resting against the tub’s edges. The candlelight flickers across his face, half glowing warm and golden, the other lost in the inky shadows cast by the storm outside. The duality of light and darkness mirrors the push and pull between the gentleness in his touch and the raw, carnal need in his gaze.

His eyes trail over you, lingering on the translucent fabric of your blouse clinging to your skin. The faint outline of your bra beneath it seems to taunt him, his jaw tightening as his restraint frays. Slowly, almost reverently, his lips find yours again, softer this time but no less intense. His hands move with a deliberate urgency, tracing the soaked fabric to the buttons that run down your front. With a sharp tug, they give way, scattering across the floor with muted clinks, the sound swallowed by the storm’s distant rumble.

The blouse slips from your shoulders, the wet fabric sticking briefly before it’s discarded to the water enveloping you. Caleb doesn’t stop, his hands finding the delicate straps of your bra. Frustration flashes in his eyes as his fingers fumble with the clasp, his impatience winning out. He hooks his fingers under the straps and pulls, the lace and elastic giving way with a sharp snap. The ruined garment joins the growing pile of discarded clothing, leaving your skin bare beneath his gaze.

His breath catches, and his eyes drink you in with a reverence that sends a shiver racing down your spine. He lowers himself onto you, his weight pressing you deeper into the curve of the tub. The contact is intoxicating, and his warmth bleeding into your skin as your legs near around his hips, anchoring him to you. The water churns around you, soap bubbles bursting and clinging to your bodies as you move together, the rhythm driven by a shared, unspoken need.

You grip his shoulders, your nails biting into his slick skin as his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw and down the curve of your neck. The storm outside roars louder, the thunder echoing through the room, but it’s distant compared to the pounding of your heart, the ragged sounds of your breaths mingling with his. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered moan feels like a fuse burning faster, drawing you closer to the edge of something neither of you can control.

"Caleb…" you breathe out, your voice trembling as his lips trail along your jawline, their warmth lingering before descending to your neck. His mouth moves with purpose, licking at your sensitive skin before returning to claim your lips. His tongue dances with yours, the intimacy deepening with every heated second.

Your fingers find their way into his damp hair, grasping at it as though it’s the only anchor you have. He pulls away briefly, his eyes dark with desire as he takes one of your hands. Without breaking eye contact, he brings two of your fingers to his mouth, his tongue swirling around them sensually. The heat of his mouth and the slickness of his saliva send shivers through you. After a few lingering seconds, he releases them, your fingers now glistening.

Without thinking, you bring them to your lips, smearing the saliva across them like a makeshift balm, feeling the moisture cool in the air. Your gaze flickers to him, your expression daring and full of intent. Slowly, you shift yourself over, moving with purpose. Your knees find ground on the porcelain base as you lean forward, your torso arched enticingly. Your free hand grips the edge of the tub tightly for support, while your hips tilt back, pressing your rear firmly against Caleb’s groin.

The anticipation is electric as you use the slickness of his saliva to guide your hand under you, seeking out your sweet spot. Meanwhile, Caleb teases at your entrance with the tip of his length, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

"Mmnh," you moan softly, biting your lip as the ache of desire builds.

For a moment, both of you hover in this space of mutual teasing, pushing each other closer to the edge without fully giving in. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your body’s response undeniable as you prepare yourself for him.

Finally, your hand pulls away from your sweet spot, and you grip the opposite side of the tub, bracing yourself. Caleb wastes no time, his hands steadying your hips as he slowly slides himself inside. The touch is perfect, the heat overwhelming, and a low grunt escapes his lips at the sensation of you enveloping him.

"Nnngh," you whimper, your head tilting forward as his hips begin to move. He starts slowly, almost experimentally, before gradually picking up speed. The rhythm of his movements becomes more deliberate, his body pressing against yours with every thrust.

Your soapy hands begin to slip against the tub’s edge, the lack of grip threatening to throw you off balance. Sensing your struggle, Caleb tilts over your back, his chest pressing against your back, his heat enveloping you entirely. His hands cover yours, his fingers slipping between to lock them in place, giving you the stability you need.

The two of you move together in perfect harmony, the water rippling and splashing around you, the air thick with the sounds of pleasure and desire. The combination of his touch and the feeling of him inside you drives you to the brink, your senses overwhelmed in the most intoxicating way.

With a grip that is almost trembling, Caleb pulls your hair to one side, his fingers threading through the damp strands, only to find their spot again on your hands. His breath is warm and unsteady against your ear. He exhales a low, shaky sound that makes your stomach twist. His lips brush your skin, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he lingers, his breathing heavier than before, like he’s trying to steady himself. Like he’s battling something in his head.

“You kept me waiting,” he whispers, the words coming out slower than usual, his voice laced with something quiet but raw. “I thought—” He stops himself, cutting off whatever thought had started to spill.

His lips press to the curve of your shoulder, his kisses softer than usual, more hesitant, like he’s savoring every inch of you, trying to remind himself you’re still here. His hips rock forward, slow and deliberate, and the movement forces your legs to spread wider, your back arching into him instinctively. But even as he moves, even as he drowns himself in you, there’s a tightness in the way he holds you.

You turn your head slightly, catching his gaze through your peripheral vision. His eyes are shadowed, darkened by more than just the dim candlelight. There’s something in them that makes your chest ache—something vulnerable, something afraid.

“It’s not like that,” you whisper, knowing exactly where his mind has taken him.

Caleb exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, his grip tightens around your hands. "You say that now," he mutters, pressing his forehead against the side of your head. "But people get tired. They move on. They find something— someone —better. More exciting. More… necessary ." His voice dips on that last word, almost like it pains him to say it aloud.

You turn your head fully this time, your nose brushing against his cheek, and he closes his eyes as if it’s too much to look at you right now.

“I don’t want to be left behind,” he admits, so quietly it’s almost swallowed by the rain hitting the window.

Your chest tightens, your throat suddenly thick with emotion. With both your hands still locked in his, you squeeze, trying to ground him, trying to reassure him in the only way he’ll let you. “You won’t be,” you whisper, and you mean it.

Caleb finally opens his eyes, searching yours as if testing the weight of your words.

"Prove it," he murmurs, his voice no longer commanding, no longer tainted with jealousy—just desperate. Just pleading. "Stay right here. Just… let me feel you.”

Letting go of your fingers, his arms envelop you in a way that feels both possessive and desperate. The heat of his breath fans over your neck as he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear before trailing down to your shoulder.

You can feel it in the way his fingers dig into your skin, in the way his body molds so perfectly against yours as he spoons you from behind. One hand cups your breast, kneading, his thumb rolling over your nipple, sending small shocks of pleasure down your spine. The other dips lower, fingertips teasing over your sweet spot, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that match the lazy, deep rhythm of his thrusts inside you.

A shiver runs through you, not just from the pleasure but from the way he’s holding you—as if he’s afraid to let go.

“Caleb…” you breathe, his name slipping from your lips like a plea, a prayer.

“Please…” his voice is hoarse, strained, “keep—” he groans, his thrusts stuttering slightly before he regains control, “keep saying my name.”

His movements are slow but insistent, his lips never leaving your skin, as if grounding himself in you, as if needing the reassurance that you’re still here.

You moan again, letting his name tumble from your lips like a mantra, and you feel his breath hitch against your neck. His grip on you tightens, his thrusts pushing just a little deeper, his fingers pressing just a little harder.

But then, you feel it—his hesitation.

The momentary pause in his rhythm, the way his lips linger on your skin like he wants to say something but can’t. It’s in the way his fingers tremble slightly against you, the way his breath falters, the way his arms tighten around you just a little too much.

Your heart clenches, the realization settling in.

He’s scared.

Not of losing you physically, no—that’s not the kind of fear that grips him. It’s something deeper. The thought of someone else replacing him, someone else becoming the one you turn to, the one you whisper your secrets to, the one whose name you say when you need comfort.

The one who matters to you.

You shift slightly, pressing your body even closer against him as if trying to reassure him without words. Your hand moves to cover the one he has on your chest, fingers intertwining, holding him there.

“I’m here,” you whisper, barely audible, but he hears it. You know he does because his body stills for just a second before he exhales, a deep, shaky breath against your skin.

And then, he moves again—faster now, rougher, his hands leaving your breast and sweet spot to grip your hip, holding you in place as he thrusts harder.

As if trying to prove something.

As if trying to remind you that it’s his name you say.

That it’s his touch you crave.

That it’s him . Only him .

As your remaining hand slips off the tub's edge, it instinctively reaches behind you, cradling Caleb's head against your shoulder with a tender yet unyielding grip. The other arm remains steadfast, covering the arm Caleb has wrapped around your chest, holding him close as the warmth of the water and the intensity of the moment envelop you both. Your body begins to rock back and forth, a gentle yet insistent motion that helps Caleb deepen his penetration, the sensation sending shivers down you.

Caleb's teeth sink into your shoulder, the bite hard enough to make you hiss, a sharp intake of breath that mingles with the sound of water splashing around you. It's as if the deepwater waves are engulfing you both, pulling you under with their relentless rhythm. As Caleb leans back onto his side of the bathtub, his arms release their hold on your body, only to wrap around your neck, pulling you into a tight, almost suffocating embrace.

You find yourself practically sitting on his lap, your body tilted back against his shoulder, his arms tightening around your neck like a vice. Your hands grasp the edge of the tub once more, and you begin to bounce up and down, the motion sending waves of pleasure through your body. Caleb's whimper of "Fuck…" is music to your ears, a testament to the intensity of the moment.

Your moans are stifled by the chokehold, but you manage to gasp out a few words, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. One of Caleb's arms releases its grip on your neck, only to find its way to your sweet spot once more, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You take control of the penetration, moving up and down with a frenzied intensity, while Caleb focuses on making you feel good, his other arm still wrapped tightly around your neck.

As he presses his lips against your ear, his breath hot and erratic, his words slurred with desire, "This is what I want," he groans. "I… want us to be one…" The sentiment sends a shiver down your spine, and you continue to bounce, going even faster, your body straining towards release.

Your words are barely intelligible, but Caleb finds your struggle seductive, "Ask again?" he whispers, his voice a low, husky growl.

You manage to gasp out a few words, "Tou…ch…me…" your saliva dripping from your lips as you point to your breasts, "Plea…se."

Caleb's arm releases the chokehold, massaging your breasts with a gentle yet insistent touch, sending you into a frenzy of pleasure. You turn your head, whispering sweet nothings into Caleb's ear, "Yours… Always yours…" The words seem to send him over the edge, and he sighs, his body relaxing into the moment.

As you continue to move, a final kiss lingers on Caleb’s lips before you shift forward, your hands plunging into the warm water, pressing against the smooth base of the tub. Your body arches instinctively, your back curving as if offering yourself to him, the motion a silent plea, a shared rhythm that neither of you can resist.

The water sways and splashes around you, cascading against the porcelain, a steady pulse in tune with your bodies. Your hips roll and press against his, the friction igniting every nerve between you. Caleb’s breath grows heavier, a low, husky whimper slipping from his lips as his fingers tighten around the tub’s edge.

You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him—his head tilted back, his throat exposed, an image of surrender and control all at once. His eyes are barely open, dark lashes fluttering, yet within the narrow slits, a glimmer shines through. He’s watching you, devouring the way your body moves, the way your lips part as you stifle your sounds of pleasure.

There is something unspoken between you, something deeper than mere desire. It’s in the way his fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for you again, in the way his breath hitches when you shift just right. The water, the heat, the tension—it all builds into something near unbearable, an intensity neither of you can escape.

You face forward again, and the sound of Caleb’s fingers tapping—no, clawing—at the tub’s edges fills the air, a silent display of restraint unraveling. The water ripples around you, heated waves splashing against your skin as you move with growing urgency, your hips rolling and pressing down in time with Caleb’s eager thrusts.

“Haa… ha…” you breathe, your voice breaking into the humid air, swallowed by the rising tension between you.

Then, a shift—your body twisting as you turn to face him, your legs spreading to straddle him completely. The moment your gaze locks onto his, you slow just enough to let him take in the sight of you. Your hands slide up your cheeks, fingers tangling into your damp hair, lifting it, teasing, as your hips begin to circle in slow, hypnotic rolls against his lap. Every movement is deliberate, each sway of your hips a silent dance meant for him alone.

Caleb watches, utterly mesmerized. His breath hitches, and his lips are slightly parted as if he is unable to find the words to describe what you’re doing to him. His fingers twitch at the edges of the tub before finally releasing their grip. Instead, his hands find your waist, strong fingers digging into your skin as he matches your rhythm. His own urgency is evident in the way he guides you—rougher, more desperate.

Your own hands glide down from your hair, trailing over your collarbone, down your chest, teasing, fondling, reveling in the sensation. Your damp strands of hair cling to your face, framing your half-lidded eyes, and through the veil of tangled locks, you see Caleb watching—spellbound, lost in you.

The water sloshes violently against the porcelain, the sound a mere backdrop to the intoxicating symphony of your mingled breaths and whispered gasps. Your fingers find the tub’s edge again, gripping for leverage as your movements become wilder, and faster. Caleb meets you with equal fervor, his hands holding you tighter, guiding you, urging you.

Your head tilts back, and your wet, unruly hair cascades over your shoulders, sticking to your skin in dark waves. The feeling builds, winding tightly inside you like a fire threatening to consume you both.

You lean back, letting the warm water envelop you, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes flutter shut, and your hands reach blindly through the rippling depths, searching for Caleb. The moment your fingers brush against his skin, he shifts, adjusting above you, the weight of his presence pressing closer.

Then, the pressure tightens—Caleb submerges, following you into the water’s embrace. The world above grows muted, distant, leaving only the sound of your racing heart and the rush of bubbles breaking between you. His lips find yours beneath the surface, soft yet insistent, melding against yours in an urgent kiss. His hands slide down your body, fingers finding your thigh and pulling you against him.

Even beneath the water, his movements are fluid, and precise—a rhythm that sends ripples through you both. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as your bodies move in perfect sync, the weightlessness making every sensation feel heightened, electric. The water shifts with your movements, a silent witness to your shared intensity.

Then, in one swift motion, Caleb lifts you, breaking the surface. The rush of air fills your lungs, but before you can fully recover, your back meets the cool porcelain with a forceful thud. The contrast of heat and cold, of water and open air, sends a jolt through your system.

Caleb towers over you, droplets streaming down his face, his breath heavy and erratic. His hands remain firm, one still gripping your thigh, the other braced against the tub. His body moves with reckless abandon, each motion deep, and relentless. Water sloshes over the edge, cascading onto the floor, forgotten.

His grunts mix with ragged breaths, his voice breaking through the sound of splashing water. Your gasps mirror his, the tension between you coiling tighter with every movement. Every sensation—his touch, his breath, the warmth of his body against yours—feels amplified, consuming.

His fingers tighten their hold, his pace unrelenting, pulling you both toward the inevitable, where words no longer matter—only feeling, only this.

Caleb shifts, guiding your legs over the edge of the tub, the cool porcelain a stark contrast against your heated skin. A shiver of anticipation courses through you, a delicious tension coiling in your stomach. His hands planted firmly on the tub’s rim, framing your face, caging you beneath him. You tilt your head back, searching his eyes—those dark, smoldering depths that drink you in like you’re something sacred.

Droplets of water fall from his damp hair, landing softly against your skin and trickling down like whispers of rain. The heat of his breath fans against your lips as he leans in closer, his voice hushed yet commanding.

“Look at you…” His tone is rich and reverent. “You’re breathtaking.”

Your breath hitches, your fingers tightening around his arms. Then his lips crash against yours—hungry, unyielding as if he’s trying to claim every unspoken word between you. The kiss deepens, tongues meeting in a slow, intoxicating dance. Your fingers weave into his wet hair, pulling him closer, savoring the taste of him—faint traces of warmth and something undeniably his.

Then, with one swift movement, he shifts, pressing deeper, and a strangled gasp slips from your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him. He swallows your moan, his own breath stuttering as he holds still for a moment as if grounding himself in the way you fit so perfectly beneath him.

