#and will drop...idk next week sometime maybe

[deus-ex-mona]

when the lip differs from the lip

[mcrdvcks]

i hate it here

chapter summary: You meet Bucky at therapy where Dr. Raynor shares a small office with Dr. Cole. You two slowly connect over mystery books and coffee outings. Until one day you don't show up. word count: 3.4k+ pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: i've mentioned a few times offhandedly that i have depression (and anxiety) and i that i have attempted - i don't want pity or anything, just stating a fact. i started therapy like 4 months ago and have been doing much better! anyways, i got to thinking about how one of the only characters who has been in therapy (in the mcu) is bucky. i guess you could kinda count tony, but he was talking to bruce so idk. anyways, that's how this came along. it was kinda my version of journaling, since i suck at it. please read the warnings/tags! warnings/tags: post tfatws, therapy, allusions to depression, alpine mention!, reader has a dog, mentions/allusions to a suicide attempt, some fluff, two people finding each other through trauma, insomnia, nightmares, slight angst, depressive spiral

The Brooklyn office is small—four hardback chairs, a scuffed laminate floor, and walls the color of old oatmeal. You’re already there when Bucky shuffles in, early as usual, hood pulled low despite the July heat.

You’re curled over a paperback, thumb smoothing the crease in the spine. He recognizes the look: concentration hiding nerves. He clears his throat, drops into the chair opposite you.

Silence stretches. Tick-tick-tick from the receptionist’s keyboard. Bucky counts each tap like gunshots until— “Chapter’s not great,” you mutter, not looking up. “It’s supposed to be a detective story, but the villain is obvious by page three.”

Bucky blinks. Small talk, right. He hunts for something non-awkward to say. “Maybe the detective’s just slow,” he offers.

That earns a tiny huff of laughter. You glance up, eyes warm but tired. “You ever read mysteries?”

“Not since… a long time.” He swallows. “But I used to like Agatha Christie.”

“Classic.” You close the book, mark your place with a Metro receipt. “I’m Y/N.”

He opens his mouth—hesitates—then sticks out a flesh-and-blood hand. “Bucky.” The metal one stays shoved under his sleeve.

The receptionist calls your name first. You stand, shoot him a quick, encouraging smile. Something inside his rib cage gives a startled twitch.

---

“Still having trouble sleeping?” Dr. Cole asked. She shared an office with Dr. Raynor, you were just lucky to find a therapist close to your place.

You shrugged, “yeah. It’s just insomnia. I did a sleep test, had to put the mask on and sleep with it for 2 nights. Doctor found nothing, so...”

"Let's talk about what happens when you try to sleep," Dr. Cole said, pen poised.

"I stare at the ceiling," you answered. "Count cracks in the paint, listen to Sparky snore, think about—stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Classes, rent, whether my brother’s eating decent food at school—everything that isn't restful."

Dr. Cole nodded. "Nightmares?"

"More like reruns. Same memories on loop." You rubbed your eyes. "They don't even change; they're just… loud."

She clicked her pen. "Medication helping?"

“I guess. Not with the sleep part though. But nothing helps with sleep.”

Dr. Cole tilted her head. “What do you do between the moment you turn off the light and the moment you give up?”

“Phone. Crossword. Sometimes I Google ‘why can’t I sleep’ like it’s gonna give a brand-new answer.”

“Ever try talking instead of scrolling? Out loud, I mean—narrate the day, get it out of your head.”

You snort. “My dog’ll think I’m confessing state secrets.”

“Sparky might surprise you.” Dr. Cole’s smile is small but real. “Okay, homework: pick one night this week, no screens after ten, narrate the day to Sparky, then lights out. Deal?”

“Fine. If she tattles, that’s on you.”

“Noted.” She scribbles, caps the pen. “Same time next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You stand, tugging your bag onto your shoulder. The chair legs squeak; the sound feels louder than it is.

---

Bucky’s still in the waiting area, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it owes him money. He glances up when the door clicks shut behind you.

“How’d it go?” he asks, voice low.

“About as fun as a dentist with feelings.” You fish the Metro receipt-bookmark from your book, wave it. “But I got homework.”

“Therapists love homework.” He shifts, pats the chair beside him that you’re about to vacate. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” You nod toward the closed door. “Raynor doesn’t bite, right?”

“She’s thinking about it.” His mouth twitches. “You really hate that book?”

“Detective’s got two brain cells, both fighting for custody. I’m gonna finish it just to spite him.”

“Want a recommendation when you’re done?”

“Only if it’s Christie.” You step backward toward the lobby doors. “I like the classics.”

He lifts two fingers in a mock salute. “Deal.”

The receptionist calls, “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky pushes up, metal hand still hidden in the sleeve. As he passes, he murmurs, “see you next week, Y/N.”

Your pulse trips over itself. “Next week.”

---

Raynor doesn’t wait for him to sit. “Early again. You practicing small talk in the hallway?”

He drops into the chair. “Maybe.”

“How’s the loneliness doing?”

He thinks of a paperback clutched between your hands and the way your eyes lit when he said Christie. “Less loud.”

“That’s new.” Raynor flips her notepad open. “Let’s talk about it.”

---

A week later you’re back, five minutes early for once. Bucky’s already there—of course—thumb tapping a silent rhythm on his thigh.

“You beat me again,” you say.

“I’m competitive.” He nods to the paperback in your grip. “Finished?”

“Killer was the dog walker. I want my money back.”

He chuckles—actually chuckles. “Brought you this.” From his jacket pocket he produces a scuffed copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

You take it, thumb the brittle spine. “Vintage.”

“So am I.”

You sit—this time in the chair beside him, not across. Your shoulders almost touch.

Receptionist looks up. “Y/N?”

You rise, clutching the book. “Hold my spot?”

“Always.” He watches you disappear behind the door, heart beating a little less like a war drum. Raynor will call it progress. He’ll call it something quieter: hope.

---

July heat’s worse a week later—New York humidity that sticks to your lungs. You and Bucky leave your sessions at the same time for once, shoulders brushing as the door swings shut.

“Raynor let you out early?” you ask.

“She thinks negative five minutes counts as progress.” He eyes the battered copy of Roger Ackroyd in your hand. “Any good?”

“Ten times smarter than last week’s disaster. Thanks for the rec.” You nudge his elbow. “Coffee? There’s a cart across the street.”

He squints at the sky. “Gonna melt anyway. Sure.”

---

The cart umbrella rattles in the breeze. You order an iced latte and Bucky sticks to plain drip, black.

“Old-man coffee,” you tease.

“Watch it, I’m sensitive.” He sips, winces. “So—you do the Sparky homework?”

“Yeah. She stared at me like I’d grown a second head, then fell asleep halfway through my monologue about rent.”

“Did you sleep any better?”

“Hour, maybe two.” You shrug. “But hey, progress.”

He nods, knocks a knuckle on the paper cup. “Nightmares kept me up. Raynor wants me journaling.”

“Journaling, narrating—therapists love verbs.” You dig in your tote, pull out a slim notebook. “Take mine. Blank pages intimidate me anyway.”

He turns it over. “Purple glitter stars?”

“Judge and I take it back.”

He clutches it to his chest. “No, no—precious now.”

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it. A beat passes; his smile lingers. Something warm hangs between you—comfortable, tentative.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, tapping the notebook. “For the… sparkly lifeline.”

“Anytime, Barnes.”

You check your phone. “Gotta run—class in fifteen. Same time next week?”

He hesitates, then, “Actually—Raynor’s moving my slot. Thursday, four?”

You scroll your calendar. “I can swing that.” Smile. “I’ll bring a better bookmark.”

He salutes with his coffee. “Deal.”

---

The waiting-room AC’s broken. You fan yourself with your Metro receipt as Bucky strides in, hair damp from a shower that didn’t stick.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey.” He holds up the notebook—half the pages now filled. “Turns out journaling’s just talking on paper.”

“Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

The receptionist calls his name first this time. He freezes. “Switch with me?”

You shrug. “Fair’s fair. Go.”

He exhales, heads in. As the door shuts, you spot the corner of a page sticking out of the notebook—your name scrawled at the top. Your heart skips and you look away fast.

---

Bucky’s session is short—fifteen minutes. He steps out, cheeks pink.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Raynor… uh, suggested social exposure therapy.”

“Meaning?”

“Coffee that isn’t from a cart.” He scratches the back of his neck. “With a friend.”

You grin. “I know a place that sells donuts bigger than your hand.”

“Sound dangerous.”

“Live a little, Barnes.”

He offers an arm—the flesh-and-blood one. You loop yours through without overthinking.

“Hope they have purple-glitter donuts,” he mutters.

You snort. “Don’t tempt me.”

Street noise swallows the rest, but the silence between you feels easy, not heavy. Two insomniacs, two notebooks, one slow, stumbling orbit.

And maybe—just maybe—sleep won’t feel so impossible tonight.

---

You push the shop door open, tiny bell chiming. The smell of fried sugar and espresso hits like a hug. Bucky’s already at a corner table, sunglasses perched on his head, studying the menu like it’s classified.

“Morning,” you say, sliding into the seat across.

He looks up, relief softening his shoulders. “Saved you the last maple-bacon monstrosity.”

“You get a medal for that.”

“Working on it.” He nods at your iced coffee. “Still cold-brew loyal?”

“Ride or die.” You sip. “How’s the notebook?”

He pulls the purple-star journal from his jacket, thumb tapping the cover. “Halfway through. Raynor says I’m oversharing—‘but in a good way.’”

“Therapist code for ‘keep going.’”

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I wrote about… the bridge dream. First time on paper.”

You lean in. “Any lighter?”

“Maybe a gram.” He flicks his gaze to the donut display. “Your turn—sleep narration working?”

“Managed four hours straight on Wednesday.” You raise the coffee in salute. “Progress.”

He grins. “Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

A server comes by to hand off the plates: his chocolate-glazed, your maple-bacon slab.

You rip off a chunk, point it at him. “So—social exposure therapy. How exposed are we aiming?”

“Raynor suggested a museum. Crowds, but no one expects small talk.”

“I’m free Sunday afternoon. Think you can handle the Met?”

He pretends to weigh it. “If they still allow grumpy ex-assassins.”

“Only if they don’t touch the art.”

“No promises.”

---

You both pause at a sarcophagus. Tourists swirl around, soundtrack of camera shutters. Bucky leans close. “Mummies have it figured out. Eternal rest.”

“Jealous?”

“A little.”

You smirk. “Try counting cracks in the ceiling. Works great.”

“Smart-mouth.” He nudges your shoulder. Metal—the sleeve’s rolled up. First time he hasn’t hidden it.

You glance at the vibranium, then meet his eyes. “Cool arm.”

He exhales—some tension you didn’t know was there. “Thanks.”

A kid nearby gasps, whispers to her dad. Bucky stiffens. You step slightly in front of him, blocking the view. “Ignore them. They’re staring at the arm, not you.”

“Same thing.”

You tilt your head. “To me it’s just… part of the package.”

He blinks. “Package, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky, Barnes.”

He chuckles, shoulders loosening. You wander onward, conversation dipping from art to worst cafeteria food, back to sleep tactics.

---

Apartment’s dark except for phone glow. Sparky snores at your feet.

Your screen lights: Bucky Barnes – New Text

“Tried narrating to Alpine. She walked off mid-monologue. Rude cat.” “You asleep?”

You smile, thumbs flying.

“Wide awake, obviously.” “Want to test a theory? Phone call, five minutes max. Talking’s supposed to tire the brain.”

Three dots… then your phone rings.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His voice is low, scratchy. “If this puts you to sleep I’ll be offended.”

“Then be interesting.”

He snorts. “No pressure.”

Minute one: weather complaints. Minute two: misheard song lyrics. Minute three: you yawn.

“Tired?” he asks, softer.

“Keep talking.”

He does—about the Met gift shop, how the snow-globe pyramids looked fake, how he bought one anyway.

“Why?” you mumble.

“For you,” he says. “Figured you could narrate to it when Sparky’s bored.”

Warmth floods your chest. “That’s… weirdly sweet.” There was silence for a few seconds, except his breathing. You blink, heavy-lidded. “Still there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t hang up yet.”

“Not planning to.” He pauses. “Sleep, Y/N.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Phone still against your ear, you drift. First dreamless night in months.

Bucky listens to your steady breaths, eyes finally closing. Tomorrow’s problems can wait. Tonight, two insomniacs found quiet on the same line.

---

Dr. Cole taps her pen lightly on the pad. "You seem brighter today."

You shift slightly, feeling oddly caught out. "Actually slept last night. Whole five hours."

She raises an eyebrow, gently amused. "And what changed?"

You consider the phone call, the quiet voice on the other end, and shrug. "I think talking helps more than I realized."

Dr. Cole nods knowingly. "Having someone listen tends to do that."

"Yeah." You pick at your thumbnail. "I might be figuring that out."