Your nails press into his skin, trailing down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. Caleb’s forehead presses to yours, his voice a shaky whisper against your lips.

“Tell me…” His breath is ragged, his body taut with restraint. “Tell me you feel this too.”

Your voice is barely more than a whimper. “I feel everything…”

He groans, his grip tightening, his body responding with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. You arch into him, your breaths coming in gasps, your senses drowning in the heat, the sound of water sloshing around you, the deep timbre of his voice breaking between heavy breaths.

“Say my name,” Caleb murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw, down to your pulse point, where his tongue flicks, teasing.

“Caleb…” You breathe it like a prayer.

His lips curve into a knowing smile, his eyes dark with something unspoken, something primal.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his hands gripping your waist, his movements deep, slow, deliberate. The way he looks at you—like you are the only thing in the world—sends warmth flooding through your chest.

“My world… my life,” your voice is soft, yet resolute, your fingertips tracing the contours of his damp skin. “It includes you.”

Caleb stills. A breath catches in his throat, his body rigid as your words sink in. For a moment, the possessiveness, and the urgency, all dissolve into nothing. What remains is something raw—something unguarded. His lips find yours again, but this time, the kiss is different. It’s not hungry. It’s not desperate. It’s deep, steady, a silent confession. A kiss of understanding, of devotion.

It’s a kiss of acceptance.

His hands, once gripping with unrelenting fervor, now hold you like you’re something fragile, something irreplaceable. He’s always claimed you as his, but now, in this moment, he understands—he is yours just as much. There is no fear of loss, no silent battle for reassurance. He is here. He is loved. And he finally believes it.

“I’m sorry…” His voice is breathless, a whisper against your lips, though his body continues to move—slow, as if savoring every second.

You respond with a soft hum, your body shuddering against him. The peak of your pleasure had passed moments ago, but you hold on, staying with him, letting him embrace this moment fully. Your forehead rests against his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin.

“Nngh…” His breath stutters, a quiet whimper slipping from his lips as his body tenses, shuddering against yours.

And then, release.

His grip tightens, his arms pulling you impossibly closer as he finally lets go, his breath heavy, tangled with yours. There is no rush to part, no need for words. Only the quiet rise and fall of your chests, the lingering warmth between you, and the unspoken promise sealed between your lips.

Caleb shifts, his movements slow and tender as he guides your bodies into a new position—his back resting against the cool porcelain while you lay against him, your body melting into his warmth. His arms encircle you, securing you against his chest, your head finding solace on his shoulder.

His breath is still uneven, lingering in the space between you, but he presses soft kisses along your shoulder as if grounding himself in your presence. Each press of his lips is a silent whisper, a quiet confession.

You reach for his right hand, tracing the calloused ridges of his fingers before gently opening his palm. Lifting it toward the window, you slide your hand beneath his, pressing your fingers together—lining them up, feeling the contrast, the fit. His fingers move first, locking with yours, holding tight. Then, without hesitation, he pulls your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of your hand with a reverence that makes your chest tighten.

A beat of silence.

“I…” His voice is quiet, as if the words have been sitting on his tongue for too long. “I love you.”

You don’t respond right away. Not because you don’t feel the same, but because the weight of his words lingers, filling the space between you like something sacred.

He exhales, then presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you,” he repeats, more certain this time.

You smile faintly, tilting your head against him. “I know.”

A short laugh escapes him, but then he grows serious again. His grip on your hand tightens, his lips hovering close to your ear.

“No… I love you a little more than you realize.”

The words settle deep in your chest, warmer than the water surrounding you. And in his hold, in the quiet of this moment, you believe him.

You don’t speak, but the way you squeeze his hand, the way your fingers stay laced between his, tells him everything.

The room is quiet now, save for the faint dripping of water from the edges of the tub, and the slow rise and fall of your breaths. Caleb lets out a deep sigh, his chin resting against your damp hair, his arms wrapped around you as if afraid to let go.

Outside the window, the world feels distant—lightening flickering, the candle casting a soft glow across the bathroom. But here, in this small, water-kissed space, nothing else matters.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, memorizing every dip and ridge of your skin. You tilt your head slightly, your lips barely grazing his jaw before whispering, “I know… and I love you, too.”

Caleb doesn’t speak, but you feel it—the way his arms tighten around you, the way his breath stutters for just a moment, as if those words unraveled something deep within him.

Neither of you move. There’s no need to.

Because here, at this moment, tangled in warmth, wrapped in whispered confessions and lingering touches—this is everything.

And neither of you would change a thing.

#caleb fic #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb #l&ds reader #lads caleb #lads fic #caleb x mc #caleb x you #lads mc #love and deepspace mc #lads #mc love and deepspace #love and deep space #lnds caleb

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boybandbaby · 2 days ago

Text

A Night To Remember (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 2267

warnings/tags: single mom reader, a child, v light angst, unspecified reason for father’s absence (let you mind run wild), as always if I’ve missed anything lmk

note: not entirely happy about this but I really wanted to do this concept also sorry if your name is Evie I tried to use a name I liked but something I don’t see most people have

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Your daughter had hopped in the backseat without her usually greeting. With you she was a chatterbox, rambling about her day and what her friends did during school. With new people, she was shy. She’d hide behind your legs as you introduced her to strangers. She takes a while to open up but once she comes out of her shell, she’s a social butterfly.

You’re not sure why she’s so quiet now and she won’t tell you. She sits in the back seat, feet still as her favorite song plays, a pout on her lips as she looks out the window.

You’re worried. Worried that maybe someone had bullied her or that she’d gotten into trouble somehow. No, the school would’ve called.

You make your way home, opening her door to help her out. She hops out and doesn’t hold your hand as you make your way into the complex.

“Did something happen at school?” You inquire.

She shakes her head as you unlock your door. She runs inside and kicks her shoes off, creating a tripping hazard. You figure it’s better to not poke the bear right now and don’t remind her of the rules to put her shoes on the shoe rack.

“Can I do my homework after dinner?” She finally speaks.

“Are you sure? Buck’s coming over, I thought you guys were going to play that new board game he got for you?” You help her take her back pack off.

“I want to go to my room.” She mumbles.

“You don’t want your after school snack? I was going to make you some celery and apples with peanut butter.”

“I’m not hungry.”

��Babe, what’s wrong?” You kneel down to her height, brushing hair from her forehead.

“Nothing!” She pushes your hand and runs to her room, door slamming behind her.

You decide to give her some space as you take the groceries out that you bought for dinner. Your mind races with what you could have done to upset her.

Buck arrives about an hour later. His smile drops when he sees the stressed look on your face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You usher him in and pull him in for a hug. “It’s Evie.” You whisper though you know she can’t hear. “She was quiet the whole ride home and then when we got home, she bolted to her room.”

“Let me go say hi, I’ll be back to help set the table.” He smiles. He makes his way through the apartment to her room.

He knocks twice before opening the door just a crack. “Evie? It’s Buck. I just wanted to say hi and let you know dinner is ready.”

He hears her sniffles. “Come in.”

He smiles despite hearing that she’s been crying. When they first met, she was too shy to even look at him but over the last few months they’ve became besties. Buck of course spoils her and she loves it.

“Hey, you having a bad day?” He softly asks. She nods, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand and putting her pencil down on her open folder which lays on her lap.

Buck gets onto his knees at the side of her bed. “Wanna tell me what happened?” He brushes her hair away from her face and pulls it back behind her shoulders.

Instead of talking, she pulls a pink flyer from behind the worksheet she was writing on. She hands it to Buck.

Elementary School Father Daughter Dance

Saturday February 1st at 6pm

Gymnasium

Please purchase tickets by January 29th. $15 per pair

Dinner | Dancing | Games

“You’re upset because you want to go to this?” He clarifies. She nods.

“My friend Tammy said she’s going with her daddy and my other friend Julie doesn’t have a dad like me but she’s going with her older brother.” Her lip wobbles. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Hmmm. And you don’t want to go with mom?”

“Mommy is a girl.”

“Some people have two mommies instead of a mommy and a daddy and some people have two daddies.” He informs her.

“How does that work?”

“Okay maybe I should let your mom have that talk with you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “How about we go eat dinner and we can show mom the flyer? And if she is okay with it and you’re okay with it, I can go with you.”

“You’ll go with me? Even if you’re not my daddy?”

“Yeah, I’d love to take you. I’m not a good dancer though.” He warns.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She squeals, leaping forward to hug him.

Buck rubs her little back, pulling her up as he stands. “You ready to eat?”

She nods and rests her head on his shoulder as Buck hands her the flyer to hold.

You’re already serving three plates when they come out. You’re smiling when you see that Buck’s gotten her out of her mood.

“Everything good?” You raise a brow at him as you set a fork down by each plate.

“Yes mommy. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.” She wiggles down Buck’s front and runs to your side. She hugs your legs, the flyer crinkling against your thighs.

“What’s that you got there?” You point to the paper. She steps back and looks to Buck who nods at her, encouraging her to discuss the dance with you.

You read over the paper and look at her. “I want to go with Buck, pleaseeee.”

“So, this is why you were upset?” You place a hand, palm up, under her chin. “Did you ask Buck already to go with you?” She nods.

“If you’re okay with it, I’d be happy to take her.” He steps in.

“You’d do that?” You look at him, eyes glossy. “It’s not too much to ask?”

“Of course not. It’s important to her and you’re both important to me.” He opens the fridge and gets the juice and two water bottles out.

“Then I guess it’s a date.” You shrug, leaning down to kiss Evie’s forehead.

When dinner is over, Buck helps Evie finish her homework sheets. She’s too burnt out from excitement and her earlier crying that she heads to bed early.

She’s old enough to dress herself and brush her teeth, only asking for help putting the toothpaste on the brush.

After Buck helps her off the step stool, he helps tuck her into bed as you fix her nightlight. She falls asleep with a smile on her face, excited to tell her friends that she will be going to the dance.

You and Buck settle into your bed, changed into pajamas and comforted pulled down the bed.

“Buck?” You ask, nervously, as you slip into your side of the bed.

He hums, fluffing the pillow he always uses when he sleeps over.

“You sure you’re okay with taking Evie to the dance? I know we haven’t really talked about your role in her life. I’m not saying I’m expecting you to be her father or stepfather or anything like that and I know you said you were okay with me having a kid. I guess I’m just worried I’m forcing you to take on responsibility.”

“Breathe baby.” He leans into the bed, crawling closer to the middle. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I love being with you and being your boyfriend and yes you have a daughter but that doesn’t bother me. I love spending time with you both. I like being part of your family.”

“You’re so sweet. I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t even think like that. I’m honored that she wants me to go with her and I’m grateful you’re letting me part of her and your life. Okay?” He holds your face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you. You’re too good to us.”

“Stop.” He feels a blush creeping up onto his neck.

Just days before the dance, you all go to the mall so that Buck and Evie can get matching outfits.

She’s very adamant about wearing a red dress and requires Buck to wear something red too.

Buck had decided to get ready before he came over for the dance. He also stopped to run some errands before coming over.

Evie had asked you to do her hair and if she could wear makeup. You settled for some sheer lip gloss to satisfy her.

She was pacing the living room. “Mommy! Buck is going to be late.”

“Babe, the dance is in an hour. He’s on his way.” You laugh, pouring yourself something to drink. “Just sit in the couch and relax.”

“I can’t relax! I’m so excited.” She jumps up and down. Buck knocks on the door and she runs. “He’s here! He’s here! Can I open the door?”

“Just this once.” You follow her, standing behind her.

When she opens the door, Buck stands there looking handsome as always. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, a pink heart balloon, and a small teddy bear.

“Ah!” Evie screams, holding her hands out for her gifts.

“Hi! You look so pretty.” He kisses her forehead. She giggles and runs to put her gifts on her bed. “She gets it from her mom.”

“You’re a smooth talker, Buck.” You grin at him. “And where’s my gift?”

“Right here.” He winks and pulls you into him by your waist. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. You only break away when Evie clears her throat.

“You should’ve seen her. She was more nervous than I was for our first date.” You laugh.

“Is that so?” He picks her up. “No need to be nervous little lady. We’re going to have a great night!”

“You’ll dance with me and my friends?” She pokes at his cheek.

“Of course, we’ll dance all night.” He kisses her cheek.

You kiss them both goodbye and assure Buck you’ll keep your ringer on in case he needs anything.

Buck is a gentleman as always as he opens the door for her both in the car and at the school. Her hand clings to his and he can see the nerves in her little eyes as she looks around the gym.

Her eyes widen and she taps Buck’s side, pointing at her friend Tammy who is sitting at a table with her father. Buck guides her over to the table and asks if they can join them. Buck makes small talk with the man as the kids show each other their dresses and sparkly shoes.

When it’s time, Buck helps serve Evie and helps tuck a napkin into her neckline. He’s at her beck and call, getting her cups of punch and cookies from the dessert table.

They end up winning one of the games due to Buck’s competitive nature. They win gift certificates for a local ice cream shop and promise to go next weekend. They then spend the night dancing (jumping and twirling) to pop music.

Buck’s burnt out, he thinks he might be more tired than a shift at the station. He’s sent you loads of videos and pictures throughout the night, even FaceTimed you to show you the decorations.

Your heart has swelled up with joy and love for your daughter and for Buck. It’s been hard for both of you without her father so her being able to have this experience makes you so happy. And Buck, I mean how could you not love him even more after this? He went out of his way to create a special experience for her without hesitation.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the front door open, having just given Buck a spare key. You both shared an emotional moment when you gave it to him but it was bound to happen sooner or later and you felt the sooner the better.

You click the volume to mute and stand from the couch just as he’s approaching. He looks beat and tired with droopy eyes but he carries Evie’s sleeping form. Though she’s asleep, she holds onto him for dear life.

“Hey.” You whisper and lean up to kiss him. “I can take her.”

He shakes his head, “I got her. Let’s tuck her in. She’ll be too sleepy for a bath.”

You nod and plan to get her all washed up first thing in the morning. You help pull the blankets from her bed as Buck lays her down. You both take one foot each and unbuckle her shoes. He hands you the shoe and you place them in her closet.

After a kiss to the forehead and a flick of the nightlight, you both exit. Buck wraps his arms around you, his chest resting against your back. He tucks his chin into your neck.

“Sleepy?”

“Yes.” He groans. “I have not danced that much since I was a kid. But I had so much fun, she’s such a good kid. You’re such a good mom.”

You blush, cheeks flaming. “She is. Thank you for doing this.” You’re glad he can’t see your face. You’re about to burst into tears.

“I love doing stuff like this for her. And for you. You deserve a night for just you and to not worry about doing all this alone.”

“I love you, you know that?” You turn in his arms.

“Don’t cry.” He urges, hands rubbing up and down at your sides before his thumb wipes a stray tear on your cheek. “I love you. I’ll be here for you both. Always.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

#911 abc #911 x you #evan buckley x reader #911 x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x y/n

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aidansloth · 21 hours ago

Text

Late Nights On Kitchen Floors Sometimes Lead To Confessions

Summary: You come home late one night to find your roommate Jason sobbing on the kitchen floor.

Warnings and A/N: some negative self-thoughts on Jason’s side. In this fic Jason is feeling a lot of feelings :) because we love our men crying and traumatized. Pre-relationship! This is my first time writing for Jason so I hope I did him justice. Written in the second person, gender neutral reader, I tried to make reader as inclusive as possible so if I missed something please let me know! JUSTKNOW that my heart broke while writing this. (final note, I wrote this at 4am so don’t judge me)

Words: 0.9k

I also posted this on ao3 if you want!!

Click

You secure the last of the locks on your door as you start to take your boots off along with your coat. Immediately as you stepped in your mind went into autopilot, following your routine so effortlessly that only after what was definitely too many seconds do you notice a heaving sound coming from your kitchen.

“Jason?”

The words leave your mouth with a tinge of hope that it was just him and not a break-in you’d have to deal with at this ungodly hour in the morning. You check the time with a flick of your phone. 2:14am.

You receive no response and reach for the bat Jason insisted you left hidden in the umbrella stand. You can never be too safe were his exact words and you’d honestly have to thank him if you made it out tonight. It’s only when you cross the door that you see him: Jason and all of his 6 feet of muscles are scrunched up into a wavering ball, his hands clutching his clothes and his head planted into his knees. All this time you’ve known him and yet he has never looked as vulnerable as he does now, on your dusty crumble-covered floor with tears in his eyes.

At first no words come out of your mouth, how could they? You’ve talked to Jason just a couple of hours ago on your phone, he called saying he just wanted to hear your voice. He was fine earlier. He was. He asked how your day was. He listened, hanging off your every word. But now here he was in front of you, a broken shell of a man.

Trying to not startle him you get closer and call out his name again. This time he hears you.

He lifts his head and you can see smudged tear stains all over his face probably from an attempt to erase them. An hiccup escapes him and your heart breaks.

“Oh baby,” you scooch in front of him and take his face in your hands.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

He can’t speak. The words are jabbed in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He opens his mouth but nothing other than a strangled sound comes out. You start petting his hair.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything alright?”

You settle on the floor and try to maneuver his body onto yours, his head on your shoulder. His body adapts to yours, his arms wrap around you and he feels like everything is going to be alright. One of your hands runs up and down his spine in a soothing manner while the other is nestled in his hair.

A couple of minutes pass and you’re still holding him. Jason thinks he likes it. Being held, that is.

After some more time his head lifts from your shoulder and your hands move to his forearms, caressing the skin there. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.

“I, ehm…” Jason’s gaze lays low and his hands start to play with yours. “I have to tell you something.”

You nod and tell him to take his time. He bites his lip, still looking down.

“I- Fuck, I messed this up. I really did. This was gonna be so much more romantic I swear. I was gonna- I was gonna invite you to that one bookstore we always go to, I was going buy you all the books you set your eyes on and- and I planned a walk through the park- the one- the one you like-” his voice keeps breaking and hiccuping, “-and walk through the flowerbeds and maybe if the day had gone well I would have had the courage to hold your hand.” he wipes a tear off his face with the palm of his hand.

You try to speak but he speaks first.

“I like you. I really really like you. I wanted to do this well, tomorrow, but- I don’t know. I got too much in my own head and I’m-” Jason bites his lip and tears fill his eyes again, “I’m really sorry this is how I confess, you deserve so much better, so much better and I’m a mess and, and-” you grab his face and force him to look at you.

“Jason Peter Todd, you listen to me carefully.” his big teary eyes look at your stern ones, “The only reason I’m not kissing you right now is because you deserve a beautifully romantic first kiss because you like beautifully romantic things. You deserve all the wonderful things this world has to offer.”

Jason thinks his heart has never felt so warm.

“Wha-what?”

His words make you giggle and now he thinks his heart might actually implode.

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

Now your giggle turned into a proper laugh which made Jason smile.

“Yeah, that was pretty obvious from the earlier declaration of love.” Now he’s giggling too.

“Does that ehm- does that mean you want to be my girlfriend?” You giggle again at the innocence in his voice and Jason thinks he’d die all over again just for a chance to hear you laugh one more time.

“Yes, yes it does. Only if you take me to that date you were talking about though.”

He smiles. “We could go now.”

Your eyes widen. “Now? At 2am?”

He shrugs. “I’m Red Hood. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

You scoff. “Yeah alright, but I think the bookstore might be closed.”

“Ah. Right. Tomorrow then.”

“Eager?”

His smile only gets bigger. “Duh, I have a girlfriend to take out.”

Thank you for reading!! Constructive criticism/advice is always welcome!

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #dc #i love my men crying and sobbing #he's a babygirl #jason todd loves books #hope you liked this!!#wrote this instead of sleeping #first time writing for jason #red hood x reader

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sdmnpact · 2 days ago

Text

Sweet Comfort.