"Good," she says simply. "Keep figuring."

---

Bucky’s waiting outside when you finish, leaning against the brick wall in sunglasses and a worn ball cap. He pushes off as soon as you step into the sunlight.

"Stalking now?" you joke, nudging his shoulder.

"Just passing by." He falls into step beside you. "Coffee? I need advice."

"Advice?"

He grimaces. "Raynor wants me attending a group session next week. Apparently, that's my next exposure step."

You glance at him. "Sounds terrifying."

"It is. Hence the advice request."

You smile softly. "I don't do groups, but… you handled crowds at the Met fine."

"That was because of you." He shrugs one shoulder, eyes ahead. "You distract me."

Warmth blooms in your chest. "In a good way?"

"In the best way."

Silence lingers, comfortable this time. The coffee cart is in sight, heat shimmering off pavement.

"Maybe… I could wait outside the group room," you offer quietly. "Just for moral support."

He stops, turns to you, eyes bright behind the lenses. "You'd do that?"

You tilt your head, fighting a smile. "I’d even bring a bad detective book."

"Deal."

---

The hallway smells faintly like industrial cleaner. You’re on a metal folding chair, feet kicked up against the wall, paperback open in your lap, Sparky dozing at your feet.

The group-room door opens. Voices murmur, shoes shuffle. Bucky emerges last, eyes slightly wide, tension in his shoulders. He spots you immediately, relief clear.

You shut the book. "You survived."

"Barely."

"Anyone bite?"

"Only verbally." He nods at Sparky. "She allowed?"

"Emotional support dog," you deadpan. "Completely legit."

He crouches slowly, metal fingers gentle against Sparky’s fur. She yawns, entirely unconcerned. Bucky straightens, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Thanks for waiting."

"Always."

You start walking toward the exit together, his pace matching yours easily. "Was it worth it?" you ask.

He exhales deeply. "Yeah. Sort of. I talked. Once. About nightmares."

"That’s huge."

"Didn’t feel huge."

"It will tomorrow."

He looks sideways at you, hesitant. "Can I… call tonight?"

Your heart thuds softly. "Every night if it helps."

"It does," he says quietly. "It helps a lot."

The sunlight fades gold over the city as you step outside. Bucky pauses, hands in his pockets.

"You know," he says carefully, "I started therapy because the government made me. I stayed because… I thought it was the right thing to do. But now—"

"Now?" you prompt softly.

"Now I'm staying because it led me to you."

You swallow, suddenly shy. "That’s… nice."

He chuckles gently, shaking his head. "Yeah. Nice."

You bump his shoulder. "Don't mock my vocabulary."

"Never." He smiles. "Call you later?"

"Better."

He watches you walk away, heart steadier than it’s been in months.

---

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, vibrating against your toothbrush holder. You squint at the caller ID, toothbrush in your mouth.

Dad.

You spit toothpaste, rinse quickly, and swipe to answer. "Hey, Dad."

"Y/N," he starts, tone already tense. "Got a minute?"

You sigh quietly, gripping the sink. "I have therapy soon. Everything okay?"

He pauses. You hear him clear his throat—never a good sign. "Look, I just got your mail. Bill from the hospital came again."

"Yeah, they keep sending it even though I set up payments—"

"I read it," he interrupts, voice clipped. "You know how it feels to read 'psychiatric hold' on a bill addressed to my kid?"

You close your eyes, jaw tightening. "I didn't ask you to open it."

"You're my kid. Of course I opened it. Y/N, we never talked about it. You just went silent, moved on like nothing happened—"

"I didn't move on."

"Then explain it," he says sharply. "Explain why you'd do something like that. Was it us? Your mom? Me? You never gave us a chance—"

"Dad, please stop."

He doesn’t. "We raised you to be stronger than this, Y/N. What happened to you?"

Your chest aches. Tears sting your eyes, hot and furious. "I have to go."

"Y/N—"

You hang up, tossing the phone onto your bed. You sit down hard, head in your hands, breathing jaggedly until your lungs ache. "Fuck," you whisper, wiping at tears you don't want to fall. "Fuck."

Your phone buzzes again. You don't pick it up.

---

Bucky checks his phone again—fourth time in ten minutes. The receptionist taps at her keyboard, and the clock above ticks louder than usual. Still nothing.

He types out another quick message:

"You close? Saving you a seat."

Five minutes pass as his knee bounces. Another text:

"You okay?"

Raynor opens her office door. "Barnes?"

He stares at your empty chair, then back at her. "Can we reschedule?"

She frowns slightly. "Is something wrong?"

"I gotta check on something." He stands abruptly. "I'll call."

Raynor just nods slowly. "Alright. Call if you need anything."

He’s already out the door.

---

He knocks gently at your apartment door, listening closely. "Y/N?"

No answer.

Bucky knocks again. "Y/N, it's me. You missed therapy. Just checking in."

Silence. Anxiety creeps up his spine, icy and familiar. He tries the handle. Locked.

He pulls out his phone again, sends a text:

"Outside your door. Please open."

Nothing. He leans his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes briefly. "Please," he murmurs.

Then, faintly, your voice comes through: "It's unlocked now."

---

Your apartment’s dark, curtains drawn tight. Sparky is curled on the couch, lifting her head as Bucky steps inside. You’re sitting cross-legged in the corner of the couch, eyes swollen, a blanket draped over your shoulders.

"Hey," he says softly, approaching slowly. "Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head silently, eyes fixed on your hands.

Bucky sits carefully beside you, keeping a cautious distance. "You wanna talk about it?"

You don’t answer. He waits, watching your profile, noticing the tightness in your jaw, the subtle trembling in your hands.

"My dad called," you say finally, voice thick. "He got a bill from the hospital. From… a while ago."

Bucky nods slightly. "Didn’t go well?"

A shaky laugh escapes your throat. "He blamed me. Said… said they raised me stronger. Like I chose to be weak."

Your voice cracks on the last word. Tears spill over, quiet and unstoppable. "I didn’t choose this."

Bucky’s throat tightens. "I know."

"He asked what happened to me," you whisper, voice breaking. "I don't know how to answer that."

He moves closer, gentle and slow. "You don’t have to know right now."

You swallow hard. "I keep trying to be better. Therapy, homework, all the fucking talking—but it’s never enough." You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to—"

"Hey," he interrupts gently. "Stop apologizing."

You cry harder, trying to hold back sobs that spill through your fingers. He doesn't say anything more—just reaches out slowly, carefully pulling you against him. You tense at first, then melt against his chest. His arms circle you gently but firmly, his hand stroking your back as you tremble.

"You don't have to do this alone," he says softly, his voice steady in your ear. "I promise."

You nod, unable to speak. Sparky whines softly, shifting closer, pressing warmth into your side.

Bucky holds you until the tears slow, until your breathing evens slightly, his grip never loosening.

"You don't have to explain anything," he whispers finally. "Not to him, not to me—not until you're ready."

You sit up slowly, wiping your eyes, embarrassed. "Sorry," you whisper again.

He squeezes your shoulder gently, shaking his head. "No more apologies."

You sniff softly, leaning your head back against the couch. "I missed therapy."

"Cole'll forgive you. I skipped too."

You glance at him, eyes tired but softer. "They’ll kill us both."

"They’ll deal." He smiles gently, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "You hungry?"

You shake your head slowly. "Not yet."

"Then we'll wait." He leans back beside you, Sparky settling between you both. "We have time."

You let out a breath, lighter now. The ache still lingers in your chest, but it’s quieter, bearable. "Thank you," you whisper.

He looks at you, steady and calm. "Anytime, Y/N."

sparky is actually the name of my one of my dogs, so you can tell i'm super creative, lol. to lighten things up, here's a picture of her:

we've had her since i was in elementary, so like 12-14 years? she's also around the same age. we think she's have golden retriever, half chihuahua. i know that sounds insane but google that and look at the pictures - a few of them look exactly like her. she's a rescue, so we aren't sure about age, etc. anyways, thank you for reading!

[m0llygunn]

'tis the season (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: your sweet neighbour addresses a christmas card to both you and eddie — the only issue? she's never met eddie... so how does she know his name? eddie decides that 'tis the season for all your neighbours to know his name

cw: 18+!, christmas adjacent but you don't have to celebrate, smut, oral, fingering, pinv sex, idk mentions of dying of embarrassment, friends with benefits to more (slightly ambiguous ig) an: just a quick lil thing!!! if you liked it pls tell me or i'll pass away from lack of attention wc: 2.4k+

You didn’t think twice about it — a Christmas card that your next door neighbour dropped off to your apartment, addressed to both you and Eddie. 

You should have thought twice about it — because you’ve never introduced lovely Mrs. Mabel to Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t necessarily show up to your apartment during the day time.

What you and him do… it’s more of a night time thing. You call him — sometimes he calls you — and then he drives over. Sometimes you pretend you need something fixed, sometimes it’s a jar lid that's stuck, one time it was your bedside table that was jammed — but him coming over to introduce himself to your 70 year old neighbour is highly, highly unlikely. 

So when you got the card, maybe you should have thought twice about why his name was on it — but you didn’t. You were on your way out and Mrs. Mabel had left it taped to your door. You slid it into your purse, and then when you got home, you had put it down on your countertop with the thought of opening it after putting away the few groceries you had bought.

Then you just forgot about it for the night. A candle was lit, the lights were dimmed, and Eddie was speed dialed. 

When he showed up, you were pouring drinks for the two of you in your kitchen — that’s when he saw the card. 

“Oh?” he hummed, smiling as he slid his finger along the edge of the rustic brown coloured envelope, picking it up. “What's this?”

“Oh yeah!” you remembered. “Mrs. Mabel dropped that off earlier, I forgot to open it. It's a christmas card,” you beamed. 

“Well, good thing you waited. It’s addressed for both of us,” he winked. 

You didn’t understand the wink. 

You didn’t understand why he was so smug either, and you didn’t ask, you were too distracted by the kitschy card, with drawings of cats wearing Santa hats wishing you and Eddie a ‘Meowy Christmas’ and a ‘Purrfect New Year’. 

It was only after drinks were drunk, your bedroom was visited, and Eddie said something odd, that you started to question what exactly he meant. 

His skin was still dewy where you laid your head on his chest. Both of your breaths were labored. His hand was splayed across your back, feeling extra warm. 

“So… I take it that all your neighbours know my name?” He said it like he was teasing you. You didn’t understand why, but it seemed loaded.

“No? Why would they all know your name?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, and you could hear the mischief in his smile. He was up to something, but your eyelids were heavy, and his hand started to rub up and down your spine, and with the way your body vibrated, you could not have cared less. Whatever he was getting at could wait. 

And it did wait — one whole week. Then you finally understood, and you really cared — because what the fuck. 

He came over earlier than usual. He hadn’t even called, he just showed up, and with flowers. Flowers. Eddie doesn’t give you flowers, he gives you orgasms. That’s what you thought this thing was between the two of you — nothing more than late night hookups. Not flowers. 

And then he dropped the bomb that he was making you dinner. Dinner. He was being so sweet, and he brought you flowers, and he was making you dinner. You can’t even remember a time where you had seen him before the sun set. Flowers. Dinner.

As he found his way through your kitchen, he made sure to get in every little touch and graze possible, even ones that were so obviously unnecessary. Like when you were washing vegetables at the sink. He pressed himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your body, caging you in against the sink, washing his hands in the most inconvenient position ever. It was incredibly inefficient, and it got the front of your shirt wet, but that was another thing. He peeled your shirt off you right in the kitchen. With a giggle — because this whole ordeal had left you undeniably smitten — you complained that the cotton of your shirt was cold and stuck to you, so his solution was to spin you around and lift it right up from your waist, up your chest, and over your head. 

As the fabric passed over your face, you shut your eyes, only to open them to Eddie pressing a kiss to your lips. The shirt was thrown to the floor, his hands found your cheeks, and you were walked backwards until your bum pressed to the countertop. His body pressed to yours, his belt buckle jutting in the bare skin of your belly, his shirt sticking to the lace of your bra. He kissed you stupid right in the middle of your kitchen. 

When you thought you were moving onto the next part of the night — forgoing dinner and heading straight to the bedroom — you were wrong. 

“What’ya doing?” he murmured against your mouth. You had reached around him, blindly finding and spinning the burner off. 

“Making sure my apartment doesn’t burn down.”

“It won’t. We’re right here.” He pressed a string of new kisses to your lips, and you could feel his smile through every single one. 

Your makeout session did not move to the bedroom. 

When the timer went off, he parted from you with a final peck to your lips, and ‘for good measure’, another one to your cheek. From there on out, you… you were useless. Just a pair of wobbly legs being ordered around by a thoughtless brain. You spilled things, and knocked things over, and clattered dishes, and eventually Eddie put you on watch duty — or as he put it, ‘sit there and look pretty’ duty. 

It didn’t get better either. He kept looking at you. Looking at you with dark eyes that you know too well. Dark eyes that felt deeper than anything you’ve felt before. Dark eyes that made your stomach swirl and your thighs clench. Dark eyes that you wanted in the bedroom, right now. 

You tried to get him in the bedroom. From your spot sitting on the countertop, you tried to hook a pointed foot around his thigh as he stirred honestly over a steaming pan. You tried to give him the same eyes back. You tried — oh god, you tried. 

And you know what he did? He set the table. Lit a candle, set out glasses, lined up forks and knives. Got you a new shirt to wear. Filled your plates, got you both napkins, pulled your chair out for you. 

You wanted him more than anything. 

And then you got him. 

The table was never cleared. Clothes were shed before either of you were past your bedroom door. Your hands were tugging at his boxers, and you wanted to show him how much you appreciated his kindness — how much you enjoyed the impromptu flowers and dinner. 

He had other plans. 

He laid you down and spread you out. Put his mouth to use — held both your hands as he did it too. It had your chest squeezing in a soft way, and your hips moving in a way you could not control. 

“Eddie,” you moaned, as he licked at your sensitive spot, pushing you just over the point of too much pleasure. You already came once but he decided that you deserved much more than that. 

“Am I making you feel good?”

“Mhm, so good, Eddie — fuck,” you gasped as your pleasure quickly became overstimulating. He rearranged your intertwined mess of hands, taking both of yours in one of his, freeing up the other to move down your body and meet his mouth at your core. 

Two fingers were pushed into your already convulsing cunt. You barely had a moment to come down, and he was barreling past that point, moving you onto your next orgasm. His fingers curled, and your whole body tensed.

“Eddie — E-Eddie,” you said, voice rising as your hips began to buck, thighs jerking.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Eddie,” you whined, like it was a real answer and not just his name. Like he should know what he's doing to you — and he does, but to your ignorance, this is exactly what he wants.

“I know — I know, feels good, huh?”

And it did. His fingers felt great, but him properly filling you up felt better. As soon as he sunk his length into you, you were a goner. 

With your legs folded, ankles sitting over his shoulders, blankets gathered where you fisted them in your hands, and your toes curled tightly, Eddie fucked you. Sincerely, amorously, hard.

Every snap of his hips to yours, every crude, wet noise, every creak of the bed, was hidden well beneath the way you panted and whined — and Eddie just goaded you on.

“Yeah? Right there? That's where it feels good?”

“Yes, right — right there,” you answered devotedly.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tell me how you want it,” he grunted, bringing a soft hand to your cheek and running it upwards, pushing back the baby hairs on your forehead. 

“Harder,” you answered, meeting his gaze. 

“Harder…?’ He smiled, trailing off to prompt you. Just as he did, he let his hips find yours with extra vigour, grinding upwards into you, his cock pressing right against your g-spot with the perfect angle to get a full-body reaction from you. He continued, rolling his hips in a quick rhythm, giving you exactly what you asked for, harder. 

“Eddie,” you gasped, body being pressed up the mattress with the sheer force of his thrust. 

“You like saying my name don’t you? Hm? Sounds so pretty when you say it.”

You should have put it together right there. But you didn’t. You just got louder.

“Eddie — fuck — Eddie!”

“I know. I got you, baby,” he replied, eyes never leaving your face as he purposefully did exactly what he needed to do to get his intended reaction from you. 

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

One final press of his pelvis to your sensitive clit, one final graze of his cock to that special spot inside of you, one final gasp of his name, and you were coming. Coming harder than you had tonight, harder than you ever had in your whole life. 

You wished you could have stayed in that moment forever. 

Pleasure coursing through you, spreading everywhere from your ten fingers to your ten toes, your mind blank apart from the pure adoration you had for the man who laid overtop of you, cumming inside of you at that very moment. The man who surprised you and brought you flowers and cooked you dinner. 

Oh, and not to mention how, in that moment, you were so blissfully ignorant to a spectacularly embarrassing fact. So naive, so ignorant. So stupid. 

Eddie was a sweetheart. Continued to be a sweetheart, actually. After giving the two of you time to settle, he eventually got up, helped clean you up, cleaned himself up, and then got back into bed with you to cuddle. Cuddling has been a normal thing for the two of you, but his smile as he cozied up close to you, with the way his lips rounded at the corners, and his dimples were so deeply set, it was not the normal, bliss-filled, post-orgasm smile. It was different, it was mischievous, and a touch unsettling. 

“What?” you eventually caved, smiling back at him as he gave you a dramatic side eye paired with a raised brow — he's been waiting for you to ask him what's on his mind. 

He grinned at you, canines poking out with all his glee. He dropped his head to your fluffed pillow, tugged you in closer, and looked at you like he was about to spill some hot, gossipy pillowtalk. 

“Think all your neighbours know my name now?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, weaving together in the centre, because what does that have to do with anything? ‘What?’ sat on the tip of your tongue, but just as he wiggled his brow, giving you a pointed look, waiting for you to put it all together, it finally hit you. It hit you like a brick to the head. A brick to the head off of a three story building. Beyond painful. 

The reason Mrs. Mabel, dear, sweet, elderly, Mrs. Mabel knew Eddie’s name to write it on your Christmas card: thin walls, his talent, your loud mouth. 

“No,” you gasped, jaw dropping.

“No?” He scrunched his forehead upwards, eyes widening, leaning in even closer to you to absorb the full extent of your shock. “Because I think they do,” he smirked, voice rising with amusement. Finding your waist under the blankets, he curled his fingers into your flesh. You squirmed, grabbing his hand and holding him still. This is serious. 

“Eddie,” you frowned, squeezing his hands before pushing them out from under the blankets and away. He let you, watching you through bright eyes, loving every minute of your humiliation. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that is my name,” he practically sang. 

“That’s so embarrassing.” You let your body shrink into the mattress, turning to hide your face in the pillow. You whined out a long groan, ridding your body of every ounce of breath in your lungs. If you were a lucky person, you would have suffocated. Died right there and rid yourself of all your mortal shame. 

“Nobody complained, I think they’re fine with it.” His hand became a heavy weight of your waist, coaxing you out from the pillow while rubbing your back.

“I’m not fine with it,” you said abruptly, nearly giving yourself whiplash as you turned your neck to look at Eddie. “Mrs. Mabel… she… she — ”

Eddie finished your sentence — “She gave us a Christmas card. She’s not upset,” he smiled, leaning in once again, this time to press a kiss to your forehead. 

He's wrong. You know it, but you don't have the will to fight it. So instead you rolled your eyes, sighing as you laid your head back down to your pillow. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“Oh really?” Eddie teased, his mischievous tone contradicting the gentle way he pulled the blanket up for you, covering your shoulders and tucking it under your chin. “I don’t recall me being annoying a few minutes ago?” He took a deep inhale. “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie —” he began to chant, voice pitched up mockingly, volume way too loud. 

“Shush,” you scolded him, jumping forward, fighting to free your arms from the blanket to smack both of your hands over his mouth. His voice vibrated behind your palms, and his laughter stuck to your skin as you forcibly shut him up. 

Your neighbours clearly already knew his name, but if they didn’t, they definitely do now.

thank you for reading! happy holidays <333333

[honeyncherry]

all good things ii - joe burrow

summary you thought you'd mastered the art of letting go, turns out you'd just gotten really good at looking the other way

content angst, fluff, idk what im talking about in half this

part one

"Why are you here?"

You don't look up from the glass you're drying when you ask it, but you can feel him settling onto the barstool across from you. Same spot as always—third from the left, close enough to the corner that he can see the door but far enough from the other customers that conversation stays private.

"For a drink," he says, and there's that familiar hint of amusement in his voice, like he knows you already know the answer but enjoys the routine anyway.

Without thinking, your hand finds the bourbon, muscle memory from months of the same dance. The bottle feels heavier tonight, or maybe it's just you. Maybe it's the report waiting on your laptop at home, or the way certain thoughts have been circling back when you least expect them.

“How was Denver?” you ask, sliding the glass his way.

He catches it without looking, thumb brushing along the rim before taking a sip. “Great. Got a good win.”

You lean in, resting your elbows on the bar, giving him your full attention now. "Yeah? How good are we talking?"

"Really good." He grins, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes him look younger than he is. "Like, career-defining good.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself, the pride bubbling up quicker than expected. “That’s incredible. I’m so happy for you.”

He drops his gaze a little, almost shy about it. Compliments still make him weird. But you can tell it means something—coming from you, maybe, or maybe just being heard out loud.

“Actually,” he says, reaching into his jacket, “I got you something. Well, two things.”

That makes you pause. He's holding out a small wrapped box, the kind that comes from hotel gift shops or airport stores. The paper is slightly wrinkled, like it spent the flight home pressed against other things in his carry-on.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know." He places it on the bar top between you and then grins. "But I saw it and thought of you. Plus, I have some news." There's something sweet about it, the casualness of the gesture with no hidden agenda. 

You peel the paper back carefully, and inside is a snow globe, tacky and perfect in the way only tourist gifts can be. Denver’s skyline is centered in the middle, suspended in that fake snow that never quite swirls right.

“It’s terrible,” you say, but you're already smiling.

"Absolutely hideous," he agrees, sipping his drink. "But you collect weird shit, so I figured you'd appreciate it.”

He’s right. Your apartment’s full of it—odd little trinkets that don’t belong anywhere but somehow belong with you. Salt shakers shaped like ducks. Postcards from places you’ve never been. That cracked ceramic owl from your grandma that you still won’t throw out. 

"Thank you," you say, setting the snow globe on the shelf behind you, next to the register where you can see it while you work. "Okay, so what's the news?"

"Remember that California project I mentioned? The sports coverage thing?" He's trying to play it cool, but you can see the excitement barely contained behind his eyes. "I got you the spot."

Your heart stops. "What?"

"I put in a word with the hiring manager. Told them about your work, how good you are with people." He leans forward slightly. "They want you to fly out next week. Production assistant role, technically, but it's exactly the kind of experience you need."

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. You're going to California." Quinn's fingers drum once against the bar, a nervous habit you've taken note of over months of Thursday nights. Sometimes Tuesdays too, when his schedule allows it. He'd started showing up around the time you stopped flinching every time you heard calls of a certain name, when you could make it through a shift without checking your phone for messages that never came.

That was just over a year ago now, right when everything felt like it was crumbling—when you'd left that hotel room and came home to an apartment that felt too quiet and a life that suddenly seemed smaller than it had before. You'd been serving drinks like you were underwater, going through the motions of existing without really living in any of it.

The first few times, Quinn was just another regular. Bourbon, two fingers, splash of water. He was the best tipping regular you’ve ever had and never lingered too long. But then one night you'd been particularly frustrated, slamming glasses a little too hard after another rejection email, and he'd asked if you were okay.

"Just job hunting," you'd said, the bitterness leaking through despite yourself.

"What kind of work?"

"Anything that uses a communications degree, apparently." You'd laughed, but it came out hollow. "Four years of college to be really good at serving drinks."

He'd been quiet for a moment, then: "My company's always looking for interns," he'd said, casual as anything. "Might be good experience."

That conversation lives in your mind now, growing roots in the spaces between doubt and possibility. Three months of showing up to offices that smelled like expensive coffee and ambition, of learning that your degree wasn't worthless after all, just misplaced. Quinn had opened a door you didn't even know existed, and now here he is, trying to push it wider.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll pack a bag." He finishes his drink and leaves cash on the bar, always exact change plus fifty percent, never more or less, and stands to go. "They'll email you the details tomorrow."

He hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say something else, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he just nods and heads for the door.

"Thank you," you call after him. "Really. This means everything."

"You earned it," he calls back over his shoulder. "I just made sure the right people knew." 

When he's gone, you’re left with the rich smell of bourbon and the snow globe that glimmers under warm spotlights. Underneath it all lies the strange, fluttering feeling that comes with being cared about in small, uncomplicated ways.

───

The folder hits your hands like something dropped from a height, thick enough that the pages buckle under their own weight. Sarah's already talking, words streaming past in that efficient way people have when they've explained the same thing a dozen times before.

"So you'll be handling athlete transport today," she says, gesturing vaguely toward the folder while her attention drifts to her phone. "Everything's in there—pickup times, studio assignments, the usual."

You flip the cover open to pages of schedules and headshots, names printed in blocks that your eyes catch without really processing. Sarah keeps talking about the logistics and backup plans, but her voice becomes mumbled as you scan down the list.

Micah Parsons - 9:30 AM pickup, Studio A 

Lamar Jackson - 10:45 AM pickup, Outdoor Setup 

Cooper Kupp - 12:15 PM pickup, Studio A 

Tua Tagovailoa - 1:30 PM pickup, Studio B

Names that mean little to you, faces that melt together in professional headshots. You're half-listening, trying to make sense of time slots and meal breaks, when Sarah's voice sharpens.