Wroetoshaw x Reader fluff

Masterlist

~~~

You woke up feeling horrible. Your stomach churned and your forehead was burning hot. The bad thing is that you had planned on going grocery shopping today as you had no food in the fridge. You would have used a shopping service but you like going shopping and choosing your own things especially the fruits and vegetables.

Fortunately for you, your boyfriend Harry, who would do anything in the world to make you happy, so he would gladly go shopping for you. He agreed to go shopping but you told him that you wanted to facetime him so you can still feel like you're there and choose what you want.

Your phone buzzed as you got a facetime call, Harry had arrived at the grocery store.

"Hey baby, I'm here!" He said as his face appeared on screen. He was of course wearing a jumper and had his hair especially messy. "Okay great, now you got the list I sent you right?" He nodded his head and went on whatsapp to check the list.

"Okay so first you want me to get vegetables?"

"Yes Harry! Are you even looking at the list."

"Well I'm trying to but there's a gorgeous woman on my screen and I can't focus!"

"Oh shut up you nerd, I look horrible right now."

"Never. You will never look horrible to me." You love this boy so much.

"Okay, anyways, make sure you show me the things before you put them in the bag!"

"Yeah yeah." He said.

He did all your shopping for you. He picked out every piece of fruit and vegetable carefully then showed you each item without complaining even going as far as to do 360 shots of each.

He spent about 2 hours buying 27 items because he was spending those 2 hours with you. It was on his phone but nonetheless, he loved doing this with you. Even though you felt terrible, your boy knew how to make you feel better.

>>>

Harry finished all the shopping and arrived at your flat. You two didn't live together yet but it's almost like you did with all the time you spent together. He obviously had a key and let himself in.

"Baby, I'm home." He loved saying that everytime he came over.

You were about to crawl out of bed from under the three blankets you were buried in when Harry walked in.

"No darling, don't get up, let me do all this." He gestured towards the kitchen. You nodded your head and grabbed a handful of tissues from the nightstand.

You watched as he went back into the kitchen area. You laid there listen to the unbagging of items, the opening of the fridge, and the sound of the stove turning on.

"Harry? You cooking something?" You shouted from you bedroom.

"It's alright, I'll just be a sec!"

You were curious, usually you do the cooking and Harry's cooking, well let's just say... it wasn't his strong suit.

Minutes had passed as you stayed there scrolling on your phone. The scent of something salty and warm filled the air. Seconds later, Harry walked in, steam rising from the bowl he was holding.

He set them down on the nightstand and went to get something else. He came in seconds later with a cup of steaming hot tea.

"Whats this then." You said very giddy, sitting up. Usually you take care of yourself since you moved to London. You're family was back home and you've always been the one looking out for yourself since then so this was very different. It was very nice.

"I made you some chicken noodle soup- now it's not homemade but I saw this old bitty on the label so I thought it would be good. I've also got you a nice cup of tea." He said smiling from ear to ear as he carefully showed you the bowl.

"Harry" You paused feeling like you were about to cry. "This is so thoughtful, you seriously didn't have to."

"Y/n, of course I have to. Your my love, my girl!" He said planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You felt tears in your eyes, Harry noticed and grabbed a tissue wiping at your cheek.

"Okay Harry you need to stop, I'm so emotional right now." You laughed wiping at your cheeks. He's so precious to you, you can't help but wonder how you got so lucky as to have him as your boyfriend.

He laughed as he sat next to you holding the bowl and spoon. "Here." He grabbed a spoonful of the soup about to feed it to you.

You opened your mouth and looked into his clear blue eyes as he focused on putting the spoon in your mouth. You found him so handsome, you couldn't help but stare at your man.

"What?"

"Nothing, just admiring your beauty." You said as you watched him put the soup down. He moved to the other side of the bed, laying down next to your wrapping you in his arms.

"Don't, I'm sick." You said not wanting to pass on whatever you had even though you have spent more than enough time close anyways.

"I don't care and if I get sick, we can be sick together."

#wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry lewis fic #wroetoshaw x reader #w2s #sidemen #fanfic #sdmnpact

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 2 days ago

Text

didn’t realize this was the liberal arts

Jason goes to college. You’re there. And then you show up in his nightlife, which throws him for a loop.

I wish I could tell you what this is but I can’t. i set out to write a meet cute. that's not what happened. Jason is a sad little dude. You’re in one of his college classes, but don’t get the idea that you’re nice about it.

Swearing as always. No use of y/n. I don’t know how long this is.

Edit: whoops, it's a series. rest of it is on my masterlist

————

Jason’s trying.

He is. He’s taking the tattered remains of his life and trying to shove them together, mash them into something liveable. Or at least, manageable. Something he can stand to survive.

It’s difficult. He rose from the Pit with a brain that didn’t quite work, didn’t crank like his half forgotten memories told him it did when he was fifteen. He couldn’t string two thoughts together, couldn’t make the synapses fire. Nothing at the helm but the searing pain he brought with him when he woke up, telling his heart to pulse just to find something to do about the feelings of rage and despair that submerged him.

Which, of course, led him to his stupid plan to kill Bruce.

It didn’t work. And it wouldn’t have helped anyway.

His head finally cleared when the dust settled. It dawned on him that he was blessed (ha) with a new lease on life, or something, and he should probably act like it. He should probably get off his ass and make the most of it.

He ends up doing the only things he knows how to do. Jason patrols and goes back to school to get his GED.

The fighting is obvious. He’s lead with his teeth his whole life, he’s not about to start pulling punches now. And a little purpose never hurt anyone, he figures. It helps, most of the time.

More surprising is how much Jason enjoys going back to school. It had started as a passing thought, but he’d forgotten how much he missed it, the freedom to relax and let his mind whir in circles. Bruce had given him the stability to clear his head and focus in the classroom, and he’d soaked everything up like a sponge. When he goes back he discovers, much to his delight, that he’s actually alright in the head. The lights are on, thank god, and soon enough learning comes easy to him, just like it did when he was a teenager. What a relief, to have that back.

He finishes out the GED and figures what the hell, he might as well keep going, and enrolls himself in Gotham U. He is, he realizes, fulfilling a long-lost dream he’d spun for himself back when he was living on the streets. It makes him quietly satisfied, and he pushes through his first semester.

So this is where he is. He comes home at 4am, showers, sleeps for a few hours, then wakes up for class. Dick calls every other week, Barbara patches herself into the line in his helmet without his permission, and he ignores them both. He registers for a course on seventeenth century literature and reads don Miguel de Cervantes, and Margaret Cavendish, and Shakespeare, of course, but also Galileo, which is fun. He brings his books to class, he makes notes in the margins. He searches the authors’ lives on Wikipedia and tries to make text to world connections, just like he learned in school. He looks around the table at the other students and reckons with the fact that they are not, and will never be, like him. Or rather, Jason is not like them. They’re younger, for one thing, but also infinitely more innocent, which feels stupid to say, but it’s true. Whatever they’ve had happen in their uniform lives is absolutely nothing compared to his, and Jason can put that right in his pipe and smoke it for all the good it’ll do him. But he can’t help thinking it, as he eyes them carefully. There is a chasm separating him from them a mile wide, and that’s all there is to it. He’s not like them. Not like you.

You sit next to him, sometimes. You smile at him briefly as you sit down, then remain silent. You don’t speak often, which is notable in a small seminar. Not that Jason does either. A few weeks in he realizes you speak once per class, unless asked a direct question. Your comments are always summarizing, reminding others of the various ideas discussed and offering options of where to go next. It is immensely helpful when you direct traffic like this, and the discussion tends to be clearer after you speak. He peeks at your copy of Paradise Lost spread open under your fingers to find neat little notes, passages underlined, a few question marks. You’re never late, and you always thank the professor before you leave.

Imagine his surprise, then, when he finds you after dark, kicking the shit out of his perp.

You don’t hear him approach, climbing into the man’s apartment with a thud as he realizes someone had started his work for him. He thinks he recognizes you from behind, except that would be crazy, so it can’t be you. What would a university student be doing here? Jason doesn’t count.

It can’t be you, but he’s not sure, so he clears his throat to interrupt. You look at him over your shoulder with a look of such savagery he almost takes a step back.

Yeah. That’s you. Huh.

The cognitive dissonance threatens to give him a migraine. You look him up and down, raise an eyebrow, then turn back to the man lying on the floor and deal him another blow. The man groans, which doesn’t faze you, but Jason snaps to attention.

“I gotta question him.” It’s true, Jason thinks this man has intel on Black Mask’s dealers.

You whirl back around. “That doesn’t seem like it’s my fucking problem.”

Holy shit. Who the fuck are you, anyway?

“Listen, princess,” he begins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards him. This is the first time he’s spoken to you, and it amazes him that he’s doing through the modulator. “I got shit to do here, you gotta get out of the way.” You try to slam onto his foot, then recoil, hissing in pain. “Steel-toed, sweetheart, that won’t get you anywhere.”

“What do you even need to know?” you ask furiously. “You target Black Mask, right? You’re wondering if Black Mask is his supplier? He is, there’s checks on the table.” You nod to a modest desk in the corner.

Okay. Yeah, he did want to know that. “Thanks, princess, but I’ll take it from here.”

You wrest yourself from his grip. “No,” you say stubbornly, “I’m not done.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jason eyes the perp, realizing he’d fallen unconscious. Shrugging, he turns to the desk. You’d clearly gone through it, receipts and bills are littered on the table, but there’s a locked cabinet you hadn’t opened. Kneeling, Jason takes out his lockpick.

He keeps an eye on you as he goes to work. You haven’t left, although he’s not sure where you would go, or even what you’re doing here. You watch him warily, folding your arms over your chest. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually the lock clicks, and he slides the drawer open. It’s pretty bare, mostly cash and, aha, a notebook that’s gotta be important.

He holds it for less than a second before you rip it from his fingers, moving across the room and flipping the book open. He grunts in surprise and follows you, only to find himself with a glock in his face.

Instinct tells him to draw his own weapon, and his hand drops to his hip, but he forces himself to freeze. You’re definitely a civilian, despite whatever the fuck you get up to in your free time. You’re not dressed in any kind of practical gear, just a loose fitting sweatshirt and leggings. Jason scouts you out and realizes that the gun in your hand probably isn’t even yours, you don’t have a place to put it. You must have disarmed the perp before Red Hood had gotten there. Jason files that away for later.

“Let me look,” you demand, and Jason nods. You keep the gun on him, holding the notebook open with one hand and studying it intently. It is so like the image of you in class that he almost laughs out loud. Whatever you’re looking for, you clearly find it, and you mouth something over and over, memorizing it. Then you shut the notebook and hold it out to him.

He takes it cautiously. “You need a ride out of here?”

You roll your eyes. “No thanks, dipshit,” and with that you shimmy through the window and bolt down the fire escape.

Jason blinks. Okay.

He follows you anyway, watching from the rooftops as you make your way across town. It takes you a long time, nearly an hour, and Jason worries that something nasty’s gonna go down, but it doesn’t. You trek resolutely across the city, same steady pace, before letting yourself into a nondescript apartment building, an easy bus ride to the campus. He stays for about twenty minutes, but you stay put.

Jason raps a gun against his helmet. Weird.

He tries and fails to wrap his head around it as he finishes out the evening. It’s just not adding up. Jason doesn’t know you well from class, obviously, but you’re such a far cry from what he saw tonight that it’s hard to believe. He’ll have to do some research, he decides, scope out what else you do besides studying and beating up on Jason’s bad guys. Maybe he’ll even ask you about it in class.

He laughs to himself as he heads back to his own apartment. Weird weird weird. Weird performance you gave him, weird enough to keep him up at night. Oh well. You don’t know it, but he’ll see you tomorrow.

————

lol what is this? what is this? a series, hopefully. otherwise I have no freakin’ idea

#teeth writes #jason todd x reader #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc imagine #jason todd imagine #jason todd

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mrsnishimuraaa · 8 hours ago

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chemistry

PAIRING: riki x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: who knew a dance collab could create such a sweet bond between two idols?

GENRE: fluff , crack if u squint

this is not proofread (sorry) kind of short and a wee bit rushed but i have other works in the making i promise 😭

being in the idol industry was always going to be stressful why wouldent it be? but your worries almost always flush away when your able to dance. having met so many people that inspired you to get to where you are now enlightened you and encourages you to work hard. having danced ever since a young age and it being something you enjoy makes you love your job that extra bit more, and now you have the opportunity to work with nishimura riki who’s also known for his talent in dancing.

saying your excited is a understatement it’s so much more than that, but at the same time your nervous but you brush it off as you make your way into the HYBE building. the moment you make it upstairs to the practice rooms, your greeted by riki himself bowing and small hello’s fill the room as you both introduce yourselves. he leads you to the practice room where you assume your gonna be spending hours in for the next few weeks preparing for this award show, none the less you really don’t mind. the two of you sit in the middle of the room with a laptop, listening to songs and starting to think about what song your going to be performing. after what felt like a million years of search you had both come to terms with ‘been like this’ by doja cat. as it was already getting late, you decided to meet back in the morning to get a full day of choreographing together.

the following day your met in the same spot, having decided that you both wanted to work independently with each other , meaning there was no staff and no choreographer, just the two of you to figure it out on your own.

hours pass by and you have the basic of it all choreographed now you just have to add all the fine details and peice it all together. “your really a quick learner” riki shoots the complement at you, taking a sip out of his water bottle “ oh thank you, could say the same about you” letting out a breathy laugh. “god it’s so hot in here” you fan yourself as you scope the room for a fan or anything. “i know, hybe’s cooling system is broken at the moment” he laughs at the way you throw yourself onto the floor and sigh at his statement. “is this company not making millions” you sit up and he laughs, taking his hoodie off, leaving him in just a tank top and his baggy jeans.

whilst having your break you both snack and chat, cracking jokes and telling purposeless stories. the two of you have great chemistry not only in dance but in general. and when you get back to practicing the heat really gets to you “can i take my jumper off?” you ask purely just to make sure he’s comfortable with you being half naked “go for it, i would be barely surviving if i were you” he chuckles as he re sets the song back to the start over at the laptop. pulling your jumper over your head and throwing it over to pile with riki’s , leaving you in a provocatively small sports bra and your sweatpants.

riki can’t help but eye your figure down for a moment, admiring your flawless body as you adjust your pants to put them back in their original low rise position. but he quickly shoves those thoughts away when you speak “okay i’m ready” your bubbly giggle makes him smile. the playful side of the both of you starts to peek through as you get more comfortable with each other , but when explaining a small detail of the dance to you that you don’t get ends you up in a position of riki’s hands gently placed on your bare waist as he guides the movement, you watch in the mirror as he corrects your arm movement, yet still keeping his hand on your waist. (safe to say it took a while because you 100% were not focusing on the move at all-)

the ending of the dance finishes with body rolling against eachother, the synchronised movements are so satisfying to look at and especially as his hand snakes to rest on your waist as you move together. the song finishes and he immediately buries his face into your shoulder, hugging your waist as he practically collapses on you. “riki! your heavy” you joke, laughing as you try to scramble away but he only wraps his arms around you tighter, his tall frame encapsulating you.

he spins you to face him and you look up at his face, dark hair sticking to his forehead as his face shines slightly due to the sweat, the heat generated between the two bodies doubles as he brushes your hair behind your ear. “so pretty” he smiles at you and you can feel your cheeks grow redder. he slowly rocks you both side to side, it stifles a giggle from you, causing him to smile at you, god why are you so cute.

you manage to break free from his hold, laying down on the cold floor, he eyes you down whilst smirking “what” you laugh and look at him in question “nothing im just admiring you is that illegal” he jokes, pulling your legs to spin you on the floor, your laugh echoes through the room “help me up” you pretend to lay helpless infront of him, he rolls his eyes and offers his hand to you, as he grips your hand pulling you up, he wraps his arms around you once more. but this time when you go to look up at him he takes the chance and presses a soft kiss against your lips, the suprised yet flustered look on your face as your heart beats like it wants out of your chest. you pull him back into a soft, slow and intimate kiss.

his hands draw circles on your lower back as yours find themselves in his hair, soft and wet kisses being pressed against eachothers mouths as the sound of kissing fills the room. you have to stand on your tippy toes as he’s far to tall compared to you before pulling away to make eye contact with eachother and smile. he presses a kiss to your forehead, the intamacy of the moment immediately recharges your energy, but makes the room a hundred times hotter.

luckily (even after all the distractions) you were able to both go home with an award 2 weeks later, the hard work paying off and fans adoring the interaction of their favourite dancers, begging for more collaborations.

#enhypen #kpop #enhypen thoughts #enhypen niki #nishimura riki #ni ki #enhypen x reader #award #dance #chemistry #hybe labels #hybe #hybe entertainment

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cherryeclipses · 1 day ago

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the little things

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The moments between hunts where you and Dean can pretend to be a normal couple

Fluff, implied smut, no gender mentioned, Dean is a softie, 1 use of Y/N (also im horrible at writing smut sorry babes), wrote in like 30 minutes so not my best work...

Word count: 1.3k

⛧⃝

Dating Dean was tough at times, he was stubborn, self-sabotaging, and put everyone else's needs before his own. But the most difficult part was the fact that you were both hunters. It left barely any time to connect and do normal couple 'things.' Occasionally there were rare moments in between hunts where you could relax and even have a little fun, these were the moments you two cherished, even if it was just five minutes.

⛧⃝

You sighed, searching your pockets for the motel room key, you had just a finished a week long hunt solo taking out a small nest of vampires. As you pushed the door open, longing for a hot shower and bed to sleep in, you froze, whipping your shotgun out of your waistband. "Woah, woah, it's just me sweetheart." A familiar voice drawled. You flipped the light switch, "Dean?!" "You expecting any other men?" He chuckled as you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug. You hadn't seen your boyfriend in nearly 2 months. He had been off with Sam, searching for their father and you had been busy with your own hunts. "What are you doing here?" You pulled away to get a good look at his handsome face. "I came for the scenery." He joked, "I came to see you idiot, what else?" "Did you find John?" You questioned. "Ah, it's a long story. A lot has happened since I spoke to you last week. But don't worry about that, I don't want to talk about work tonight." He leant down to kiss your lips, you melted into him, he smelt divine like old leather and vanilla. Your hands travelled up his chest, holding onto the man as if he was about to disappear. Nothing would be able to pull the two of you off each other, except the low growl of your stomach. Dean pulled away from you and your cheeks blushed. "C'mon let's order some food then we can get to the fun stuff." Dean laughed.