"—and Quinn should be here any minute with an early arrival."

The sound of voices approaching makes you glance up from the folder. Quinn appears in the doorway, that easy smile already in place, talking to someone just behind him. You look back down automatically, eyes finding the next line on the schedule.

Joe Burrow - 3:00 PM pickup, Studio B

Your stomach drops like you've missed a step in the dark. The letters blur, then sharpen, then blur again. You blink hard, certain you've misread, but the name sits there like something burned into the page.

When you look up, he's standing three feet away.

And he's already looking directly at you.

The folder stays open in your hands, but the words might as well be written in a language you don't speak. Everything else in the room—Sarah's voice, the hum of equipment being tested, the distant sound of someone setting up lights—fades into white noise. There's just him, standing there in dark jeans and a jacket that probably costs more than your rent, looking exactly like he does in your memory of that morning in the hotel room, except somehow more solid. Real this time.

His expression doesn't change when your eyes meet his. No surprise, no recognition he'd let anyone else see. Just that steady, unreadable look that used to make you feel like he could see straight through you.

"Perfect timing," Quinn says, completely oblivious to the way everything seems to have tensed up around you. "This is our impromptu production assistant I was telling you about." He gestures toward you with the kind of enthusiasm that makes you want to disappear. "She'll be handling your schedule today, making sure you get where you need to be."

Quinn turns to you, still smiling. "Joe got here early—his flight landed ahead of schedule, so I figured we'd get him checked in now instead of making him come back later. Hope that's okay?"

You force yourself to close the folder, to stand up straighter, to remember that you have a job to do. That you're not the same person who used to fly across the country for crumbs of attention.

"Of course," you manage, extending your hand in what you hope looks like professionalism and not the careful choreography of someone trying not to fall apart. "Hi."

Joe's eyes flick down to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. For a second, you think he might not take it. That he'll let you stand there with your arm extended like an idiot while Quinn watches.

But then his hand closes around yours, warm and familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Nice to meet you," he says, voice perfectly polite like you're a stranger. As if he's never traced the curves of your body with his tongue in the dark.

The handshake lasts exactly as long as it should and no longer, nothing that would make Quinn raise an eyebrow or Sarah look up from her phone. But his thumb brushes across your knuckles once before he lets go, so quickly you almost think you imagined it.

"She's fantastic," Quinn continues, either missing the tension entirely or choosing to ignore it. "Really knows her stuff. You're in good hands."

The irony of that statement sits heavy in the space between you and Joe. You've been in his hands before and you know exactly how that story ends.

"Alright," Sarah pops her head up suddenly from beside you. "Let's get you set up for hair and makeup first, then we'll run through the shot list." She's already guiding Joe toward the door with the kind of practiced authority that doesn't leave room for argument.

Joe follows, but his eyes find yours once more before he disappears into the hallway. The look lasts maybe two seconds, but it's long enough to remind you of every sleepless night you spent wondering if he thought about you at all.

"Ready for Micah?" Quinn asks, already checking his watch. "He should be set by now." You nod, grateful for something to focus on. Something that doesn't involve navigating the minefield of seeing Joe again.

Quinn studies your face for a moment, "you good?"

"I'm good," you say, forcing a smile that feels more convincing than it probably looks.

"Good. Because we had to shuffle things around. Lamar's flight got delayed, so we bumped Joe up to right after Micah." He pats your shoulder in that paternal way that makes you remember why you trust him. "You've got this, kid."

───

Micah Parsons turns out to be exactly the kind of interview subject that makes your job easy. Charismatic without being overwhelming, thoughtful in his answers, the kind of natural storyteller that probably makes every journalist he talks to feel like they're getting something special.

You escort him from hair and makeup to Studio A, making small talk about his off-season training while mentally taking in the way he carries himself—confident but approachable, the kind of details that might matter for the piece you're supposed to be writing.

Because that's the thing Quinn arranged that makes this more than just a production assistant gig. You're not just managing logistics; you're also shadowing the main journalists, taking notes that will help with a behind-the-scenes article to accompany the video content. It’s what manages to turn this little side gig into real experience that could actually matter for your future.

It had been Quinn's idea, pitched to his partners as a way to get more comprehensive coverage without stretching the budget. "She's sharp," he'd told them, according to what he'd shared with you later. "Give her the PA duties but let her gather material too. Two birds, one stone."

He'd stuck his neck out for you in a way that meant something. Which is why you're sitting in the back of Studio A with a notebook, jotting down observations about Micah's interview style and the way he deflects certain questions with humor while being surprisingly vulnerable about others. 

Quinn had been right—you were good at this. At reading people, at catching the moments between the soundbites that revealed who someone actually was.

Which is exactly why seeing Joe again feels like such a potential disaster.

By the time Micah wraps up, you've filled three pages with notes and feel like you're truly starting to understand the rhythm of this kind of work.

"Joe should be ready now," Quinn says, appearing at your elbow as you escort Micah to his next location. "Studio B."

Your stomach tightens, but you nod. This is your job. This is the opportunity Quinn fought for you to have and you can't let seeing Joe ruin it.

The walk to Joe's dressing room feels dreadful. Each step is like walking through quicksand, carrying you toward something you're not ready for but can't avoid. When you knock and push the door open, he's sitting in the chair by the small mirror, scrolling through his phone with careful focus.

"Ready?" you ask, the word coming out more clipped than you intended.

He looks up, nods once, and stands with no acknowledgment beyond basic professionalism.

The hallway to Studio B stretches ahead of you both, and the silence that follows is different from anything you've experienced today. Not comfortable like it had been with Micah, who'd filled the space with easy conversation. This quiet feels intentional. Measured like you're both working very hard not to disturb something that might break if handled wrong.

"Studio B," you say when you reach the door, gesturing unnecessarily.

"Thanks."

He disappears inside, and you take your position in the back corner. Notebook ready, pen poised. The same setup as for Micah's interview; professional and focused, gathering material for the article.

But something shifts the moment Joe starts talking. His voice carries that familiar cadence, the one that used to lull you to sleep during late-night phone calls when distance felt manageable. You find yourself leaning forward, pen moving across the page in ways that have nothing to do with journalism.

The little things catch your eye. The way he touches his jaw when considering an answer. How his shoulders settle when he's comfortable with a question. The pause before he responds to anything about pressure, weighing what's safe to share versus what's true.

You catch yourself, redirect your attention to actual content. This is work. Quinn's faith in you made everything tangible, you can't let this pull toward someone who used to matter ruin what you've been given.

But it's difficult to ignore the familiarity, the way certain moments remind you of hotel rooms and conversations that felt bigger than they were. 

This is likely the only time you'll see him again. A one-off encounter that doesn't have to mean anything beyond coincidence. You've made progress, moved forward. You can't let a single afternoon undo the work it took to get here.

When the interview wraps, you've filled two pages with notes—half meaningless observations about Joe rather than context about the content. You close the notebook as he thanks everyone with practiced grace, then finds you in the corner.

"All set?"

"All set."

The walk back is similar to the walk there in every way. By the time you reach his dressing room, you're almost convinced you can end this cleanly. You open the door and stand to the side.

"You're done for the day. Someone will coordinate transport when you're ready."

Joe settles back into the chair by the mirror, phone already in hand. You should leave now. You've completed your assignment, same as with Micah. But professional courtesy demands you ask. The same question you'd posed to Micah, the same standard you'll maintain.

"Is there anything else you need?"

Joe hums to himself then looks up, and for the first time all day, really looks at you. Not the careful glances he's been offering, but the kind of direct eye contact that used to make your heart race.

"Just curious," he says, voice level but edged with something sharper. "Are you supposed to say that, or am I just special?"

The question hits hard. You feel it in your stomach first, then spreading outward, a slow recognition that you're not getting out of this room without acknowledgment. 

Because that’s the thing: he was special.

In the way you still dream about his voice. His hands. 

In the way you never really got around to donating the shirt he left behind, even though it stopped smelling like him months ago.

In the way you still scan for his face on the screen when a game is on at work, even when you tell yourself you’re not supposed to.

Something shifts in your face, you can feel it happen. The twitch of your eyes, the press of your teeth into the inside of your cheek, just a second too long. Like your body is betraying the careful neutrality you’ve been maintaining all day. 

He catches it, of course he does.

"Just part of the job, Mr. Burrow." The formality tastes wrong in your mouth, but you need the distance it creates and the reminder of where you are, what this is supposed to be. 

You're already turning away before the words fully settle, hand reaching for the door handle like it might save you from whatever comes next. "Have a good rest of your day."

───

The wine tastes expensive in a way that makes you hyper-aware of everything. From the conversations flowing around you that you can't quite step into, to the way everyone else seems to belong here without thinking about it.

"Market yourself," Quinn had said earlier, straightening his tie in the mirror of his hotel room. "There are some serious people here tonight. Network. Make connections. This is how careers get built."

Easy for him to say. He moves through crowds like he was born into them, shaking hands and remembering names and making everything look effortless. You feel like you're wearing a sign that says imposter in flashing neon letters.

The venue is exactly what you'd expect from Quinn's company—all exposed brick and elegant lighting fixtures, floor to ceiling windows, the kind of casual that costs more than most people's rent. Servers weave between clusters of well-dressed people holding wine glasses that catch the light just right. 

You take a sip of wine and scan the room for someone who might seem approachable. Someone who won't immediately see through whatever facade you're trying to maintain. The conversation nearest to you is about market projections and quarterly reports, which makes your experience feel even more inadequate than usual.

"Why are you standing by yourself?"

The voice comes from beside you, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them. You don't have to look to know who it is, you've been hyperaware of his presence since the moment he walked in twenty minutes ago.

"I'm supposed to be marketing myself," you say, not turning toward him, voice dry with the kind of sarcasm that feels bitter. "Networking. Making connections."

There's a pause. You can feel him looking at you.

"Well, you shouldn't have any problem doing that looking like that."

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your wine glass. The comment slides under your skin in a way that makes you feel uneasy. It’s like you're back in some hotel room where his opinions about you mattered.

You turn to look at him and something in your expression must give you away because his face changes immediately.

"No, no, that's not—" He stops and runs a hand over the bottom half of his face, looking genuinely panicked. "That came out wrong. I just meant you look good. Like, really good. Not that—fuck. That was all wrong."

And despite everything, despite the way your jaw is still tight with irritation, you have to bite back something that feels dangerously close to a laugh. Because Joe Burrow, who takes hits from three-hundred-pound linemen without flinching, who never seems rattled by anything on or off the field, is standing here stammering like a teenager who just got caught red-handed.

You compose yourself, finding that professional tone again. "Okay. Well, thank you." You set your wine glass on the nearest table, already turning away. "Have a good night."

His hand catches your wrist before you can take a step, gentle but insistent enough to stop you. "Wait." You follow his gaze to a quieter corner near the windows, away from people. 

“Can we talk?”

Part of you wants to say no, to keep walking and maintain whatever distance you've managed to create. But a bigger part knows that if you don't do this now, you'll spend the rest of the night, maybe longer, wondering what he would have said.

"Okay," you say, and let him guide you toward the windows.

The space feels more intimate immediately, the noise of the party fading to background hum. Joe runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit you remember, and looks out at the city lights for a moment before turning back to you.

“I was an asshole,” he says. The bluntness of it surprises you, how he doesn’t sugarcoat it or try to spin it. "This afternoon, I mean. And just now. I was just—I was doing what I always do, being defensive because seeing you here threw me off, and I didn't know how to handle it."

You wait for him to continue, watching the way he struggles with words that don't come as easily as the ones he uses for interviews.

“I was hurt,” he says, a little softer now. “When you left. Not just because you did. But how fast it felt. Like one second we were figuring things out and the next... you were just gone.”

There’s a long pause where neither of you says anything. You’re not sure what breaks you down first—his voice or the fact that it’s not angry in the way you last remember it. 

“I didn’t leave because of that night,” you say eventually. “If anything… I stayed because of it.”

Joe finally looks at you and your hands tighten around your arms.

“I meant what I said,” you continue, slower now. Like the words are heavy in your mouth. “I believed you. What you said. How it felt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that before.”

The words keep coming even though your mind is already starting to regret opening your mouth. You should stop. You should just stop.

“I think part of me was already bracing for the quiet,” you say. “For things to go back to normal the next day. I don’t know. It’s like… the moment was everything I wanted, but it didn’t feel safe.”

You see the flicker in his eyes. You almost backpedal, almost say never mind, but you’ve already gone too far.

“It's not that I didn’t trust you,” you continue. “I just didn’t trust that version of us to last. And I didn’t want to stay long enough to watch it fall apart again.”

Joe’s silent. You shift your weight, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel, how fast your heart is beating now that the words are out there.

“I didn’t stop feeling it,” you murmur, eyes darting toward the window. “That was the problem. I finally let myself feel all of it. And once I did, it felt like too much to carry alone.”