The two of you were sprawled out on the old motel couch, fast food wrappers littered the coffee table. You glanced over at your boyfriend, his eyes glued to the TV. It felt so nice to have him back, as much as you were glad him and Sam were getting along again you selfishly missed seeing him everyday. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Dean said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Maybe I will." You poked your tongue out at the boy. "I really have missed you Dean, thank you for surprising me." "It's nothing, honestly I couldn't stand being away from you a minute longer. Was driving Sammy crazy." You giggled, leaning your head on his muscular shoulder, your eyes suddenly feeling heavy, you had almost forgotten how exhausted you were. Deans hands playing with your hair absentmindedly, sending you to sleep.

⛧⃝

The sound of Dean softly humming ACDC woke you, you sat up straight in your seat, your neck was stiff from leaning against the side of the impala for hours. You had been driving for what felt like forever, leaving before the sun had set, it was now pitch black outside, you looked out the window to see nothing but bright stars in the sky and no other cars on the road ahead. "Hey there sleepy head." Dean teased. "Hey yourself." You looked behind you to see Sam passed out in the backseat, snoring softly. "How far away are we?" "Almost there, another hour maybe." Dean mused, taking your hand in his, running his thumb gently over your knuckles. As much as you hated long drives it was nice to have some downtime with Dean. You leaned forward to turn up the music slightly before placing a kiss on Dean's cheek, his stubble prickling your lips. You softly moved your way down his cheek, placing gentle kisses along his neck. Dean moaned quietly, tilting his head so you had better access to his neck, eyes still focused on the road. You took the encouragement and travelled further down his neck, lingering on his collarbone. He shuffled in his seat, you could tell he was getting worked up but trying to play it cool. You smiled and pulled away, returning to your spot in the passenger seat. "Can you guys not wait until we get to the motel?" Sam groaned from the backseat. You laughed, feeling sorry for the poor guy "sorry Sam. hands off from now on, I promise." You held your hands up in surrender. Dean didn't say a word but put his foot down on the accelerator, determined to get there as fast as his Baby would let him.

⛧⃝

"Hey Bobby, where's the sugar?" You called from the kitchen. "Second cupboard from the left." He answered from the doorway. You had spent the weekend at Bobby's, helping him with research for Sam and Dean. You sang quietly to yourself as you zipped round Bobby's kitchen, the boys were on their way back and you wanted them to come home to some real food. It was also a distraction for you from all the reading and worrying you had done all weekend long. "Would you let me help you?" Bobby asked. "Nope. There's more beer in the fridge, so go sit down, relax, and don't read any more damn lore books." The old man chuckled, nodding in response and leaving you to do what you needed.

"Honey, we're home!" Dean called out as he and Sam walked through the front door. "Hey Bobby, where's Y/N?" "In the kitchen." Bobby answered the eldest Winchester brother. "What are you -" Dean was cut off when he saw the spread on the dining table. The small table was full with all kinds of food, steak, vegetables, salad, fries, you name it, it was probably there. "Hey - woah did you spend all weekend cooking?" Sam asked as he walked in to the kitchen, eyes wide. "I think I'm gonna marry you" Dean faked a tear as he pulled you in for a kiss. "I thought you deserved a nice meal for once and honestly I was sick of reading! So sit, all of you and dig in. Please." As the men settled in for dinner the oven timer dinged. "More food?" Bobby asked, surprised. "Oh um, it's actually a surprise for Dean." You said, standing up to attend to the oven. You returned holding a steaming hot cherry pie. Dean's jaw dropped, "Have I ever told you how much I love you." He asked stunned. "Maybe once or twice." You shrugged.

⛧⃝

You awoke to sunlight streaming through the torn motel curtains, you rolled over, noticing Dean wasn't beside you. You stretched out across the mattress, contemplating going back to sleep until you heard the sound of the shower running. Sleepily you made your way to the bathroom, tossing your oversized shirt (the t shirt Dean wore yesterday) across the room and removing your pyjama pants once you were in the bathroom. You pulled back the shower curtain to reveal your boyfriend, taking a moment to revel in his beauty, his tan skin glistening with water droplets. "Good morning." He said with a goofy grin. "Morning" You replied, stepping into the shower and placing a soft kiss to his lips. Your hands found their way to his hair, gently massaging his scalp Dean hummed with pleasure, his hands travelling down your damp body, squeezing your hips and bringing you closer towards him. You slowly pulled away leaning your head back to allow the water to run through your hair. Dean took the opportunity to sprinkle kisses along your neck and down your chest. You let a moan escape your throat, he pushes you against the shower wall continuing to kiss you all the way down your body, lingering where you were most sensitive before standing up to meet your gaze. "I should wake up early more often." He mumbles, his voice deep, sending shivers down your spine. "I think we should make a habit of this." You say with a grin. Dean's hands find their way to your waist again "I agree." he says with a kiss before spinning you around to face the wall.

⛧⃝

#supernatural #spn #x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean #fan fiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #fluff #one shot #genderless reader

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sugarverse · 1 day ago

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𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨!

[ bnha headcanons ]

ft. izuku, tenya, & katsuki !

✩ I. midoriya

From the music echoing from the bathroom, he knew you weren't in the best mood. He'll slide his shoes off, creeping into the room to see you fighting to take your braids down. He offers to help, watching the tears in your eyes fall down your cheeks. You already were having a terrible week and now it felt like your fingers were gonna go numb.

You literally just wanted to wash your hair and feel clean. But you also wanted it done and out of the way. It was hard to explain the frustration, but to Izuku, you didn't have to. It was his job to take whatever the weight may be off of your shoulders.

It took awhile, but he got the hang of taking them down after a time or two. There were times where your arms got so tired that you fell asleep while he was unbraiding them. He helps you wash it over the sink, asking what to use and watching your hair spring/curl right up.

He never got the hang of actual braiding, fingers too fat to cross it the right way. But he does learn that greasing your scalp feels really good. Feeling you melt into his touch as you sat between his legs in the living room.

He could wash your hair and massage your scalp for hours. He loved seeing you relaxed. You did so much for him to feel calm when he's had a long day. He always tried to return the favor in ways that showed you he loved you and genuinely paid attention to things that pleased you. It was hard when both of your jobs got in the way so he wanted to do things that really mattered.

He tries to watch when you do your hair to see what product does what, never letting it get too low. When you're out of something? He buys the right brand for you. You also put him onto some hair products to help his hair become softer and smell really good which he was very appreciative of.

The first time he sees your bonnet? Buying you all different colors. and occasionally wearing one when you'd do ‘spa day’ but wtvr. He just wanted to be helpful ! Even if you didn't need one for every set of pajamas you own.

He wanted to get all the shit you wanted/needed. More often than not though, he comes home to your hair done and he just marvels at you. He also calls whoever you're going to and pays in advance. If you insist on paying certain bills, this was the least he could do.

★ i. tenya

Once he notices your hair changing length and color, he's going to look up some youtube videos. Not that he's uneducated! He was educated enough to not ask you about it. It would be rude, especially upon first meeting.

The one time he asked what your hairstyle was called, You told him you had cornrows in. You knew he hadn’t been talking about your braids wrapped into two buns. He was looking for a more technical answer as he does with everything, so you gave it.

From that day, he studied things like ‘Why cornrows are called cornrows’. The boy had a lot of questions and didn't want to bombard you more than everyone else was. However, he thought it was absolutely gorgeous.

If you mentioned something about wanting your natural hair longer? He already found a growth oil that should work for your hair texture. Wanna dye it? He knows the best brand and best conditioner to make sure your hair doesn't break off or feel too harsh.

When you two had started dating and he found out how expensive hair was to get done, let alone buy? It's no longer in your hands to pay for it. Money to get your hair braided by whoever you wanted, wherever in Japan you wanted. He loved seeing you come back to him, smiling and showing your new hair off before asking him to take pictures.

Gifts start being more centered towards you than what he just assumed you'd like (lip tint, lashes, nails) because he found so many other useful things. That super expensive shampoo you use in bulk, a new bonnet, silk laced hoodies and beanies. Small things he went out of his way to look up before you had the chance to ask.

Of course, he still gave you the money when you would mention a time or two when you were out of something, but mostly he pays for your hair every month or so.

One day you came home with a star braided onto the side of your scalp and quickly turning to show him. “Look, Look!” He never looked more in love, seeing you smile like that. “It's amazing, How long did it take?” He asks, taking your bags from you so you could sit and rant on the couch about your appointment.

⛦ k. bakugou

Not the most patient man by ANY means, but he does try to take time to learn your hair routine to help. He’s determined to learn how to braid your hair, no matter how frustrating it might be. He was good at.. Well, mostly everything. So it stumped him that he couldn’t learn how to do something so seemingly simple right away.

His first few tries are hilariously messy. Uneven, bumpy, and hair coming out the sides of whatever he thought a braid was. He doesn’t let you help his stubborn ass until he finally gives up about 10 minutes later. He watched your hands work fast as hell to braid downward in awe.

He ends up taping three pieces of string to the table and trying to braid it for hours, wanting to impress you the next time he could braid your hair.. but you walked in on him when you were trying to ask for help with something and he was BRIGHT red. “The hell you doin’ bursting into my room!?”

Of course, this was when the two of you first got together and were getting comfortable around one another. When he finally tries again with this intense concentration on his face that makes you crack up, He’s so excited he almost screams in victory. He stared back at you through the vanity, smirking and putting his hands on his hips in satisfaction.

He loves the pops of color you have in your hair. Whether it be braids, beads, or wigs, he’s always asking “Where’s the orange? Where’s the green?” It’s not like you went out of your way to avoid the colors, it’s just that you didn’t have many clothes to match.

On one of your dates, you show up with bright orange and army green bows in your hair. You bought a pair of camo pants to go with the black shirt you wore, opening your front door to see him absolutely melt. He stutters for the first time in awhile, telling you how stunning you looked representing him and his colors.

He goes out of the way to buy you clothes and different accessories to match. If your hair color is slightly off than most of your clothes, he’ll buy you new ones.

He was super confused at all your product though. “Why do you need oil in your hair?” The blonde will scrunch his nose, “Doesn’t that shit make your hair greasy?” The look you gave him was enough for him to sit on the bed and grumble until you were done.

You explained you wanted to prevent feeling dry and itchy, especially in the winter months. You rub in the oil, glancing over at him as you spoke. He slowly got up, watching you rub oil into your freshly parted hair, helping you finish in the back of your scalp. He watched the way you leaned into it, smiling to himself.

From then on his questions weren’t as abrasive, but he still asked you because he wanted to hear it from you. He could easily look it up, but you explained it in a way he graped immediately. Detangler spray, heat protector spray, all of it sounded very easily explained but he couldn’t understand exactly why you needed that stuff.

“Ya can’t just brush it out?” He’ll ask, watching the comb get stuck in your natural hair after asking such a question. He helps you apply whatever you need, helping you flat iron the kitchen of your hair very carefully.

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the-reader-insert-gazette · 21 hours ago

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A Lifelong Contract - F!Reader x Zhongli

Featured Column - Genshin Impact (Geo Archon Quest)

Zhongli has spent lifetimes watching the world change, bound by duty and the weight of eternity. But when Reader speaks of growing old together, he realizes—for the first time in thousands of years—that he wants to walk the same path. To be bound, not by time, but by choice.

Editor's Note: This was made as a request from a peer who wished to remain anonymous. Thank you for this lovely prompt and giving me creative freedom with it, sorry it took me so long! I hope you enjoy!

Liyue Harbor was a city of rhythm. It moved with the tide, with the clatter of ships unloading at the docks, with the rise and fall of market voices offering their wares. It was a city that hummed with life, never truly stopping, only changing pace with the time of day. But in the quieter hours, when the crowds thinned and the lanterns cast long reflections on the water, it was also a city of patience. It was a city that waited.

[Name] had learned to keep pace with it, though not in the way most people did. She didn’t rush through the streets like merchants anxious to make their coin before nightfall, nor did she wander aimlessly like a traveler marveling at the sights. She found her own rhythm—steady, deliberate. She worked, she bartered, she built.

And somehow, Zhongli had become part of that rhythm.

It had started as most things did, small and insignificant. The kind of moments that go unnoticed if one isn't paying attention. He had been a customer in her shop, another face among the many who admired the delicate craftsmanship of her glasswork. Unlike the others, though, he had not simply glanced at her wares and made a purchase. He had lingered, tracing the smooth curve of a finished piece with careful fingers, his golden eyes studying the details as though committing them to memory.

“These are well-made,” he had said, turning a small glass dragon ornament in his hand. “Your work captures the element of Geo quite well—solid, enduring, yet not without elegance.”

She had tilted her head at him then, amused. “You always talk like that?”

His gaze had lifted to meet hers, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of surprise—like he hadn’t expected the question. Then, he smiled.

“I suppose I do.”

From that day on, he had returned.

At first, it had seemed purely out of interest in her craft. He would stop by, ask thoughtful questions about her techniques, listen attentively as she explained the process. He had an appreciation for craftsmanship, that much was clear—an understanding that went beyond polite admiration. He noticed details that others overlooked, traced patterns in the glass with a reverence that felt almost personal.

Then, somewhere along the way, the visits became less about her work and more about… her.

She had noticed it in the way he would linger even after their conversations about glassmaking had ended. In the way he always seemed to find her when she was taking a break outside, leaning against the wooden beams of her shop with a cup of tea in hand. In the way he would appear in the market when she was there, always at ease, always ready with some quiet, insightful comment about the world around them.

It was never grand. Never obvious.

It was simply him, existing along with her.

She had once told him that she never stayed in one place for too long, that she wasn’t the kind of person who set down roots. Liyue, though, had a way of making people stay.

It had started with the city itself, with its warmth, its beauty, the way it seemed to hold its history in every stone and street. Then it had become about the people—about the familiarity of the shopkeepers she bartered with, the regulars who stopped by her workshop, the feeling of belonging that had crept up on her when she wasn’t looking.

And then, at some point, it had become about him.

She wasn’t sure when, exactly.

Maybe it was one of those quiet afternoons when they had found themselves sitting at a tea house, the world slowing around them. Or maybe it was the way he always seemed to know what to say, his words careful, deliberate, never rushed. Maybe it was the way he listened—not just to the things she said, but to the things she didn’t.

Maybe it was the way he had laughed that one time—really laughed, not just the polite chuckle she had heard before. It had been after she told him about a particularly disastrous attempt to negotiate with a merchant in Fontaine, one that had ended with her leaving empty-handed but with an entire street’s worth of people cheering her on for standing her ground.

“You are… quite remarkable,” he had said, still smiling, and something about the way he had looked at her then had made her stomach flip in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

She hadn’t known what to do with that feeling, so she had shoved it aside, pushed forward as she always did.

But it hadn’t gone away.

It had settled there, in the spaces between them, waiting.

And slowly, steadily, it had begun to grow.

She didn’t think much about the future. She never had. It had always seemed like something distant, something that would happen when it happened. But then the thought came to her one evening during a small festival, as they walked along the harbor, watching the lanterns flicker against the darkening sky.

She thought about what it would be like to still be here, years from now. To walk these same streets, to keep working, to keep building. To have him beside her, just as he was now.

And that thought didn’t unsettle her the way it once might have.

She glanced at him, watching the way the light caught in his golden eyes, the way he seemed at peace in the stillness of the evening.

“You know,” she mused, nudging him lightly, “for someone who always talks about the past, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about the future.”

He turned his gaze toward her, thoughtful. “No, I suppose you haven’t.”

She tilted her head. “Do you ever think about it?”

A long pause. Then, finally—

“…I do.”

Something about the way he said it made her heartbeat quicken.

She opened her mouth to say something more, but before she could, the first firework of the evening went off in the distance, its golden light bursting above the harbor. She turned her head to watch it, but not before catching a glimpse of him, watching her instead of the sky.

She didn’t ask why.

And he didn’t offer.

The firework faded, its golden light swallowed by the vast stretch of the evening sky, but the hush it left behind seemed to linger between them. [Name] didn’t break it, content to let the warmth of the festival surround them as they stood by the harbor, the voices of the city carrying on without them. For a while, neither of them spoke, and yet, nothing about the silence felt uneasy.

Zhongli’s gaze remained on her a moment longer before he, too, turned toward the horizon. His hands were still folded neatly behind his back, his expression as unreadable as ever, but something about his posture felt different—thoughtful in a way that went beyond his usual musings.

She had seen that look before.

It was the same one he wore when he traced his fingers over old inscriptions on stone tablets or when he spoke of Liyue’s past with the kind of familiarity that only came from lived experience. She had always chalked it up to the way his mind worked, how he seemed to carry an endless well of knowledge that even he couldn’t quite put into words sometimes.

But now, with the golden glow of lanterns flickering in his eyes, she wondered if it was something more.

She let the thought drift away.

Instead, she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get something to drink. All this standing around is making me feel like I should be making a toast or something.”

He blinked, as if pulled from some distant thought, before letting out a quiet chuckle. “A toast, you say?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, already starting toward the tea house at the edge of the harbor. “It’s a festival, isn’t it? If you’re not eating or drinking, you’re doing it wrong.”

He followed, and though his smile was small, it lingered.

It became a habit, after that.

She wasn’t sure when exactly it started—maybe it had been that night, or maybe it had been happening all along without her noticing—but Zhongli became an unspoken fixture in her life. Their walks through the harbor grew longer, their conversations stretching into the night until the streets grew quiet. When she worked late into the evening, she’d sometimes find him waiting outside her shop, two cups of tea in hand, as though he had known without asking that she would need a break.