He exhales slowly, like your words knock the wind out of him.

“So it wasn’t just the night,” he says eventually. “It was everything before.”

You nod. “Yeah. It was the before. The buildup. The silence. The feeling like I was always one step ahead of you.”

There’s a pause. Then, almost like a reflex, you add, “I know you meant what you said. I really do.” He looks at you then, something raw behind his eyes. “But I think I’d spent so long waiting for you to mean something,” you say, voice tightening, “that when you finally did, I was already halfway through learning how to let go.”

“I get that,” he says. You nod, surprised by the relief you feel at being understood. "So you left because you had to," he says, not a question.

"Because I had to."

The silence that follows feels different from all the others today. Not loaded with tension or unspoken accusations, but something closer to understanding. Like you aren’t standing on opposite sides of it anymore.

Joe straightens up slightly, and something shifts in his expression, still serious but with a hint of something lighter around the edges.

"So," he says, extending his hand toward you with a small, almost shy smile. "Hi. I'm Joe."

The gesture is so unexpectedly dorky that you feel a laugh bubble up before you can stop it. "Are you serious right now?"

"Starting fresh," he says, hand still extended. "New note."

You look at his outstretched hand, then back at his face, and despite everything—despite the history and the hurt and the complicated mess of what you used to be—you find yourself smiling.

"This is ridiculous," you say, but you take his hand anyway. "Hi, Joe,” you introduce yourself in the same manner.

The handshake lasts longer than necessary this time, in comparison to the one you shared earlier. When you finally let go, your fingers feel warm where his touched them.

"Much better introduction than this afternoon," you say, and Joe laughs—a real one this time.

"Yeah, well, I was trying to play it cool earlier."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"Terribly," he admits, grinning. "Clearly not my strong suit when it comes to you."

"Well," you say, and there's something softer in your voice now, something that feels like a door opening instead of closing. "There's plenty of time to get better at it."

The words hang between you, simple but loaded with possibility. Not a promise or a plan, just an acknowledgment that time exists now where it didn't before. That this new beginning, this fresh start, doesn't have to be figured out tonight.

Joe's smile changes, becoming something quieter. "Yeah," he says. "I think there is."

In that moment you realize the difference between starting over and starting fresh. One erases everything that came before; the other builds something new on a foundation that was always there, just waiting for the right moment to matter again.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twenty-six

Okay next one! 🤭🤭 (I might be a little MIA for a bit, my grandma passed away, so I could be quiet or super active as a distraction, idk yet but just a heads up!)

Warnings: these two are so cute yet so awkward, Hotch thinks abt Haley but I will take no Haley slander in this house!!!!, lots of fluff, but also lots of angst (in a good way!!)

Hotch couldn’t be more awkward if he tried.

Within minutes of arriving at Dave’s house, it’s clear that neither of you know what to do with yourselves. 

You say something about needing a shower, and next thing Hotch knows, you’ve disappeared up the stairs, and he didn’t even get a word in. He floundered.

He drops the file box on the dining room table with a sigh, practically hearing Dave already scolding him for bringing the files with him and for having the audacity to put it on the dining room table. But it’s the only table big enough for everything, if the two of you are going to spread everything out to try and get some work done. And Hotch is not even going to bother with Dave’s office.

Hotch leaves his briefcase next to the file box, taking just his duffle bag with him to figure out which one of the many guest bedrooms he’ll stay in.

When he reaches the hallway upstairs, all of the doors are closed, so there’s no way for him to know which one might be yours. He picks a random one, knocking once and trying to listen for any movement before tentatively opening the door. It’s empty, thankfully, so he decides he’ll just go with this one to save both of you the horror of him possibly walking in on you naked. 

Not that you would be a horrifying sight at all, but that’s inappropriate. Wildly inappropriate.

He shakes the thoughts from his head, shutting the door and flicking the lock so he can change out of his suit. Sometimes he wanders around his own apartment in his suit for hours after getting home, only having enough energy and mind to take off his tie and unbutton a few top buttons. Right now, though, he’s itching to be out of it and into something less…stuffy.

He doesn’t know why he agreed to stay with you. He should’ve told you that he had plans. He should’ve said something about having Jack for the weekend — though you would’ve known that one was a lie. He doesn’t have weekend privileges with his son; he gets one day a month, a prison of his own choosing, because Haley didn’t want to involve lawyers in the divorce and Aaron didn’t want to fight. So, he sees his son one day a month, which is never the same day because of his work schedule, and which won’t happen this month because of this case and because of Jack’s spring break. They’re going to the beach with Jessica, Haley’s sister. She promises to send pictures. Aaron doesn’t know if she will.

Setting aside how wildly inappropriate it would be for him to become involved with you, an employee of his, he can’t imagine a universe where you’d even want to — not with the baggage he comes with.

He doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about this, as if you’ve done anything at all to give him any indication that you’re interested. All you’ve done is not argue with him as much the past week. That is nothing for him to overthink like this.

He needs to remember the reality of the situation: he is here as added security for you. This unsub is laser-focused on taunting you, stalking you, and they don’t know what he might do next — but clearly you’re the target. The unsub could do anything, so that’s why Hotch is here. Security. Safety. Protection. Nothing else.

+++

You’ve never put this much thought into changing into comfortable clothes after work.

The problem is, if you were at your apartment, and alone, you’d wear whatever. Probably a t-shirt, maybe some pants but not likely, and call it a day. But you can’t do that right now, because your boss is sitting downstairs.

You’re not wearing a bra, though. You can’t stand them, and you’re only going to torture yourself so much. So, t-shirt and leggings it is, and you can only hope it won’t be as awkward as it feels right now.

All of the doors are closed when you step out into the hall, but you hear movement in the kitchen, so you know he’s downstairs. You make your way down, your footsteps quiet as you turn the corner.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches, both involuntarily, when you see the sight before you. Hotch in a white t-shirt, Hotch in jeans, Hotch reaching up into the top cabinet for a glass, his shirt riding up just a little, giving you a delicious look of the band of his boxers and his skin.

When he starts to turn around, you start walking in, hoping it looks like you just got there and not like you were ogling him for a few seconds.

“Hey,” he says when his eyes land on you. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure,” you shrug, propping yourself up on a stool in your usual spot. “Just some water, thanks.”

He wordlessly turns to grab another glass, and you shamelessly let yourself have another look. What’s the harm if his back is turned?

As he fills the glasses with water, he chuckles, “So, I’m assuming Dave cooked every night.”

“You’d assume correct. Thanks,” you take the glass from him, having a sip before continuing. “And do not ask me to cook, he did most of it. He tried teaching me how to make pasta from scratch a couple of times — did not go well.”

Aaron laughs, leaning back against the counter across from you, one hand propped next to him. You try not to stare too hard at his hand, his forearm. It must be the fact that you never see him in anything but a suit, so seeing him like this, so…casual, right now, is causing your brain to short circuit. That has to be what it is.

“Wanna order pizza?” you ask, flicking your eyes back up to meet his.

If he notices you looking, he says nothing about it. “Dave might crucify us for ordering pizza to his good Italian home, but let’s do it.”

“I’ll take the blame,” you joke. “He knows the alternative is me almost setting his kitchen on fire.”

“Right,” Aaron laughs, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Should we each get a large?”

“You’re speaking my language,” you grin, telling him what you’d like, but he interrupts you barely halfway.

“Already ahead of you,” he replies without even looking up from his phone. You’re grateful for that because he doesn’t see the shock on your face before you conceal it. How the hell did he remember your pizza order? The last time you had pizza with him was a decade ago. “Should be here in an hour.”

“Perfect,” you exhale. “Want some wine? I’ve been slowly working through Rossi’s stash.”

You hop off the stool, walking around the island to the wine rack at Hotch’s left. You can feel his eyes following you — maybe the leggings weren’t a smart choice. Or maybe they were.

“Any preference?” you ask, slowly turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

His eyes bore into yours. “No.”

You hum, picking a bottle mostly at random. “Can you get the glasses?”

Aaron stares at you for another long moment before he relents, turning to grab the glasses. You deliberately do not look at him this time.

You reach into the drawer to find the corkscrew, setting to work on the bottle while Hotch carefully places the wine glasses down next to you. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “I put the files on the table in the dining room, I figure it’s the only table big enough for how much we have.”

“Makes sense,” you reply idly, struggling just a little with the corkscrew. It’s not your fault these things seem more complicated than they should be. You’ve been able to do it before, many times, but for whatever reason, right now, it isn’t working—

“Let me help,” he says, hands already reaching over.

“I’ve got it,” you answer automatically.

“You really don’t,” he laughs. “Move over.”

You glare at him, but you move, wanting the wine more than wanting to actually argue over this. “Do you think we should go back to the letters?” you wonder aloud. “If it was a family friend, maybe the letters to my mom? Maybe he mentioned the friend in those?”

“Reid said there wasn’t anyone named in the letters,” Hotch says, twisting the corkscrew and removing the cork with an easy pop. He steps aside and you grab the bottle, pouring the glasses.

“True, but maybe…” You pause, midway through pouring. “Do you want more?”

“That’s fine,” Aaron says, sliding the glass away. “But maybe…?”

“Yeah,” you shake your head, pouring your own share. “Maybe there’s something that’ll jog my memory. Maybe he didn’t name anyone, but…I don’t know.”

“We can take another look,” Aaron says. “I brought the letters.”

“I knew you would,” you chuckle, setting the bottle down to pick up your glass, swirling the dark red. “You were packing that box for a while.”

“Well,” he exhales good-naturedly, “I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Emily and JJ.”

The reminder of what they practically interrogated you about sends a heat flooding through you, or maybe it’s the fact that your body is finally catching up to the fact that you’re standing in the kitchen, alone, with Hotch, both of you in casual clothes, and both clearly incapable of keeping your eyes off of one another.

You step away from him, going back to your stool, putting the island in between the two of you. “Should we look into it tonight? Tomorrow?”

Aaron watches you. “What do you want to do?”

“Tomorrow,” you say sheepishly.

“We’ve done enough today,” he agrees. “Come on,” he nods toward the living room. 

It will be more comfortable, but you don’t trust yourself to sit next to him on the couch, so you curl up in the big chair adjacent to it. Hotch doesn’t seem to mind. He sits on the corner of the couch closest to you. 

You try not to think about it.

The silence is absolutely unbearable, though. 

“Should we…watch a movie?” you ask quietly. 

“A movie?” Aaron laughs.

“I don’t know!” you exclaim, awkwardly flailing your free hand. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do, we’ve never—”

What are the two of you doing? What do you call this?

“I know,” he says softly. “We can put a movie on, so we don’t have to…talk,” he chuckles, setting his glass down on the coffee table so he can stand. “Any requests—”

“Wait, Aaron,” you sit up, and he freezes, and then you’re both just sitting there, waiting. Frozen. Wondering what you’re going to say.

You don’t even know where to begin.

“Can I just—” You suck in a deep breath. “I want to apologize.”

Aaron leans back as if you’ve slapped him. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap, unable to help it. “Sorry— Exactly, I want to say I’m sorry, for maybe being a little too…harsh on you when it came out that you had gone behind my back and looked into my dad.”

Aaron shakes his head, a pained expression on his face. “No, I’m sorry, I was out of line—”

“You were,” you say, and somehow that shocks him, but he covers it quickly. “You were. But two things can be true. Yes, you should’ve come to me, but I wasn’t exactly approachable. I never really have been.”

“Me either,” he says quietly. “We’ve always…”

“Been at each other’s throats?” you joke. 

“Yeah,” he laughs a little, clearly relieved that you’re trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sure I started it.”

You shrug. “Probably.” When his eyes flick to yours, though, you smile, letting him know you’re just poking fun. Mostly. “In all seriousness, I might’ve started it all those years ago. I’ve always been combative, but you’ve brought it out of me more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Ditto,” he says, the shock clear on his face as the word escapes him. “Whatever I did to bring it out of you, I’m sorry.”

You pause, watching him for a moment. He…genuinely doesn’t know what it was that he did. “Do you know what it was?”

He eyes you warily. “No…”

You sigh, taking a sip of your wine before setting it down so you can fully sit up, fully look at him. “You didn’t take me seriously.”

He does nothing this time to hide the shock on his face or in his voice. “What?”

“Ten years ago, when you showed up on my crime scene—”

“Because the detective called us—”

“Without telling me a damn thing about it, by the way,” you mutter. “So I was already pissed off about that, and then the FBI comes waltzing in like they’ve got all the answers in the world, and everyone else are morons for not figuring it out sooner—”

Hotch opens and closes his mouth, clearly searching for the right words. But there are none.

You barrel forward. “Then, you start delegating, and you gave me busy work,” you laugh at it now, how hysterical it all seems. “My expertise was in interrogation and you wouldn’t let me do anything remotely close to it—”

He tries to say your name, but you keep going.