He never lingered past his welcome, never overstepped, and yet he was always there, as steady as the tides.

And she… she found herself gravitating toward him in turn.

It was never something they talked about, never something they put a name to, but it was there, woven into the spaces between their words, into the brush of hands reaching for the same teacup, into the way he always seemed to instinctively fall into step beside her, no matter where they were.

And yet, despite all of it, Zhongli remained careful.

[Name] noticed it in the way he would hesitate just a fraction of a second before touching her, the way he would sometimes look at her as though he were about to say something but would instead let the words settle unsaid. He was never cold—far from it—but there was a certain deliberateness to his every action, as though he was holding himself at the edge of something neither of them had spoken aloud.

She didn’t press.

Whatever this was—whatever it had become—she was content to let it be.

But Zhongli… Zhongli was thinking.

It was not something he could ignore, not when it sat at the forefront of his mind with each passing day.

He had lived for thousands of years, watched the world shift and change in ways mortals could never comprehend. He had stood where mountains had yet to rise, had spoken with those whose names had long since been swallowed by time. Mortality was something he understood, something he had always respected, but never something he had felt bound by.

But now, it was different.

Now, it was standing beside him, laughing at his old stories, pulling him through crowded streets with an easy familiarity, tucking her feet beneath her on the tea house bench and humming absentmindedly as he spoke.

Now, it had a name.

[Name] did not know the weight of the years that stretched behind him, did not know the things he had seen, the battles he had fought, the gods he had called his peers. To her, he was simply Zhongli, a man with an old soul and a tendency to over-explain things.

And for the first time in a long, long while, he found himself reluctant to correct that assumption.

But that did not change the truth.

She would live, and she would age.

And he would remain.

There would come a day—sooner than he wished, far sooner than he was prepared for—when time would begin to take its toll. He would watch as the years softened her movements, as the lines on her face grew deeper, as the vibrance of youth gave way to something slower, something more fragile.

And when that day came, when she looked at him with eyes that had grown old while his remained unchanged, what would he say?

Would he tell her then? Would he wait until she had begun to notice the difference, until she began to wonder why he never changed, why he never spoke of his past beyond vague recollections? Would he let her live her life never knowing?

Would it be a kindness? Or a cruelty?

He did not know.

All he knew was that for the first time, the passing of time felt like something looming, rather than something distant.

And for the first time, he was afraid of what it might take from him.

The tea house was quiet, tucked away from the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, its warm lantern light flickering against dark wood. The scent of osmanthus lingered in the air, curling in delicate wisps from the cups between them.

[Name] swirled the tea in her cup absentmindedly, watching as Zhongli poured himself another, his movements practiced, careful. It had been a year since they met—since he first stepped into her workshop and admired her glasswork. She hadn’t thought much of it then, just another customer, another passerby, but now, sitting across from him in their quiet corner of the world, she knew better.

He had remembered today. She hadn’t. Not at first. It had only dawned on her when he had arrived at her shop earlier that evening, a bouquet of Glaze Lilies in hand. He hadn’t said anything about them outright—just placed them on her workbench with a soft, “I thought you might like these,” before suggesting tea.

She had smiled, taken them without questioning, but now, watching him across the table, she found herself turning the thought over.

"You really remembered the day we met?" she asked, breaking the comfortable quiet between them.

Zhongli glanced up from his tea. "Of course."

"Not exactly a holiday," she teased, smirking. "You keep track of the first time you meet everyone?"

His lips curved slightly. "Mostly, yes, but especially of those who leave a lasting impression."

Her teasing smile softened as she rested her chin on her palm, tilting her head as she studied him. "What else do you remember?"

Zhongli set his teacup down, fingers curling lightly around the rim. "You were skeptical of me," he said, voice tinged with amusement.

[Name] laughed. "Yeah, you acted like you’d never seen glass before. You held onto that dragon sculpture for so long I thought you were about to recite poetry to it."

He exhaled a quiet chuckle. "It was… an impressive piece of craftsmanship. It still is."

She smirked, but her voice was softer when she spoke again. "That was a good day."

Zhongli nodded. "Yes, it was."

The quiet settled between them again, but this time, it carried something heavier. [Name] let the weight of it sit for a moment before finally exhaling, setting her cup down and leaning forward.

"Alright, I think that's enough reminiscing," she said, her tone light but her gaze steady. "There's been something on my mind that I want to talk about."

Zhongli tilted his head slightly, waiting.

"You," she started, fingers tapping against the table, "are a hard man to read."

His lips twitched, almost amused. "Am I?"

"Don’t act so surprised." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "We’ve been—" she gestured vaguely between them, "—this for a while now, and yet, I still feel like you’re always holding something back."

His fingers stilled against his cup.

She wasn’t angry, nor was she demanding answers from him. Her voice was steady, as was her gaze. But there was a quiet honesty to her words, the kind that left no room for him to dance around the subject.

"[Name]," he started, his tone careful.

But she cut him off with a shake of her head. "Look, I’m not asking for some grand declaration, alright? I just—I think about the future. A lot more than I used to."

His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

She exhaled slowly. "I think about growing old. About the things I’ll do, the places I’ll see. And when I picture it, you’re always there." She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. "You, sitting across from me at some teahouse just like this, telling me stories I’ve already heard a hundred times but still pretending they’re new just to humor you."

Zhongli’s chest tightened.

She continued, her voice growing softer. "I think about you being the last person I see when my time’s up. About hearing your voice at the end of it all and thinking, yeah, I did alright." She huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "That’s a bit much, isn’t it?"

He should have expected this from her. She had always been forward, never one to leave things unsaid. But still, the weight of her words pressed into him, settling into the deepest parts of his thoughts, into the place where he had been avoiding this very conversation.

She spoke of years. Decades. A life measured in time she would experience fully, while he—

He swallowed, his fingers tightening around his cup.

[Name] studied him, waiting, watching, and when he still didn’t speak, she sighed, leaning back. "I guess what I’m saying is, I want you there," she admitted. "For all of it. If I’m being honest, I just assumed you did too."

Zhongli exhaled quietly, setting his cup down with deliberate care.

Her words—simple, spoken without hesitation—settled in his mind like stone against earth. It was not just a passing thought for her, not just something she wished for in the abstract. She had already placed him in her future, had already imagined a life where he was beside her, watching time unfold together.

She had spoken of it so naturally, without fear, without hesitation.

And in that moment, he realized he wanted that future too.

For the first time, he allowed himself to truly picture it. A life measured not by eternity, but by the years they would share. Mornings spent with quiet conversation, the scent of tea in the air. Evenings filled with laughter, with arguments over things that did not matter, with the warmth of knowing someone was waiting for him at the end of the day.

It was something he had never let himself consider before.

Now, he did.

He wanted to grow old with her.

He wanted to be there.

And for the first time in thousands of years, he understood what had to be done to make that a reality.

Their walk home was quiet. The city had settled into its nighttime hush, the streets dappled in the glow of lanterns overhead. [Name] walked with her hands tucked behind her head, casting glances his way now and then, as if waiting for him to say something.

But he did not, not yet.

When they reached the edge of her street, she stopped, turning toward him with an easy smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Zhongli met her gaze, something deep and steady settling within him. “Yes,” he said, “tomorrow.”

She lingered a moment longer before nodding, stepping back toward her home. He watched until she was gone, until the door closed behind her, before finally allowing himself to exhale.

Standing beneath the lantern light, he let the weight of the evening settle fully upon him.

There was no uncertainty now. No hesitation.

For the first time in his long existence, he knew what he wanted.

He would not simply watch time pass this time. He would choose.

But to do that…

To truly be with her, to share her years, to grow old as she would—he had to let go.

He had to step away from the life he had always known.

Morax had ruled Liyue for thousands of years.

Zhongli, however, was ready to live.

The city of Liyue was alive with celebration, its streets overflowing with eager voices, the scent of incense thick in the air. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, their warm glow illuminating the vast crowds gathered before the Jade Chamber. The people waited with bated breath, eyes fixed skyward, anticipation woven into every hushed whisper.

The Rite of Descension was a ceremony of great reverence. It was tradition, the foundation upon which Liyue had been built—an affirmation that their god, their protector, still watched over them. And for the last time, Rex Lapis would appear before his people.

Zhongli, taking the form of a dragon, stood at the highest point of the chamber, gazing down at the city that had flourished under his hand. For thousands of years, he had guided them, shaped their fate with careful precision, carved their future from the stone of the land itself. But now, it was time to step away.

He had prepared for this.

He had spent centuries watching over them, ensuring they could stand on their own. He had forged contracts not just between rulers, but between the land and the people, so that even in his absence, Liyue would remain strong. They no longer needed a god to oversee every transaction, to pass judgment over every decision.

And yet, even as he told himself this, there was an ache deep within him, a weight that pressed against his very being.

To let go of divinity was one thing. To let go of the people he had watched over for millennia, the land he had shaped with his own hands—that was another entirely.

Still, the decision had been made.

There could be no hesitation.

The moment arrived. A final breath. A final glance at the world he had built.

And then, he fell.

The sensation was strange—weightless and yet crushing, as though time itself stretched between moments. He felt the air rush past him, the stunned cries of the people below, the way the city seemed to recoil in horror as their god—their unshakable, eternal protector—crashed into the earth, lifeless and unmoving.

The murmurs turned to cries. Chaos rippled outward like cracks in stone.

"The Geo Archon is dead!"

From the depths of his consciousness, from the fading remnants of the form he had left behind, Zhongli listened.

He listened as the voices of the people he had watched over for so long trembled with uncertainty.

He listened as fear gripped them, as leaders stepped forward to bring order to the moment, as merchants and elders alike whispered prayers for guidance.

He had known they would react this way. He had prepared them for it. And yet, for all the logic in his decision, something in him wavered.

He had always been an observer, but this was the first time he had truly felt what it meant to be left behind.

He had prepared Liyue for this. But had he prepared himself?

Days passed.

The city did not sleep in the wake of the Archon’s passing. Vigil after vigil was held, offerings stacked high at the shrines, speculation spreading like wildfire. The harbor was thick with rumor—who had done it, why, what this meant for the future. But no one truly knew what had happened.

And somewhere, beyond the reach of the mourning city, Zhongli sat alone.

He had wandered the outskirts of Liyue, away from the lanterns and the sorrow, away from the weight of the decision he had made. Once he found the opportunity, had left the city as a mortal, leaving his vessel behind, and yet the weight of divinity still clung to him on any thread it could.

For the first time in thousands of years, he had no direction. No contract to uphold. No war to wage.

Only silence.

And he did not know what to do with it.

It was [Name] who found him.

She had been searching for days, asking vendors, dock workers, anyone who might have seen him. He hadn’t been at the tea house. Hadn’t stopped by her shop. He had vanished—and in the wake of the god’s passing, that absence had begun to gnaw at her.

And then, just as the sun began to dip behind the mountains, she saw him.

He was standing at the edge of the harbor, facing the open sea, his posture still but not at ease.

Something in her chest tightened.

He looked tired. Not physically—there was no slump to his shoulders, no telltale exhaustion in his stance—but something deeper. A weariness that did not belong to a man who had simply had a long day.

She approached quietly, though she doubted he hadn’t already noticed her. Still, she didn’t say anything at first, simply stepping up beside him and letting the sea breeze wash over them both.

"You disappeared," she finally said, her voice softer than she intended.

A long pause. Then, quietly—

"I know."

[Name] studied him out of the corner of her eye. His face was unreadable, as it often was, but there was something about him that felt… distant.

She crossed her arms. "Alright. You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

He exhaled slowly. "It was… necessary."

She frowned. "Disappearing for days was necessary?"

He turned his gaze toward her then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I have spent much of my life fulfilling expectations, upholding traditions. And now, for the first time, I find myself free of them."

[Name] tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his voice that made her hesitate—something deep, something old.

"You say that like you don’t know what to do with it," she said carefully.

He huffed a quiet chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "Perhaps I don’t."

That alone made her chest tighten. Zhongli had always been so steady, so sure of himself. He always had an answer, always spoke as if he already knew the outcome of every path.

To hear him admit uncertainty now was… unsettling.

She nudged his arm lightly. "You could’ve at least told me you were gonna go off and contemplate life for three days. I wouldn’t have worried."

His lips quirked slightly. "That is a lie."

[Name] sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine, I would have worried. But you still should’ve told me."

Zhongli glanced back toward the water, his expression unreadable once more. "I will keep that in mind."

She studied him again, biting her lip before finally stepping closer. "Look, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours," she admitted, "but I know you. And I know that whatever this is, you’re probably making it more complicated than it needs to be."

Zhongli said nothing.

[Name] sighed, softer this time. "Just… don’t disappear again, alright? You’re allowed to figure things out without shutting everyone out."

Another long pause.

Then, finally, he nodded. "I understand."

She gave him one last look before stepping away, heading back toward the city. "Good. Now come on, I’m starving, and you owe me dinner for the stress."

For the first time in days, something in him settled.

He turned, following her without question.

The seasons passed, and life in Liyue carried on. The city adapted, as it always had. Though the loss of Rex Lapis had shaken its people, the foundation of Liyue remained strong. Trade continued, merchants prospered, and the world did not end without its god. The people learned to stand on their own, just as he had always intended.

And Zhongli continued living as one of them.

It had been a slow process at first. He had spent lifetimes watching from a distance, unbound by time, unshaken by change. But now, for the first time, he was a part of it. No longer just an observer, but a participant.

And [Name] was there, as she always was.

Their walks through the harbor continued to be part of their rhythm, their evening tea an unspoken tradition. When she worked late into the night, he would often be waiting outside her shop, two cups of tea in hand. When he found himself wandering the marketplace, he would hear her voice calling to him before he even had the chance to seek her out.

Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.

They never named what they were, never spoke about it outright.

But one evening, as the lanterns swayed overhead and the scent of the sea drifted through the air, Zhongli decided it was time to change that.

Their usual tea house was quieter than normal tonight, the hum of conversation a distant murmur beneath the rustling leaves. The summer breeze carried the scent of flowers and salt, the lantern light flickering against the polished table between them.

[Name] sat with one leg crossed over the other, absently swirling the tea in her cup, her other hand resting against her cheek as she watched the people pass by. She looked content. At ease in a way she hadn’t been when he had first met her.

Zhongli watched her, as he often did.

But tonight, for the first time, he was ready to speak.

“I have been thinking,” he began, setting his cup down with deliberate care.

[Name] let out a quiet chuckle. “Uh-Oh.”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I have come to a conclusion.”

That caught her attention. She tilted her head slightly, her teasing demeanor softening just enough for curiosity to take its place.

Zhongli met her gaze, steady and sure. “I would like to grow old with you.”

Her breath hitched.

He continued, his voice even but warm. “You spoke of this once, of wanting me there when your final day comes. And at the time, I was hesitant, uncertain.” He shook his head slightly, as if at himself. “Not because I did not wish for it, but because I had spent so long resisting the idea of permanence, believing that it was not mine to have.”

[Name] didn’t speak. She didn’t even breathe.

Zhongli reached for his cup again, fingers brushing along the porcelain as he considered his next words. “But I no longer wish to stand at the edge of life and watch from afar. I no longer wish to count time while ignoring the days right before me.” He looked at her again, something deep and unwavering in his gaze.

“I wish to spend those days with you.”

[Name] exhaled, setting her tea down with a quiet clink. For once, she didn’t have a quip, a teasing remark to cut through the moment. She simply nodded. “Good,” she murmured. “I was starting to think you’d never say it.”

His lips quirked slightly, a faint, knowing smile. “You always did have patience.”

“Mm, debatable.” She smirked, leaning back. “But I like hearing you say it, so I’ll take it.”

Zhongli chuckled softly, then let the moment settle before adding, “There is something else I have been considering.”

[Name] raised a brow. “Oh? More big revelations?”

He exhaled, resting his hand against the table. “We should have names for one another.”

That made her pause. She blinked, tilting her head. “Names?”

“Titles,” he corrected. “A way to define what we are to each other.”

[Name] furrowed her brows slightly, searching his expression. “You really do make everything sound complicated.”

Zhongli merely inclined his head, waiting.

She let the silence sit for a moment, then hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. “Alright. If that’s the case, what do you want these titles to be?”

Zhongli studied her, his gaze unwavering.

“I believe we are bound,” he said simply, not answering her question.

[Name]'s breath caught, though she quickly masked it with a half-smile. “Bound, huh? That’s one way of saying we’re stuck with each other.”

“Let me finish, but first, let me clarity. We are not not stuck with each other,” he corrected. “We have chosen each other.”

Something flickered in her expression—something hesitant, something hopeful. She didn’t respond immediately, letting his words settle.

Zhongli allowed a small smile before continuing. “I have always valued certainty, and you once told me that if we were to move forward, it would require commitment.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, yeah. I think that goes without saying.”

He inclined his head. “And as you know, I place great value in contracts.”

[Name] stared at him, blinking once. Then again.

A slow, dawning realization flickered across her face, her eyes widening just slightly.

Zhongli did not elaborate.

“…Hold on,” she said suddenly, sitting up straighter. “You—did you just—” She squinted at him. “Did you just propose to me by calling it a contract?”

He did not correct her.

[Name] gawked. “Oh my god—you totally did.”

Zhongli took a calm sip of his tea. “That is in my nature.”

She groaned, running a hand down her face before letting out a breathless laugh. “You absolute—”

She shook her head, exasperated but undeniably happy. And despite her teasing, despite her laughter, despite all of it, there was something warm and real settling between them.