“So yeah, that pissed me off even more. And then it kept happening.”

“I was trying to take things off of your plate,” he says desperately, barely getting the words out with how fast you’re speaking. “You were stretched too thin, you were doing the work of five people, and I wasn’t going to watch you struggle when we were there as extra help.”

“You—” You shake your head, catching your breath. His reasoning rings in your ears. “You couldn’t have said that then?”

“Would you have listened?”

“Probably not,” you huff. “But you did it again, maybe even more when I started at the BAU.”

“Because you were new, I wasn’t going to throw a brand new agent into the deep end on their first day—”

“Why? I’m sure you did that with everyone else—”

“You wanted me to set you up for failure?”

“You practically were!” you cry, wondering when the tide turned. When you went from quietly, sincerely apologizing to whatever this is, these desperate admissions, begging him to understand. “You didn’t trust me from the start, then this stuff with Richard Monroe started happening and it just gave you a reason to justify your mistrust, and it was downhill from there. How was I not supposed to fail?”

“You didn’t fail, and you haven’t failed—”

“This unsub that we can't seem to find suggests otherwise,” you grumble.

“It’s not your fault and it does not mean you’ve failed at this job,” he says, practically on the edge of his seat, just as desperate. “Please, I’ve never— Everything I’ve done, it was never from a place of not taking you seriously. I’ve always taken you seriously, you’re good at what you do, you always have been.”

You stare at him, chest heaving, wondering if you believe him. “Then what is it, really? Where was it coming from?”

The doorbell rings and slices through the air. As Hotch gets up to go to the door, you have a feeling you aren’t going to get your answer.

+++

As Aaron brings the pizza back into the living room, you’re already flicking through Dave’s TV, searching for something to watch. To fill the silence that is inevitably going to coat the rest of the evening. 

Aaron let’s you have it. He sets the pizza down wordlessly, refraining from looking at you. 

But he can’t let the moment escape any further without saying anything. He has to say something. 

“It was coming from a place of care— or I was trying to,” he says, and if it weren’t for the near imperceptible tensing of your shoulders, he wouldn’t even think you’re listening. “Haley and I were having an especially rough week when I first met you. Taking it out on you — or anyone — wasn’t my plan, but clearly, when you started to get combative, as you said, I retaliated. I shouldn’t have. I saw how much work you were doing compared to your teammates, all of them relying on you to do the heavy lifting, and it frustrated me on your behalf. I meant to take things off your plate, I meant to remove enough from your shoulders that you’d be able to let your mind run free, to help us solve that case quickly — and you did. But then you…you hated what I was doing and you hated that I was there and I couldn’t stand it and I reacted in a way I shouldn’t have.”

He steals one look at you and finds you frozen, eyes wide as you look up at him. 

He looks away. “I’m sorry, I am, for how I acted ten years ago and how I acted when you started at the BAU — and how I’ve been acting. I was told I was getting a new agent, and well, I wasn’t expecting you to walk through those doors.”

You scoff. It just barely borders on playful annoyance. “Why? Didn’t think I’d make it this far?”

“No,” he replies seriously. “I assumed you had much better, more worthwhile places to be.” He pauses. “And that you knew I was the Unit Chief and never in a million years would have agreed to a transfer to the BAU.”

He waits for a rebuttal, but he doesn’t get one. 

“Anyway, I um,” he scratches the back of his neck, handing you some napkins before taking his spot on the couch again, slightly farther away from you this time. “I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make it better or— or to fix any of it, but I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“It doesn’t need fixing,” you say, so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear it. “But thank you.”

He glances over at you with a smile, soft and a bit sad. You return the same look, but neither of you say anything else. 

It’s enough. For right now, it’s more than enough.

[mochinomnoms]

Half asleep past midnight ramblings because I saw a pirate AU mentioned and I know you like Jade so like

Yuu drops stuff off the edge of a ship and into the ocean by accident - maybe some kinda mushroom-shaped pendant idk. And jade ends up catching it and misinterpreted the exchange as a courting gesture somehow. And now Yuu keeps on getting dragged out to deck by the rest of the crew because this bigass mer with bigass teeth keeps jumping aboard and snarling at anyone who approaches him except for Yuu for some reason

And Yuu just keeps having to drop what they're doing to nudge what seems, to them, like quite a placid merman off the deck and back into the ocean, wondering why they specifically have to do that and not believing the rest of the crew when they describe Jade as 'A hissing monstrosity that tried to take a chunk outta my arm!' etc. etc.

Anyway they have a collection of random ocean trinkets that Jade keeps giving them or something. And also Jade saves them from drowning. Floyd follows Jade to the surface once and then there's an issue with TWO mermen tryna hang out on deck but only tolerating two specific crew members and one is the angry redhead who ends up looking super amusing trying to drag a slippery, troublesome eel to the edge of the boat so he can get back to whatever he should be doing

Sorry about the rambling - and sorry if it isn't coherent. My brain needs something to do since I can't get to sleep rn lol.

I don't know a whole lot about pirates other than what I know from my video game...but from I am aware! They spend at least weeks if not months out at sea! I like to think that it takes Jade sometime to watch and actually fall for someone, while Floyd is the one more prone to love at first sight fight

When you guys are around at sea, slowly making your way to the next port, you're not super surprised you've been followed by a pair of merfolk.

They're known to be curious, but unless they're sirens, they're likely to keep to themselves.

But these two have been following the ship for quite some time now, like they're after something specific.

They're practically identical, just a few things like their gray strands of hair and their bi-colored eyes that help with differentiating them. The more excitable of the two seems to be most invested in chasing after your boat.

You can't understand the clicks, chirps, or squeals he makes, but you do notice how excited he gets when your friend Riddle, a crewmate who ran off from home, is on the deck. Riddle seems annoyed and will often yell at the merman, telling him to go away and stop following.

Though the big guy just looks so happy to see Riddle that you think he isn't able to understand human speech. If you had to guess, you think he was following after Riddle. Not sure why though.

You almost forget about the other one, with how quiet he is. You encounter him after dropping a cute little mushroom pendant that you got from a port shop a while back. The moment it plopped into the dark water in the dead of night, you were absolutely devastated. You even took some spare rope and wrapped it around your waist in a tight knot before scaling the side of the ship to carefully make it down to the water.

Hoping and praying to whatever sea god lorded over the current waters you were in that the water was shallow and pendant not lost to the deep, you failed to notice the soft teal aquamarine glow emerging from the water.

When you finally do turn to look at the water, you just about screamed at the upper hand of one of the mermen's face staring at you. Pressing yourself against the wooden hull of the ship, you stared back at him, not even daring to blink, as if he would suddenly lunge at you if you looked away.

Not an unwarranted fear; you and the rest of the crew had seen the way those sharp teeth and claws torn apart large tuna and annoying seagulls.

You think this is the more quiet of the two, based on the lack of reaction and the strand on his left. He seems more quizzical than playful, compared to whom you think is his brother. His eyes flicker down to watch the way your chest moves up and down as you try to calm your breath. He stares for a bit before flickering back up to your eyes, where he resumes his chilling stare.

What felt like hours, but was probably minutes, passed as you two played what was essentially a staring contest. Eventually, made due to boredom, or maybe he was satisfied after studying you so long, his right hand came up from the water clenching something. He gently opened his hand to reveal the golden mushroom pendant, complete with your gold chain and everything.

"Oh! You got it, uh, can I have it back?" You asked, pointing at the item in his hand.

The merman slowly rose up the lower part of his face and upper chest now visible. Looking at him up close, you could understand why they cautioned sailors to keep their distance from all sea folk.

Such pretty faces, it's no wonder people willingly drown themselves just in an attempt to be with one.

The teal colored merman watched as you carefully reached for the item in his hand, only to jerk it away and make a laughing sound. You think it was laughter, based on the smirk and squinted eyes he gave you. You huffed, reaching for it again, only for him to swam back again. His laughter was growing louder, seems that he was just as mischievous as his brother, just sneakier about it.

It almost sounded musical to your ears, too bad you were too focused on getting the pendant back to admire it. Eventually, the creature was far enough out of your reach that you were barely touching the ship with the tip of your toes. It seemed like he wanted you to fall into the water as he playfully splashed at you with the tip of his tail. You knew he was playing, if he really wanted you in the water, that tail had more than enough strength to wrap around you and drag you in.

But still, you wanted that damn pendant back! He seemed fascinated by the mushroom itself and the detailing on it. His claws kept tracing over the ridges and he was studying it intently when he wasn't staring at you. He's probably never seen one before. That's when a brilliant idea popped into your head!

Gesturing him to wait, you climbed back up the rope, turning back every time to check and see that he was still there. The big guy seemed a bit annoyed, disappointed even, that you were leaving. No matter, you'd be back soon enough with a bargaining chip.

It takes a moment for you to finally make your way back up, huffing and your arms straining from pulling your self up. Riddle, bless his heart, had rushed out after hearing your scream earlier and was pacing around the deck waiting for you to return.

"There you are! I saw you with one of the mermen, did you get hurt? Do you need medical attention? Come to the infirmary, I'll check you up—"

You waved him off, struggling to undo your knot, blurting out something about you being fine and needing to trade. Finally managing to stumble into the sleeping quarters and to your cot, digging against your blanket and bags to finally find a small pouch.

Smiling at your victory, you ran back up to the deck to find Riddle struggling with the rope and one of the mermen. You're pretty sure it's the other one: his strand is on his right side and he's a lot more vocal as he tried climbing up the side of the ship using the rope and digging his claws in the hull.

Poor Riddle was struggling to get the merman's arms off of his, the latter's grasp tightening the more he struggled to get out.

"Damn it Floyd! I told you! Leave!" A kick. "Me!" An inhumane yelp. "ALONE!"

The merman looked almost disappointed as Riddle finally managed to kick him in the face and crawl away from his grasp.

Riddle was heaving as he glared at the pouting merman, watching as he finally lost his claw grip in the wood and slid back into the water with a loud splash. You helped your friend up, checking him over for any stratches or bite marks.

"So it is you that they're following! I'd been wondering way they were so focused on our ship, but how do you know his name?"

Riddle sighed, nodding his head. "I apologize. I was hoping that he wouldn't remember me from our childhood, it's been so long, but..."

He dragged his hands over his face in exasperation. "He has a perfect memory when he wants to. He used to visit the reefs near my hometown, I ended up meeting him there when I was younger. He was so annoying! Liked to poke and prod at me anytime I visited the beach, I thought I finally managed to get rid of him when I left home, but it seems that he's found me."

"How can you understand them?"

"Ah, they can speak and understand common tongue. They just choose to feign ignorance." Riddle muttered to himself as he slipped off his now soaking jacket.

You watched your friend as he wrung out the water in his clothes from who you now know is Floyd. Pursing your lips, you looked toward the rope, now splayed across the deck, and move toward it.

"Do you know the other one's name?" you asked, tying the rope back to your waist.

"Hmm? His twin? I think it's Jade, why do you want to—what are you doing?"

Riddle suddenly stood watching in horror as you slipped over the ledge of the ship once again.

"He's got my pendant, gonna get it back—"

"No! You going down there is how Floyd got up, get back here!" Riddle marched over, stomping his foot and reaching for you just as you jumped. "I'll get you another, one with rubies in it—HEY!"

Using the momentum from the fall, you planted your feet against the hull as you landed against it, looking down at the water again. This time, both mermen were watching you as you climbed down, though the one you though was Floyd looked upset and bored, swimming up to the hull to make small crying noises to Riddle, you assumed.

As you got closer, the one called Jade came closer, apparently interested that you returned. Once you were finally within each other's reach again, you gestureed for him to come closer.

By this point, his brother was behind him watching curiously as you held up the pouch in your hand, opening it and revealing a white button mushroom.

Jade perked up, looking between your pendant and the mushroom in your hand. You pointed at the pendant in his hand, before remembering what Riddle said.

"Oh yeah, he said you could understand me." Jade didn't betray that he understood you, though his ear fins twitched as you spoke.

"Uh, if you give me that—" you still pointed to the pendant, just incase he was wrong. Though Riddle rarely was. "—then I will give you this!" You pointed back to the white mushroom in your hand.

Jade looked excitedly at the mushroom, nodding as you two traded. Sighing in relief, you pulled the chain over your neck and tucked it into your shirt. You readied to climb back up to the ship again before glancing at Jade.

He was poking at the mushroom, turning it round in his fingers. He seemed almost childlike in his wonder with the fungus, it was almost cute. Right up until he tore it in half and dropped it into the water, watching it float.

"What, no!" You whined, startling him as you gestured between him and the mushroom.

"No! No, no, no! That's a waste of a perfectly good mushroom! Do you know how hard it is to get those at ports? You're supposed to eat it!"

Exasperated, you opened your pouch again and handed another to Jade, though this time he eyed your hand warily.

"...What? Do you think I'm gonna posion you? Look—" You tore it in half, like he did earlier, and popped one half into your mouth. "Shee? Yummy!"

He still looked doubtful as you chewed. Rolling your eyes, you extended your arm out to his face, making him jerk away again.

"Just, try it! Come on!" You pushed against the hull again, on your tiptoes, as you held out the mushroom towards his lips.

"I'll even feed it to ya! Say 'aaaah'."

Jade looked at your open mouth and, you swear on your soul, blushed before looking away. He thinned his lips, eyes flickering back at you again with an almost shy expression. Floyd, in the background, was staring curiously, before making a chirping sound. Jade made a similar sound back, before looking at you between his lashes and bashfully taking the mushroom from your fingertips.

You tried not to jump from his teeth scraping you and his cold lips brushing against your skin. Instead, you stilled yourself, holding your breath as he chewed.

"It's good, right?"

Jade paused swallowing and slowly nodding before opening his mouth.

"Yes, it's quite...nice." You were surprised how smooth and human his voice was. It as almost soft, a stark difference from his sharp ends and edges. Pleasant.

You shook your thoughts from your head. You refused to be one of those lovesick sailors.

"Right...well, thanks! I'll be, uh, heading back now."

You actively chose to not look back as you climbed up, though perhaps you should have. You could have seen the way Jade watched you, like your were Aphrodite emerging from the sea foam to the land.

"What I tell ya Jade?" Jade continued watching you climb up, eyeing the way Riddle dragged you to the boat, though he flicked his ear fin towards Floyd. "I told you that the lil shrimp was just your type!"

Floyd giggled as he swam on his back, circling his brother. He paused to listen to the way Riddle was yelling at you. So cute.

"Aren't you glad you joined me? I get my Goldfishie, and you'll get a little Shrimpy out of it! Mama and Pops will be so happy when we bring them back home!

"Yes...we'll have to do it soon though." Jade smiled as he watched you and Riddle peer over the edge. You waved at him, and he back at you. His smile grew as you excitedly waved even harder speaking to Riddle before your friend dragged you away.

"The farther we get, the less time we have to return to Azul. His water-breathing spell will only last so long."

"And whose fault is that?" Floyd scoffed, flicking water at his brother in annoyance. "I wanted to take my mate and his friend since day one, you're the one who wanted to 'study' them and stuff. I know you best, if I tell you that the shrimp is perfect for you, you oughta listen!"

Jade glared at Floyd, who stuck his tongue at him, before softly laughing.

"You're right Floyd, of course you know me so well." Jade stared back up at the ship, as if his gaze alone would beckon you to return to him. "The water's warm, there's a storm coming from the east, where they've been traveling."

Jade dove into the water, his brother following him.

"The storm is large and coming soon, and the wood over here is damaged." Jade gestured to a part of the hull that was starting to rot, water slipping in. "If we cause the ship to take in more water, it will sink. They only have a few of those smaller boats, and much too many crew."

Floyd grinned as he caught on to what his brother was implying.

"Everyone will probably be scrambling to get on them boats—"

"Precisely, and with the chaos of a storm, will be much too busy to notice two of their crewmates snatched by a pair of mermen."

The twins shared a conniving laugh, following the ship into an unseen storm in the dark of night.

Something that few people ever mentioned, as it was quite rare, was that once a merperson fell for someone, they also were determined to drag them into the deep, never to be seen again by the people of the surface.

[mcubuckyxlokisbitch]

SOLDIER BOY HEAD CANONS

Billy Butcher headcannons

Soft Head cannons:

He will fish out facts about you without you knowing,

sometimes we forget just because this man is all brute, brawn and muscle we forget this man is smart. He can trick you to revealing little small things about yourself without you even realising

This man is so protective of you, verbally and physically.

Deep made a joke about you being fragile and after the mission his teeth were all smashed. "If you have nothing nice to say about my girl you say nothing, you understand guppy." he said gritting through his teeth into Deeps ears. Not to mentions physically, translucent threw you against a bunch of boxes in the middle of a fight when your guard was down. Ben broke his spine.

He will pay for everything and anything.

When you were both walking down a street and your eyes was attracted to a beautiful gown while thinking about when will you ever wear. This man bought it and placed it on your bed that night.

He needs to touch you,

When you two are walking his hand is always around your waist tight. During mission briefings his hand is always on your thigh, when you both are watching TV you must be in his arms. In the car to a mission your hands are tightly intertwined especially since you get nervous a lot. When your brushing your teeth, he's always trying to snake his hands down to your-

No drugs for you princess (I have a feeling, Idk why)

Hes so protective of you, once a guy looked at you the wrong way too long, one minute Ben was excusing himself to go to the bathroom the next he was beating the guy up in an alley. "You stare at my woman ever again or any other woman like that, Ill scoop your eyeballs put and shove them up your nose asshole."

He knows when to discipline,

To him you're fragile, you're all rainbows and sunshine and smiley faces, when you mess up during a mission and Butcher or the Team gives you shit for it he does nothing. However does end up feeling bad and drops of your favourite snack in your bed.

Loves seeing you wearing his shit

But will complain sooner or later why his shirts are always going missing 😭

Smut underneath the line minors you know what to do, GTFO ♡♡

Dialouges ♡

"A towel ? For what ?" "If your a squirter your fucking squirting all over my face. Tell me to pull out a towel ever again I'll make you fill up an entire tub with your juices babygirl."

"A little blood never scared me sunshine."

"Give daddy one more princess."

"C'mere baby give daddy a twirl"

Scenes

When you squirt it drives him feral, Ben is gonna just lick his lips grin at you and do what he did before but rougher just so you'll do it again.

Ben needs eye contact, "Come one princess open those eyes for me. Look at me when you cum."

The hate sex is gonna be so painful but sooo worth it.

Hes very traditional, hes a no instrunment person, no whips or cuffs, maybe hell tie you with his own tie but this man is gonna bound you with his own hands while he fucks you rough.

Sex everyday (anytime, anywhere, baby boy I can misbehave)

Funishments vs punishments, his funishments r when you wear smthng skimpy, roll your eyes at him but when your dissobeying him in bed the punishments are painful

Punishments is when he'll leave a vibrator on you edging you with a remote control in his end for hours and not letting you cum for a week.

A//n : never wrote smut bare with me im still learning from pure imagination.

[hey-august]

Wicker and Wings

I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT FAIRIES. AND BUGGY. AND BUGGY WITH A FAIRY.

IT'S BEEN WEEKS AND I CAN'T STOP.

WC: ~1.4k

Warnings: nsfw, possibly dubcon, buggy x f!reader, fairy!reader, reader is held captive, size difference, idk exhibitionism + voyeurism, some degradation, slight praise, masturbation - reader and buggy, fingering (sorta), facial (sorta).

"What a fucking nuisance," Buggy grumbled as he carried you away.

The hammering of your fists and cries of protest did nothing to deter the captain or his stormy march.

"…a pain in my ass for three damn days. Screwing up everything, practically fell overboard…"

His seething continued as he listed every real and perceived sleight he attributed to your mere presence. Buggy finally fell silent when you two reached his quarters. He set you down on his desk and stared.

And inside the small birdcage, you stared back.

You were small, although maybe bigger than he expected. Buggy held up a gloved hand and closed one eye. Then opened it again because that did nothing. Ignoring the wings, you were almost the same size as his hand.

Spreading his fingers and moving his open hand directly in front of you and your sneer, Buggy decided that you were plenty small, even with the wings. You must have been caught in a gust of wind and too stupid to properly hide your presence.

"Maybe I should feed you to Richie."

Yet again, your cries and pleas had no effect. You stamped your tiny bare feet and grabbed at the wooden bars of the cage, shaking with all your might. All Buggy could hear was the sound of the small creaks from the flexing reeds and the notable absence of the insults you were hurling his way.

He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. Then listened again.

"…nothing." He shrugged with a grin before walking away. Whatever fairies talked about wasn't meant for human ears.

The birdcage sat on the edge of Buggy's desk, almost entirely ignored. He remembered to drop in bits of food and water, but you were no better than unwanted decor. Just a trinket he planned to sell at the next port.

Buggy was surprised with how quickly your tirades and pity-parties yielded to regret, acceptance, then curiosity. You were small and your emotions must be even smaller.

Sometimes, in the chilly, quiet mornings, he noticed you talking. A barely-there sound was carried by the air, so light that just the weight of listening would overcome it. Meanwhile, your little hands would gesture and your wings would flap, moving to the beat of your silent conversation.

One late, late night, Buggy heard it. Just for a moment, until your little voice was lost to the muffled surf outside the ship. But he knew it was you. And it was different.

He walked over to your cage, half-expecting you to be dying. It would be his kind of luck.

In the dim cabin light, he saw you kneeling on the wicker floor and breathing heavy, but instead of death throes, Buggy caught you succumbing to a different type of fit. One that involved your hand between your legs.

The expression on your flushed face was so plainly obvious that Buggy couldn't help but laugh. "You little freak!" Buggy wheezed.

Sheepishness and embarrassment flitted behind your half-lidded eyes.

"What a little pervert. Look at you, too horny to stop touching yourself." He giggled and leaned closer to get a better look.

You shivered with his approach, riding the tingle of nerves until you were riding your hand. You rolled your hips and squeezed your thighs while a warm, heavy breath fell into the cage.

"C'mon, let me see."

The surprised flutter of wings brought out another laugh from the pirate. Seeing this type of action wasn't new for Buggy, but he was still curious about what was going on under that dress you wore.

"Just a look, honey. A little peek, hm? Let the ol' captain see how good you're doing?" he coaxed with a smile, nodding slowly as his words ended.

You got up on your knees and spread your legs, resting them between the reeds that made up your floor. With one hand, you held up the thin fabric of your dress. That was the only garment in the way of either of your desires. Now your other hand, which was busy rubbing quick, small circles, was in clear view.

But it wasn't enough for Buggy. He had leaned in so close that his nose bumped into the cage. He swore under his breath, earning another twitch from your wings.

Oh.

"I've never seen such a little slut," Buggy teased.

Your wings stiffened and stopped moving.

"Ahh, so you are a fucked up fairy, hm? A pervert pixie? A nympho?"

For a moment, he thought he heard you responding. Agreeing. Your mouth was moving, but for all he knew, you could be moaning nonsense.

"Come closer, let me help," Buggy said, sticking his finger between the bars of the cage. "You want me to help, don't you?"

Fuck, Buggy didn't expect to have such a physical reaction to you shuffling towards him while still on your knees. He palmed his growing erection through his underwear, soothing it with pressure. Meanwhile, he watched as you brought yourself to your feet, in front of his finger.

He curled the digit, inviting you even closer. One small step. And another. Your knees were practically shaking. You hadn't stopped touching yourself for even a second.

"Move," Buggy mumbled, pushing his finger forwards to replace your hand.

You gasped - he assumed - and grabbed onto him with both free hands. He wiggled slightly, feeling the wetness between your legs. His fingertip dragged along your slit, rubbing everything.

Without being prompted, you pulled up your dress again, letting Buggy see how your pussy hugged the tip of his finger. How your bush sat on top, so prettily. How you were able to grind against him and rub into his fingerprint. How much wetter he could make you.

Buggy watched, stuck between observation and obsession. He was captivated. Although his own hand couldn't match the pace of your hips, he touched himself to the slow beat of your wings. When they were spread wide and twitching in anticipation, his hand was wrapped tightly around the base of his cock.

A pinch from your tightening grip was the first sign. Your hand squeezed as you tried to stay upright, but the desire bottled inside you had become far too much pressure to hold. With an audible cry, you slumped forwards onto Buggy's finger, legs trembling and wings utterly useless.

He could still feel your intentional movements against him. Your ass wiggled as you rode out the orgasm, desperate to enjoy every moment of it. And at the end, you looked up at Buggy with the dopiest grin on your face. Utterly and completely content.

"F-fuck-"

Buggy hastily lowered you off his finger and back onto the floor of the birdcage.

"Look at me, again. Just like that," he huffed before licking what little wetness you left on his fingertip.

Buggy barely needed your eyes on him. A few strokes were all it took to spill his load. With his tip pressed against a gap in the cage, he aimed for you, intent on coating you in cum.

He made a mess. Besides one shot that landed on paperwork near the cage, most ended up on tiny target. You were drenched. Covered in the hot, viscous liquid. It clung to everything - soaking into your hair, staining your clothes, weighing you down entirely.

It was vulgar.

Some must have gotten into your mouth and you clearly didn't appreciate the flavor. Buggy couldn't blame you - he also found his cum too bitter and sour, probably from all the drinking. Still, he couldn't hold back the laughter when you spit out the offending goo.

His crinkled eyes were met with that same stupid expression that had tipped him over the edge. One of amusement and satisfaction. You said something that went nowhere, yet again.

Buggy sighed. A hint of honeysuckle lingered on his tongue, a taste of air and sweetness.