Because he hadn’t corrected her.

Because, in his own strange way, he had meant it.

[Name] exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Alright, fine. You wanna call this a contract? Let’s call it a contract.” She leaned forward, her smirk curling at the edges. “Just know—if we’re doing this, I expect fair compensation.”

Zhongli lifted his brow. “And what would that entail?”

She reached for his hand across the table, lacing her fingers with his. “Every day. Every month. Every year ahead of us.” She squeezed his hand. “That’s the price.”

Zhongli’s grip tightened around hers, his golden eyes steady.

“Then consider it signed.”

And, for just a fleeting moment, he felt a quiet sense of relief—not just in the certainty of her words, not just in the weight of the choice they had made together, but in the fact that this was a contract he could uphold... without financial strain. No expensive fees, no costly tributes—just time, shared freely, something he could give in abundance until the end of their days.

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #reader x zhongli #rex lapis x reader #reader x rex lapis

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silentsneezes · 2 days ago

Note

Heyy me again… ahahah

Do you have any silco with allergies hc’s or maybe a k!nk Silco/Vander Zaundads fic?

Totally asking this with normal intentions, completely not obsessed or anything!

(Im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure i love your writing)

thank you anon!! trust me when i say i'm also gnawing at the bars of my enclosure... so here's almost 3k of sick v/ander and kink s/ilco

i'll probably continue this in the future, but between university and life things i haven't had as much time to write... so we'll see

anyways, this is set pre-everything in the show. you could read it as an au if you want!

The Last Drop on a Saturday is no fucking joke. Vander knows that full well, always double checking his list of opening tasks to ensure things run smoothly. Only a few hours after opening, the dimly lit, smoke-filled haven is already filled to its capacity. Earlier that day, there had been a boxing match held in a nearby arena, and it’s safe to say people are still riding that high. Vander picks up on arguments over bets that were won or lost, prideful drunkards boasting about how they’d been rooting for the champion all along.

The bar practically roars with the infectious excitement, only encouraged by the drinks the patrons continue to slam back. Vander doesn’t mind, he’s quite pleased with how popular his bar is, especially on nights where boxing matches occur. Everyone needs a good drink after a match, he supposes. Plus, the influx in business never hurts– people typically become more generous tippers the drunker they get.

Vander works mindlessly as he pours drink after drink, zoning out to the sounds of raucous laughter, the clink of glass against wood, and the quiet kshhhh of the keg. The conversations are nothing more than a full-on-chorus, which has its pros and cons.

On one hand, it allows Vander to zone out to the constant noise, letting himself work without second thought.

On the other hand, Vander feels like fucking shit. He’d been coming down with something the past couple of days, but he’d figured it wasn’t anything a few DayQuil couldn’t fix. Now, he’s beginning to realize that he was sorely mistaken in his initial dismissal of the cold. His usual charming grin doesn’t come as easily tonight, and when he wipes his brow, it’s not just due to the heat of the room. His skin is coated in a feverish sheen, his cheeks uncharacteristically flushed as he forces himself to work through his rising fever.

The frequenters of the bars notice– at least those sober enough to– but they’ve seen this before. Vander’s tough. He’s the kind of guy who keeps his bar open for better or for worse, so when he’s sick, they just give him a look of silent understanding: he’ll be fine, he always is.

As ‘fine’ as Vander might be, his movements are dulled by fever. He keeps moving, keeps working—filling mugs, passing shots, refilling drinks– functioning as if he’s on autopilot. His work is only interrupted as he hears the familiar drawl of his friend’s voice.

“Is anybody home?” Silco asks with a slight smirk, looking Vander up and down as he takes a seat on the barstool closest to the sick man, observing his absent expression. Vander opens his mouth to reply, pausing momentarily to clear his throat before gruffly responding, “very funny, Silco,” sarcastically. He starts making Silco’s drink wordlessly, knowing exactly what the other likes. Vander doesn’t bother filling the silence between the two of them, letting the steady roar of auditory input wash over him.

“Long day?” Silco questions, frowning as a nearby customer lets out a howl of laughter at his own joke, “I’ll bet you 20 gold coins he soils himself by the end of the night.”

Vander finds it somewhat amusing how Silco always seems to take issue with the other patrons of the bar, as if he finds himself somewhat above this crowd. “I’d be an idiot to take you up on that,” Vander says with a tired grin, his lips barely curling upwards as he leans in, resting his weight on the bartop. He places the drink in front of Silco with a heavy thud, the glass almost too solid in his grip, as if it’s an anchor to keep him from slipping under the noise and fatigue. “You know how they get after boxing matches.”

“Oh, do I,” Silco replies, the words clipped, his voice carrying an immense judgement of those customers who lack any semblance of manners or public decency. He doesn’t like them, doesn’t trust them, but he does like Vander.

Vander struggles to think up a response, his usual charm and banter replaced with a steady painful thrum threatening to become a migraine. The noise of the bar presses against his skull like a vice, and just as he finally manages to think up an adequate response, he feels it coming. A tickle in his nose, faint at first, but enough to make his breath catch as it buzzes through his sinuses.

At first he tries to fight it, swiping at his nose roughly with the backside of his hand. His other hand searches his pockets for a rag, a handkerchief, anything. Unfortunately for him, the sneeze builds quickly. His eyes are forced to scrunch shut as his chest swells with an urgent, “hhHHHH-” and for a half-second, everything around him goes blurry, the pressure in his sinuses making his head swim, “hHHRRZZSCHHH’HUw!!”

Vander turns away from the bartop just in time, snapping forwards into his elbow with a resounding sneeze, one that grates his throat enough as to where he has to blink away a few tears. Silco watches with rapt attention, his abdomen pooling with hot attraction as he observes Vander’s broad frame nearly bend itself in two with the force of the sneeze.

“Bless you,” Silco purrs, his voice low and sultry. The blessing practically rolls off of his tongue, and yet Vander knows it’s not just out of politeness. You see, Silco doesn’t just bless anyone. For him, offering a blessing is somewhat of a privilege, something one earns through continuous affection, and he and Vander are nothing if not affectionate.

“I’ve got the whole damn package today—head full of cement and a nose that thinks it’s spring,” Vander mutters, barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice. Had he not known about Silco’s kink, he would’ve been entirely fed up with his body's need to sneeze. Except there’s a sliver of him that can’t help but relish the fact that he can make Silco squirm so easily. If he has to feel so utterly miserable, someone might as well enjoy it, right?

And he is miserable, nothing short of it. Silco, however, seems to be basking in Vander’s sickness, finding it difficult to resist the sight of his friend turned fuck-buddy turned… whatever it is they are now.

“Why is it you insist on working when you’re sick?” Silco questions, knowing full-well the stubborn answer he’s about to receive– it’s the same every time.

Except Vander doesn’t answer, letting Silco’s question hang in the air as he raises a hand to his nose. It’s back again, that bothersome, tantalizing itch that’s been wreaking havoc on his nose all night, “hhHHH’uh-”

At the sound of Vander’s hitch, Silco prepares himself for the imminent sneeze. Vander has never been one to have dramatic build ups when he’s sick– though allergies are an entirely different feat– rather, his sneezes come on quickly with one to two hitches beforehand.

Unable to find a rag in time, Vander settles for cupping a broad hand over his nose and mouth, “hHHMMPH’DSSXCHHhew!” The sneeze is barely muffled against his palm, and Vander can feel moisture threatening to slip through his fingers. He pinches his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, gathering the residual mess and moving to wash his hands.

When Vander returns to the bartop, he sees Silco, his gaze intensely focused, waiting with that unsettling calm, as if he could pounce at any moment. Had the countertop not been separating them, Vander is certain Silco would be draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. And god does he want that.

Just as Vander moves to prop himself against the bartop again, he hears a drunken, “Oi! Vander!” and groans internally, straightening up and snapping out of his exhausted haze. The woman, a regular frequenter of the bar, leans against the other side of the counter with a casual air, “Get me something strong, but nice. I’ve got a lady to impress,” she says with a smirk. Usually, Vander would have the energy to engage in some sort of playful banter, perhaps asking the customer as to who she’s pursuing tonight. Instead, he rattles off a few drink options, giving her a sideways glance as she chooses the strongest of the drinks he’d proposed, “You sure? It’s got one hell of a kick.”

The customer dismisses his warning with a wave of her hand and a chuckle, “I’m feeling lucky today.”

“Liquid luck,” Silco tuts almost inaudibly from his seat, though it goes unheard by anyone aside from Vander, “what a foolish concept.”

Vander’s lips curl into a slight smirk at the sound of Silco’s words, but he forces himself to maintain focus. He has a job to do. With a sigh, Vander grabs a glass, still feeling the steady ache that only a cold can instill. As he’s about to start mixing, he feels that nagging sensation in his nose return, the familiar tickle building once again. He grimaces, trying to hold it back for the sake of not sneezing into a customer's drink, but his body has a different plan. His breath hitches involuntarily, forcing him to pivot away from the countertop without even setting the glass down first. He draws in a final, urgent breath before snapping forwards and spraying the tiled floor with an uncovered, “hHHRRRSSXCHHHh’eHw!”

As the sneeze fades, Vander stays still for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, his body still catching up with the sudden burst of pressure. He forces himself to stand upright, tending to the moisture clinging to his septum with his sleeve. He’d usually have a bit more decorum when it comes to covering and utilizing his sleeve as a tissue, for the sake of germs moreso than any feeling of embarrassment, but he’s too fucking tired tonight.

“Salud,” the woman blesses absentmindedly, watching as Vander composes himself enough to make her drink, “you look sick as a dog,” she comments. Vander just continues mixing the drink, replying with a halfhearted, “that’s never stopped me before.”

“Touche.” Luckily, the woman leaves the conversation at that, exchanging the drink for a few gold pieces and making her way across the bar back to the person she’s trying to impress.

“She’s right, you look terrible,” Silco says matter-of-factly, drawing Vander’s attention back to him. His fingers trail along the rim of his now empty glass, his expression smug as he receives an eye-roll in response.

Vander doesn’t have time to reply as another customer approaches the bar, and he internally curses as he turns away from the one person in the bar he actually wants to see right now. His head throbs, the dull ache in his throat turning into a tight, bothersome burning sensation. As he prepares a round of shots, every movement feels slower than his last, his limbs growing heavier as the evening progresses.

Finally, after what feels like hours, there’s a lull in drink orders, and Vander has the opportunity to return to his conversation with Silco. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, instead saying, “you’ve got a handkerchief, no?”

“I always do,” Silco replies effortlessly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he registers where this is going. Vander extends his hand wordlessly, becoming increasingly frustrated with his nose running like a faucet.

“Use your words,” Silco tuts, though his eyes flick between Vander’s outstretched hand and his nose, reddened and irritated after being berated all day.

“Silco,” Vander huffs huskily, evidently too exhausted to tolerate any sort of teasing, “give it here.”

“That’s no way to treat a customer.”

“Bullshit, you’re not a customer.”

“Hm, then what am I?” Silco asks, enjoying this far more than he should. His hand slips into the inner pocket of his vest, extracting his crimson red handkerchief from its resting place. He keeps it hidden in his lap, waiting for the perfect moment to submit to Vander’s request.

“A brat.”

Vander’s hand remains outstretched, waiting for Silco to drop the dominant act and give in. Fuck me Vander mentally curses as the itch swells in his nose again, forcing his wide nostrils to flare in protest. It’s like Silco was waiting for this moment—the vulnerability of Vander, flushed and slightly out of breath, his hitches almost an invitation.

“I know you always hhhHave one on you. Give it to m-hHHH-me dammit,” Vander’s previously annoyed tone is replaced with one of urgency. Both he and Silco know damn well he can’t hold back for shit.

Silco watches, waiting until the very last second before pressing the handkerchief into Vander’s palm. His fingers brush across the calloused skin of Vander’s hand, which is nearly twice the size of his. Vander clutches the handkerchief, turning on his heel and doubling over as a sneeze tears through him, “hHHHGGSXCHHH’Hh’ugh!”

“Bless you,” Silco purrs once again, silently cursing the countertop separating him from the sick man. He can feel his arousal making itself known, pressing against the tight confines of his pants, “You’ll be making that up to me, you know I don’t share–” he begins, but Vander cuts him off.

“I’ve been pudting on a show for you all nighd. Don’d be so greedy,” he mumbles huskily, the congestion in his voice dulling certain consonants. Vander gives his nose a strangled blow. It’s unsuccessful at first, eliciting a huff of frustration from the man. With both hands holding the handkerchief over his nose, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the next attempt. The second noseblow is much more productive, clearing his airways as best they can be with a cold ravaging his nose.

“That’s better,” Vander acknowledges, tucking the– already soiled– handkerchief into his back pocket and moving to wash his hands again. Silco, having been observing Vander’s every move, shifts to relieve some of the pressure in his pants.

“It’s a shame you have to work,” he comments idly, knowing full well that Vander could’ve called someone in to cover his shift, “I’ve heard a good fuck is quite the cure-all for colds.”

Silco’s bluntness never fails to catch Vander’s attention. People typically shy away from expressing their kinks, especially one as bizarre as sneezing, but Silco treats it as he does anything that can bring him sexual gratification: without shame– though don’t be mistaken, he’s eager to indulge in humiliation when given the chance.

Vander knows exactly what Silco is alluding to, weighing the benefits of closing early or calling someone to take his place. His stubbornness and grit can only last so long, it seems, as he leans heavily against the bartop again.

Grinning as he recognizes the slight defeat in Vander’s expression, Silco presses on, “Would it be so terrible to take a night off? I’d stay, of course, to attend to your needs.”

Vander looks up, his eyes traveling from the smirk on Silco’s face to his slightly unbuttoned top– had his chest been so visible before, so appealing? His view of Silco’s slim waist is blocked by the counter, but he’s almost certain Silco’s hard to some extent; it really only takes a few sneezes to get him going. After all, Vander’s are his favorite.

“Fine,” he agrees stubbornly, glancing at the clock. Typically, The Last Drop would stay open well into the night and through the earliest hours of the morning, but it’s only 11:30 and Vander feels like dead weight. He leans down, searching for the bar-phone he keeps next to the especially expensive liquors. Upon finding it, he dials an employee's number despite the guilt ringing through his mind. He’s not one to give up easily, and he’s certainly given one hell of a fight to make it through this shift, but the promise of a quieter room and Silco’s attention is enough to sway him.

“Jay? I’m sorry to ask, but–,” Vander pauses as his breath hitches, the itch suddenly returning with a vengeance. He holds the receiver as far away as possible, ducking to the side and clamping his other hand over his nose, “hhHHHGDTSCHHH’huew!”

Apparently, Jay could still hear the utter desperation of the expulsion from over the phone– and was left to imagine the mess it made, and trust, it was messy– and is quick to say, “I’ll be there in twenty. Try not to drop dead by then.”

TBC…

as always, any reblogs, tags, and comments are very much appreciated!! i experimented with a different writing style with this fic, so any feedback is appreciated as well :3

#sneeze kink #sneezefucker #sneeze blog #snzblr #sneezefic #sneeze thoughts #snzcane #snz kink #snzfics

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bnhascribbles · 3 days ago

Text

Anatomy

Bakugou X Reader

Humor, Hurt/Comfort (if you squint)

Words: 4.8K

Warnings: Swearing

Life happens in funny ways. You think you know yourself, how you’ll react in a given situation. Then one day, a man strolls into the room with an entire human arm (one you’re fairly sure he didn’t grow himself) slung across his shoulders, and you start to think that maybe, just maybe, you don’t know anything about anything.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself. It’s best to start from the beginning…

He’s wearing plain black tee, unwrinkled and too-tight around the arms. That, and a deep-set scowl that radiates down towards whatever textbook he’s got spread out in front of him.

It’s so perfectly unfair.

The universe seems to be dead-set on screwing you over. Maybe it‘s payback for the time you stole matches from the chem lab in undergrad (in your defense, it was 10 PM on a Monday and it was your last “hoorah” before you dropped). Maybe you shouldn’t have hogged the library scanner so often copying chapters out of textbooks you didn’t want to pay for, should’ve maybe been a little kinder in your end-of-course review for that one physics TA. Regardless, you don’t deserve your fate.

Not the exhaustion. Not the stress. Not the burden of ending up in the same year as a piece of trash like Bakugo.

Katsuki Bakugo. Second-year medical student in the top 10% of the class. Also a grade A jackass whose jackass-ery is only supported by the fact that he’s sitting in your spot.

Now, you knew assigned seats were a thing for middle schoolers, not 20-something year-olds training to learn to manage actual human lives. Still, when a person occupies the same place in the library for a year and a half, there’s a basic human decency that overrides the need for seating charts and nameplates. Maybe the great Katsuki just can’t grasp that concept. Surprising given the fact that he seems to be picking up on literally everything else with inhuman speed. Genetics. Cardio. Derm. Renal.

Even MSK. Fucking MSK. He was positively thriving in the very musculoskeletal hell that had you retreating to the library for 8+ hours every afternoon after lecture. Which only aggravates the acidic heat you feel brewing in your belly when you see him and Eijiro Kirishima living it up in your study carrel. Kirishima seems to have made himself comfortable standing, resting both of his (positively beefy) arms along the partition dividing to tables. He’s yammering up a storm: something something pen light something no way it’s enough time for a full history. Katsuki is at least seated in his (your) chair, but his eyes are glued to his phone rather than his friend. Or his textbook. Or the laptop open right in front of him.

There’s not a glimmer of productivity in sight. It’s been like this for the past 15 minutes. You know because you’ve been watching, waiting (semi-) patiently in hopes that they’d just pack up and carry on elsewhere. But no, they’re still there. Wasting their time and your space.

What little patience you had left dwindles to nothing in the span of seconds. You gather your things up in your arms and march across the library towards them.

Kirishima sees you first, greeting you with a megawatt grin and a chipper “how’s it goin’?” You hadn’t really interacted with him one-on-one aside from the occasional confused looks you shared during lectures or simulation sessions. All you really know about him is that he and Bakugo are practically joined at the hip, which, up to this point, has been enough to make you keep your distance. Still, Kirishima seems so genuinely kind (unlike his friend who still hasn’t so much as looked at you) that it makes it very hard to stay pissed at him. Which is fine. He isn’t the one in your chair.

I’m doing good. Now, respectfully, I ask that you and your friend vacate the area so I can study in my usual spot, please and thank you.

“You know how it is, same old, same old. School, sleep, repeat.” It’s better than what you want to say. You tug your bag further up your shoulder.

“Ain’t that the truth. At least we have a little bit of a breather, huh?”

“Huh?” Breather? The last “breather” you’d had was when the pulmonology professor coerced you into demonstrating proper technique with an inspiration spirometer. Somehow, you don’t think that’s what Kirishima is getting at.

“You know, in this class.” He clarifies. “It’s pretty easy compared to renal.”

You snort, “yeah, that’s a good one.”

Kirishima blinks.

“MSK…the musculoskeletal system. Being easy. That’s funny.”

Kirishima lets out an awkward sort of laugh, and an uncomfortable silence falls over the study area. The shrill ding of the elevator rings from the other side of the floor. Your classmate’s smile goes deliberately apologetic. You sigh.

“I’m guessing you’re not getting your ass kicked by this class.” You say, placing extra emphasis on the you’re bit. Kirishima scratches at the back of his neck.

As if things aren’t already bad enough, you feel them then. The extra set of eyes settling on you.

“He’s the president of the orthopedic surgery interest group.” Bakugo says. “Bones and the meat attached to them are the only things he actually cares about.” When you fail to respond, he lets out a puff of air from his nose and it’s a wonder the desk doesn’t burst into flames right then and there. “Besides, he isn’t wrong. This class is a cakewalk.”

You stand there, seething. You’re being perfectly polite, keeping the daydreams of concussing him into Glasgow 3 with the underside of your boot securely in your skull.

“Well,” you say, slowly, “I guess everyone has their strengths.”

Bakugo doesn’t take the hint; he pushes.

“How is this harder than renal where things are microscopic?” He rises in one quick motion, resting a knee on the seat. As he leans forward, he lays an arm over the wooden back. He’s nowhere near as toned as Kirishima, but you can see the muscles shifting beneath his skin. Pronounced, like some real-life anatomical model. Triceps, biceps, coracobrachialis—you list them off silently because fuck him.

“Renal is pure physiology,” you say. “Everything has a when and why that you can logic through. MSK is just memorization.”

“Because there’s absolutely no memorization when it comes to nephrons.” His lips pull back into a mocking sort of sneer as he begins to count off on his fingers. “Sodium-hydrogen antiporters, sodium-chloride symporters, Sodium-potassium-chloride—”

“There’s a charge gradient driving that shi—” Not worth it, not worth it and you know it.

What would be the point of attending all those school-mandated mindfulness sessions where you sat in a dark classroom meditating (rather than taking the half-day to do literally anything else) if you let this conversation ruin your day? You had to refocus. Think about the sensation of breathing—in, then out. Your hands, the weight of them hanging at your sides. Your feet and the way they feel sitting within your shoes… aaaaaaand yup, there’s a crinkle in your sock. Now that’s all you’re only going to be able to think about until you can fix it. Thanks meditation.

“You know what, nevermind you guys.” You take a clearing breath. “Everyone has their forte, and I know mine is not muscle origins and insertions. Anyway, I just remembered I have a thing at a place, so I’m going to be heading out.”

And that’s exactly what you plan to do. You ignore the hushed muttering behind you as you trudge towards the elevator, because none of that is actually your problem anymore. You’re mindful and centered and—

And a hand latches onto your shoulder. You lurch forward as momentum does its thing, only spared from a faceplant into the however-many-decades-old carpet by the sheer strength of your assailant's grip. You spin, already expecting who you have to blame and planning out the venomous rant you’ll spit their way (library “quiet please!” sign be damned). But rather than meeting Bakugo’s gaze, it’s his palm that floats mere inches from your nose.

You open your mouth, but he’s quicker to speak than you are.

“I fall on an outstretched palm and fuck up my hand. Four days later I come to you and tell you it still hurts like hell—I can’t move it anymore. What tests do you order?”

There’s silence for a good long moment. Then your senses return to you in one quick rush.

“What the actual hell Katsuki?” A couple other library-goers flinch and shoot your sharp looks towards your outburst, but who even cares anymore?

“Answer the question.”

“No, because like what the actual hell? We already established I’m an idiot, so can you please just leave me alone?”

Bakugo’s grip on your shoulder tightens and you swat it off with a loud smack. His eyes widen as both you and he cast glances towards his hand, now floating off in dead space beside the pair of you. He purses his lips.

“Nobody called you an idiot.” He tries to be casual about lowering both of his hands to his sides, tucking them into his pockets.

“Maybe not using those exact words, they didn’t.” You say, soft but firm. “But the implication was clear.”

Then you stare. Bakugo does too, his eyes wider than usual, lips pulled back in a tight line. You’re no expert in reading people, but he’s also no expert in keeping the emotion from showing plainly in his expression. Surprise, which gives way to confusion, which gives way to something else.

“You’re not an idiot.” He finally says. Neither of you speak, letting the words hang in the space between you. Even as you’re both extremely aware of Kirishima is edging his way towards your spot by the elevators.

You let out a heavy sigh, folding your arms.

“X-Ray.” You say. Bakugo flinches, going so far as to take a full step backwards. Which is rich, given that with all the sucker punches you’ve imagined striking him with, a single word is enough to catch him off-guard. But even Kirishima freezes, mouth caught in shape somewhere between goofy grin and catching flies.

They both stand there, and you roll your eyes and say, “I’d order an x-ray first.”

Bakugo’s gaze narrows, and like that he’s back to his usual self. You swear you even see the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “Why an x-ray?”

“Why not?”

“You’re the doctor—what are you gonna say to your patient when they ask the same question?” He scratches at his head, mocking, all evidence of remorse wiped from his system. “Geeze, I dunno, ‘x-ray’ is 14 points in Scrabble so I guess I’ll order that.”

You should be angry, but something feels…different about the bickering this time. That and—

“How do you know how many points ‘x-ray’ is in scrabble?” You ask, half-mocking. Because while you’re sincerely wondering if Katsuki Bakugo spends his Saturday nights playing Scrabble, you also want him to squirm a bit.

“Why do you want an x-ray?” He repeats the question. There’s a dusting of red across his cheeks creeping towards his ears.

Nice, you think.

“Because an x-ray is the first thing you get when someone comes in after a hand injury.”

“Why’d the patient wait four days to come in though?” You open your mouth and he cuts in with “don’t say ‘because it didn’t stop hurting.’ This is a vignette, not real life.”

“But what’s even the point of all this if not to prepare for real life?”

“Will you just—” He clenches his teeth tight and takes a deep breath. “Think for a second. What’s on your differential?”

You chew at your lip. “Fracture.”

“But which bone?” You hesitate, your mistake, and he shakes his head. “Just think. This is a classic presentation. On every test you’ll ever take. What bone in the hand is supplied by a retrograde blood flow?”

And you don’t know. Shit, you’ll have to look that up when you get home. Still, you’ll swallow a jar of thumbtacks before you ever admit that to Bakugo. You shoot Kirishima, who’s standing over Bakugo’s shoulder now, an exasperated look. He starts to say something, but then he’s getting cut off.

“Don’t help, or they won’t learn.” Bakugo snaps. His red-hot gaze fixes between your eyes. “And you, don’t look at him. This is basic anatomy.”

Anger wells in your chest again. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was in lecture right now.”

You were furious at Bakugo, true. But…but also at yourself. You should know this. You’d had a lecture on the hand last week, which was practically a year ago in medical time. Your classmates were soaring through, already on nerve innervations while you struggled to learn the building blocks. School used to be fun, tests like a mini-competition you were guaranteed to win.

You’d never struggled like this before, had never had to grapple with the fact that even after days of forgoing sleep in favor of studying, you were still floundering. Something in your brain was wired wrong, you were sure. Medical school is like trying to drink out of the ocean with a straw, everyone said. It’s the hardest thing you’ll do, they said. Then how was it that nobody else seemed to be struggling like you were?

But again. You could be studying now, could be working on figuring out exactly the shit Bakugo is rubbing in your face. But no. Instead you’re stuck in a pissing match with Mr. Perfect. Mr. Top-of-the-class, God’s-blonde-gift-to-humanity. The conversation isn’t even worth it anymore. You’d meant to leave before and now you were going to follow through. You scoff and start to walk off—

And he’s in front of you. Bakugo has taken one step to his right and effectively placed himself between you and the elevator.

“Move.” You demand.

“Just answer the damn question.”

“No. You’re not my professor.”

“I’m also not failing the only class where you are the cheat sheet.”

You wince. The truth in it stings something fierce.

“Enough, Katsuki.” Kirishima finally cuts in, his normally-cheery voice harder than you’ve ever heard. “You’re being a real jerk right now.”

Bakugo opens his mouth like he’s going to say something sharp, but the words die on his tongue. He looks between you and his friend.

“It’s a scaphoid fracture, Eijiro. They’ve only mentioned it like a thousand times, so imagine how much harder the rest—”

“That’s enough.” Kirishima says it again, louder. He grabs Bakugo by his upper arm and drags him out of your way. The lines between his brow are deep when he looks toward you, making him look years older than he had only minutes before. “I’m sorry about…well about all of that.”

About Bakugo? you want to ask. Or about the fact that he’s actually right for once?

You say nothing and hurry into the elevator. You don’t even try to hide the way to tap hurriedly at the door close button. The sooner you get out of here, the sooner you can get home. The sooner you get home the sooner you can get in bed and wallow, pretending you actually belong—

There’s a loud scuffle, a shout, then something slides between the elevator doors just as they bolt. You stagger, your back pressing flush to the metal wall behind you as a menacing presence invades your space.

“I carry mace.” You sputter, reaching for your keys as Bakugo slams the button for the first floor. The medical library was on the twelfth.

“Meet me in the dry lab on Saturday.” He says, mere inches of space separating his chest from yours.

You blink. Bakugo doesn’t. He stares, not at the neon aerosol pointed directly at his face, but at you in all your terrified glory.

“I’d rather not.” You say, slowly.

He grits his teeth. “Why not?”

“Because you’re kind of an asshole. And I’d rather not spend my free time with assholes.”

“You’d rather fail?”

“I’m already doing that.” You purse your lips. “As you so astutely pointed out before.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but then the elevator door opens on the ninth floor. A shorter boy takes a step as if to get on, but freezes as soon as he catches sight of the pair of you. Bakugo twists to look back over his shoulder. You can’t be sure exactly what he does in that moment, but whatever it is has the other student taking several slow steps backwards. The elevator door shuts and he makes no attempt to get back on.

Bakugo’s attention shifts back entirely towards you.

“Will you put that away before you blind us both?” He asks as he gestures towards your mace with his chin. He asks in the way that exasperated parents ask questions that aren’t really questions. Would you like to play nicely with your sibling, or would you like to explain to the emergency room staff how reenacting ‘Lion King’ ended up with one of you spraining your neck?

“I don’t like the way you talk to me.” You say, the words are more honest than you intend. They’re not what he expects, based on the way his eyes go wide. “I’m an idiot when it comes to most things, but I already know that and I don’t need you drilling the point home every five seconds.”

He grabs at his hair with both hands, tugging as he lets out an exasperated groan. “What is with you?! Nobody is calling you an idiot, so will you stop calling yourself one?”

“Once you stop making me feel like one, then maybe I will.”

“Listen,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice here—”

“Not asking for it.”

“I don’t give a shit, you’re gonna listen because you’re an adult and apparently nobody has told you this much yet.” He holds his arms out wide at his sides, leaning forward. “Not everyone is thinking about you all the time. Sometimes, when people are talking about classes they find easy, it’s because they think they’re easy! They’re not calling you stupid because you don’t—they’re just talking.”

“Yeah? And throwing a dozen questions my way that you know I can’t answer, is that ‘just talking?’”

“How am I supposed to know what you can and can’t answer?”

“Because it’s obvious! How the hell am I supposed to be able to diagnose a scaphoid fracture if I barely know where the scaphoid is?”

“You passed renal!” Bakugo says, like it means something.

“Like that changes the fact I’m flunking a class with a built- in ‘cheat sheet,’ as you so deftly put it.”

“Which is why I’m telling you to meet me in the dry lab tomorrow, so I can show you how to not flunk.”

The tears are hot at the corners of your eyes. “Like I said before, you’re an asshole.”

“That’s right, he shouts, “I’m an asshole! The sky is blue! But sometimes, just sometimes, I don’t mean to be one. It just happens. I say the first thing that pops into my head because the alternative is sitting there agonizing over all the ways I should be saying things. Everyone says ‘think before you speak’ like that’s supposed to fix everything. Well that’s great until you think yourself into a fucking hole. So instead, I say stupid asshole-ish things then chase classmates into an elevator to try and make up for it after the fact.”

The air is heavy with the weight of too many uncomfortable truths. You’re both breathing heavy—him from his rant, you from trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill out.

You will not cry in front of Katsuki Bakugo. It’s a vow you never thought you had to make up until this very moment.

“Are you coming tomorrow or not?” He asks. The elevator doors open, and when you make no move to scurry out, he reaches back and presses another button. The floor lurches upward as you begin your ascent.

“What if it isn’t enough?” You say, just barely.

“What do you mean?”

“What if studying with you isn’t enough?” Your words are clipped, full of the emotion you refuse to express otherwise. “What if I show up and put in the work and I still suck at all of this.”

Bakugo shakes his head. “Why are you worrying about that now? Just deal with what’s in front of you.”

“Because what’s even the point of trying if it’s all gonna go to hell anyway? If I’m just wasting my tuition trying to do something I’m not able to do?”

He sighs, scratching at the back of his head. “Listen, I help you out, but I can’t fix that.”

“Fix what?”

“That.” He gestures absently towards you. “The self-pitying bullshit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Well, fuck me I guess.”

“I—you just—goddammit.” Bakugo shuts his eyes tight and groans long and deep. “How the hell am I supposed to say it without pissing you off. I just told you about how I’m no good at this.

You open your mouth to retort, but he continues before you can.

“You were probably told all about how smart you were growing up, right? How special you were? Big fish in a little pond. Then you get into medical school and suddenly you’re surrounded by hundreds of special people just like you. And somehow their talent makes yours feel a lot less real. The first time you actually have to struggle for something, you find yourself wondering if you were even smart in the first place—if you coming here wasn’t one big accident.” He pauses, half his mouth tilts upward into a knowing sort of smile. “That’s how it was for me, at least. I swear, every other day I get this feeling at the back of my neck like someone is just waiting for me to mess up so they can tell me to pack my bags.”

He looks your way and scoffs. “Well, try not to act so surprised.”

It’s then that you realize your eyes must be the size of dinner plates.

“You hide it well.” You say softly.

“Do I really? Eijiro says I’m like one of those chihuahuas that compensates for his size by acting like the biggest thing in the room.”

“I mean, I’d call it a Napoleon complex, but I think something about the chihuahua fits better.”

“Either way,” he says, “you’re in a rut now. You’ve had to struggle at school for the first time in your life and now you have to deal with all the insecurity it entails. I’m not gonna promise you that if you study my way you’re gonna pass. I’m also not gonna lie and tell you that once you’re through MSK, it’ll all get better. It probably won’t. You’ll keep struggling and feeling stupid, and everyone has their own way of dealing. You’ve gotta find your own reason for pushing through despite it all.” He presses a finger into the left side of your chest as if to emphasize his point. “If it’s that you wanna graduate to be a badass physician, fine. You wanna do it to learn as much as you can, regardless of the grade? Great. Wanna do it just so those idiots back home have to look you in the eyes and call you ‘doctor?’” He grins wide and moves his hand so it rests on your shoulder. “I’d say that’s the best reason there is. But nobody in this field is gonna take the time to tell you how special you are and why you should push through. You’ve got to do it for yourself.”

And that’s it. For some reason that stupid speech, given in an elevator that smells a little like weed soaked in gasoline is what sets you off. What lets loose the insecurities you’ve been clinging to since first-year. You start blubbering like a baby and Bakugo, the six-foot-something grown man that he is, looks absolutely horrified at the fact. He squeezes your shoulder once, a caricature of comfort. Then he thinks better of it and pulls you into something vaguely resembling a hug. His back is rigid and his shoulders raised practically to his ears, but by god, he’s trying if the hand patting at your back every couple seconds or so is any indication.

It’s after a long moment of this (and another confused student peering into the elevator then making the wise decision to wait for the next) that you finally speak.

“It’s just so much sometimes.” You say, giving voice to the thoughts you’ve held for so long. “You have to be practically superhuman to balance everything we do—studying, sleeping, eating, breathing.”

“How do you eat an elephant?” Bakugo asks in the quiet that follows.

You pull back quickly to cast him a confused look, “Wait, why are we eating elephants now?”

“Because that’s the way the saying goes, I don’t know.” He gives you one more pat on the back. “Anyway, how do you eat an elephant?”

“Aren’t they endangered—.”

“One bite at a time.”

You stare at him. Bakugo stares back. Then he throws his head back and groans, long and loud. “God, now it sounds a lot dumber to say out loud. Why do you have to ask stupid questions like that and ruin everything?”

“There are no stupid questions, Bakugo.”

“Yeah, well I disagree.”

“And that’s why you’re going into general surgery.” You punctuate the statement with a quick tap of your finger against his nose.

He swats away your hand and jerks back from you like he’s been shot. “Did Eijiro tell you?”

Despite your goopy eyes and still-snotty nose, you throw back your head and laugh. “Dude, it’s obvious.”

“Just like it’s obvious you’re doing internal medicine?” He says it with a scowl, like it’s supposed to be an insult. One you can’t take seriously given that’s like saying ‘wow, I can’t believe you’re only interested in being a rocket scientist.’ Which only leaves you laughing all that much more.

“How’d you figure?” You ask, playing along.

“Ignoring the fact that you suck at basic anatomy?”

“Yeah? Well check out this metatarsal.” You flip the bird.

Something in Bakugo’s face changes then. He’s smiling, but it’s nothing like Kirishima’s cheery grin. In a practiced move, he thrusts both middle fingers out towards you. He uses one to point at the lower part of the other, right where it joins with his palm. “Metacarpal,” he points to the joint just above it, “and phalanges.” The words are arrogance and acid swirled together. His stare is no better. “Unless you’ve got feet attached to your wrists, that is.”

You knew that. Shit, mega-shit, proving-his-point-shit. That was the easiest crap in the world and you knew that. But in your rush to be a smartass, you’d made a dumbass of yourself. You rush towards the elevator door, poking hurriedly at the ‘open the door nownownow’ button. You don’t care if you’re between floors. You don’t care if that’s not how elevators work. You want to throw yourself into the elevator shaft abyss now, please and thank you.

“So,” Bakugo, that super-mega-awful human that he is drawls as he leans a shoulder against the wall opposite to you, “what we can finally agree on the fact that you’re missing so much of the fundamentals that it’ll be useless to try and drill pathology into you.”

You can’t even look at him. If you do, you will smack the ever-loving-shit out of that self-righteous mouth of his.

“We’ve gotta start from the ground up. And that means I better see you in the dry lab,” He leans in and, close enough that he must not fear the consequences of your rage, “starting tomorrow.”

The door opens. You sprint out onto the sixth floor of the library like some crazed animal, ignoring the looks of utter bewilderment from the other students on the floor.

Even so, you know. God, you know you have to show up.

~~~~~

And that brings you to your current predicament on Saturday, 9AM, in a near-abandoned campus classroom.

With Katsuki Bakugo in his signature back tee and gold chain blocking your only exit, a dismembered anatomical arm slung across his shoulder.

You can practically smell the danger in the situation, especially when he bares his teeth like some kind predator.

“What, were you expecting someone else? Kirishima has lacrosse, so he’s not coming to save you anytime soon.” His grin widens, cruel. “Are you ready to learn?”

And just like that, you begin to regret every life decision you’ve made up to this point. But hey, at least it’ll be worth it to not fail MSK, right?

Right?

#bnha x reader #bnha #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #this was self indulgent #boku no hero academia #bnha reader insert

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