"...I could use a freak like you on my crew. A show like that could be real profitable," Buggy mused out loud before walking towards the bathroom for some towels. It wasn't an offer, but it wasn't a demand either. Not yet.

Later, while Buggy laid in bed with empty balls and an empty head waiting to fill with dreams, another unexpected sound came from his desk. One that carried clearly before it dissolved in the darkness.

"Good night."

[calypsocolada]

LOSER HAS TO FALL | hero x

(this is part two! click here for part one!) synopsis: maybe the top hero isn't as bad at flirting as you previously thought... authors note: helllooooo! second and final part to this lil series. i think i'm gonna write some more sometime soon about other characters. mainly lin ling <3, old e-soul, queen???? we'll see. hope you guys enjoy this! it turned out a bit longer than I previously thought and i'm sure there could be another part but... idk. we'll see how this one does! enjoy!!! wc: 4.6k cw: spoilers!, fem reader, use of y/n, angst, slightly suggestive, super duper brief mention of sewerslide, not proofread forgive me

click here for my masterlist!

It’d been just over a week since you heard from your father. He’d meant what he said. He was a lot of things but he wasn’t a liar. And you didn’t bother trying to reason with him. He was done with you. 

He had said many times before he only had a place beside him if you were a winner. And you weren’t one anymore. You lost. Pretty damn hard and pretty damn publicly. So you were dropped from your father’s hero association and quickly, a little too quickly to not be calculated, replaced by the next up and comer. 

You on the other hand had actually managed to get signed rather quickly. All thanks to Queen, who had taken pity on you after seeing you sat in the parking lot of the stadium way past when the tournament ended. You’d never really been left on your own. Every single step of your life was puppeteered by your father. You didn’t exactly know how to stand on your own just yet. 

But nevertheless Queen brought you to DOS and after less than a three minute talk you were asked to join the agency. It startled you a bit. Seeing as you were conditioned to think people who lost gained nothing in return. But you were still the top third hero and apparently MIckey, the head of DOS, saw that as a great achievement. 

“Oh, and before you go, Winner?” Mickey called, your hand paused as you turned. Mickey was sitting back at his desk, his hand reaching for his coffee cup. “Our surveillance system wasn’t able to pick up you and Hero X’s conversation.” He starts, you furrow your brow, turning fully to face him. 

“Our conversation?”

“During the tournament.” He supplies. You slowly nod your head. “That man he’s… a mysterious one. I haven’t been able to get a hold of him even for a moment.” Mickey tries to laugh off his words but it’s too hollow, too stressed sounding. “I even visited his floor but… it’s vacant. I’m just curious… since he didn’t speak a single word to anyone else the entire tournament, before and after. But he spoke to you… seemed like he said a lot.” 

“Well he…” You cleared your throat, trying to recall the short conversation. “He mocked me mostly. Then he…” You stopped yourself. He had asked you to dinner and for some reason that embarrassed you. “Yeah… he just mocked me. My hero name.” You averted your eyes. You felt Mickey’s eyes burn into you, you forced yourself to meet his eyes. It was clear he only half believed you, which was fine because you were telling a half truth.

“That’s all?” He asked. You nodded your head. Mickey swallows, nodding head head. 

“Well alright then, welcome to DOS, Winner.”

And welcomed you were. And marketed to. Though this time around you had a lot more say in the kinds of sponsorships and brand deals you took. You had asked a few times to change your hero name but it was always met with a resounding ‘no’. 

“If you change it now, it’s like starting all over!” Mickey had said to you over the phone as you were chauffeured back to the hero tower. 

“What’s so wrong with starting over?” You asked and felt disheartened when you heard Mickey’s laugh over the line. 

“Winner is a beloved hero and a household name. Everyone knows Winner. Millions of people have put their trust in Winner. Winners in the top three leaderboard of heroes. You can’t start over now.” Mickey listened as your car pulled up and your door was opened. 

“It doesn’t feel like me.”

“What does? Winner is a persona… she isn’t supposed to be you.” Mickey says and you can hear the exasperation in his voice and that part of you that never really got out of the habits your father instilled in you rolled over. 

“Alright,” You conceded. “I won’t ask again.” You said, stepping out of the car into the blinding sun, you shielded your eyes as Mickey over the phone all but cheered.

“Good girl.” He hangs up the phone, that familiar click turning your blood hot. You shoved your phone in your pocket and strutted towards the elevator. It dinged, the white doors pulling apart as you stepped inside and let it carry you up to your floor. It slowed to a stop and pulled apart again as you stepped out, something shining and catching your attention. The familiar sound of a coin slicing through the air as it flips onto a hand. The doors to the elevator pulled shut behind you as your eyes met X’s. He leaned against your kitchen island looking exactly as he had the day he beat you. The same tailored suit, slicked back hair and shit eating grin, although he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“Busy day?” He asked nonchalantly, pocketing the coin he was fiddling with. You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He raised his brows slightly, tilting his head. “Well?” He encouraged. You cleared your throat, there was something about him. Something like a demand for your attention. 

“Yes. It was busy.” You said. X snapped, two glasses materializing in his hands. 

“Share a drink?” He asks. 

“I… don’t have any wine-” He snaps again and a bottle clatters on the top of your counter. He turns, reaching for the bottle, popping the cork and pouring you both a glass. You hesitantly make your way towards him. He slid your glass to your side of the kitchen island and raised his glass towards you. Your fingers slid around the cold glass, slowly raising it to meet his. His eyes caress your face as your glasses clink. 

“To signing to a new association.” He says, tilting the glass towards you before pulling it towards his lips. 

“How did you-”

“I know alot about you.” he interrupts. “Also it’s all over the news.” He adds as you pull your own glass to your lips. You two meet eyes, taking sips. The third floor of the hero tower had never felt smaller than in this moment.

“What’s… your deal?” You asked as X leaned back, gulping down his glass, snapping as it refills itself. 

“My deal?” He echoes your words, smirking at you. 

“Yes,” You affirmed, setting your glass down. “Your deal.”

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” He asks and you're glad you set your glass down because you probably would’ve sent it careening towards his head. 

“That implies that I even think about you.” You countered. X perked up at your words, he almost looked… thrilled at your sharp tone. 

“You don’t?” He asks, his voice… soft, almost lilting. You shook your head. 

“My boss does. He’s curious about the top hero.” You said, reaching for your glass again, taking a sip. X purses his lips slightly. 

“And you?” He asks, your eyes cut to his.

“And me?”

“Mhm.” He hums. “You're not the least bit curious about me?” If you could choose a hero name for this man, you would’ve gladly and quickly chosen shameless. 

“Who’re you? What’s your name?”

“X.” He answers simply. 

“You’ll call me by my real name but you won’t tell me your real name?” You asked. X took another long sip. 

“It’s better this way.” He shrugs. “Any other questions for me?”

“Why’re you here? In my home?”

“Well you know… you never answered me.” He runs his finger over the rim of his glass. 

“Hm?” You hummed before taking another sip of the wine. It was good wine, a familiar taste. 

“Dinner?” He grins over his glass. Your eyes cut to his again. Right… guess you never answered him. 

“No.” You said and X’s grin faltered for a moment before he smoothly recovered. 

“No? Just like that?” He dips his head, a strand of his hair falling in his face.

“Just like that.” You affirmed. X rose to his feet, he reached up, smoothing his hair back, he raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“I know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.” He smiles, the first genuine thing you’d seen from him. It was… actually a good look on him. He looked sly when he smirked. He looked down right handsome when he smiled. You walked him to the door, his hand reached out, clicking the elevator button as the cables came to life, pulling it up to your floor. The doors slide open and X steps in. 

“You know, I pegged you as someone who would barter just a bit for dinner.” You said, smirking yourself. X’s eyes snapped to yours. “I must not know you very well.” You waved, he parted his lips to speak just as the doors slid to a close. You stepped back, alone and overwhelmed. You… you had never flirted before. It wasn’t something you thought would come easy but… it came easy just now. It felt good to smile, to tease and argue with someone who didn’t anger easily. It was like he drew out a different side to you. A side of you that wasn’t marred down by lessons learned the hard way.

X sent over a thousand roses a week later. You came home from a mission, exhausted and staggering in pain and tripped up on them, almost sent sprawling on your tile flooring. You straightened, powers extending to hit the light switch. Every color rose imaginable littered the entirety of your apartment, every single surface had a vase with tens of roses inside. Your mouth dropped open in surprise as you winded your way through the apartment. Your landline rings, echoing through your apartment. You trip your way to the phone, yanking it up. 

“Am I pushing my luck?” X asks, you could hear the smirk in his voice. You swallowed hard, thinking about the clean up, about what the hell you were going to do with all these roses. 

“Twenty would have been too many.” You remarked. X laughed, his laugh was warm and amused. You heard his fingers snap and suddenly all but one rose was gone, right on the table next to the phone.

“Better?” He asked, as you reached for it, thinking the moment you got close enough it would disappear but you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. 

“I don’t understand your powers.” You said, tucking the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you walk the rose towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, no one does.” He says, his voice almost warm against your ear. You reach into the cupboard, grabbing a glass, half filling it with water.

“Tell me about them.” You say, placing the rose in the water. 

“You wanna know more about me? Let me take you out to dinner.”

“We’re back on that, huh?” You ask, feeling something warm spread through your body.

“Well, here I am… bartering for dinner.” He says and that warmth goes a bit hot. You swallow. 

“I don't get it. You’re an enigma. Everyones talking about you, about X. No one knows a damn thing, you don’t talk to anyone else in the association. What’s your fascination with me?” You ask, sliding onto the counter. It’s quiet for a moment. 

“You’re fascinating.” He answers simply, voice serious. 

“You never answer any of my questions.” You sigh, leaning back on your hand, looking back towards the skyline outside your apartment window. 

“I think… it’s pretty clear.”

“What?”

“My intentions, Y/n.” X says and your heart actually flips in your chest. You clear your throat. 

“Make them clear for me.” You say, voice soft. It’s quiet for another moment. What’re you getting yourself into?

“I want to take you on a date. I find you… alluring. Always have. I told you at the end of our fight I was a big fan.”

“Of Winner.” He was a fan of Winner, that wasn’t you. 

“No. Not the hero you pretend to be on commercials and tv shows. The one I see on the news smiling as she saves the day. The one that still introduces herself as if she’s not a top hero.” You swallow dryly at his words. Did he understand you? Was he seeing past the manufactured ‘you’?

“It’s… only polite to introduce yourself.” You covered, trying not to sound as affected as you felt. Even you didn’t entirely know who you were yet. There definitely still was a part of you, probably a part you could never entirely rid yourself of, that was still competitive. You wanted to be the top hero and you wanted that title to be something only you accomplished. To show your father you weren’t useless and still had worth.

“I have a feeling you're going to turn me down again.” X’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts as you purse your lips.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, you think it’s pretty obvious. 

“I want to be the top hero. I could’ve been the top hero.” You start, glancing over at the rose on your countertop. “I’m going to spend a lot of my time this year training up so I can wipe the floor with you at the next competition.”

“Ah. So it’s like that, huh?” He asks, that smirk coming back, you could practically see it. 

“Enjoy it while you can.”

“Y/n, are you thinking this declaration of war will deter me in any way? Because… Quite frankly, now I want that date with you more than anything. I like a woman who knows what she wants.” Your brows shoot up in surprise. You were sure your words would put an end to the chase X was running.

“You’re insatiable.” You half laugh, half scoff in surprise. 

“Satiate me then. It’s one date.” He bartered quite well. When did just dinner turn into a date? And it was just one date. Something you’d never been on. Plus this could be your one and only chance to get actual answers about him. Everyone has a weakness, and you needed to find out what that was if you wanted a fair fight.

“Alright. One date.”

“Be ready in an hour.” X answered smoothly, you shot up. 

“Now?”

“Mhm. I’ll be there in an hour.” He hummed and the line went dead. You hopped off the counter and for an hour you rushed around. You took a shower and blow dried and styled your hair. You pulled on a dress that Queen let you borrow for a gala a few weeks ago and stopped in the kitchen, taking two shots to calm your nerves. Just as you set the shot glass down the elevator doors dinged and X stepped inside your apartment. 

“You didn’t give me much time, asshole.” You called out to him as he rounded the corner, he stopped in his tracks and so did you. He wasn’t wearing a white suit, nor did he have white hair. You didn’t know who this man was. “Who the hell-“

“It’s me.” He says, reaching up to push his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. He had clean black hair, pushed sideways out of his face, black rimmed glasses and a fitted black salaryman suit. He looked like an office job worker, someone that would bump into on the street in a hurry to get back to the office. You furrowed your brows. He snaps his fingers and in a blink of an eye the white suit materializes, his black hair smoothing into white. He snaps again and he’s back to normal. “Most hero’s need a disguise to hide behind.” He reaches up, running a hand through his black hair. You realized you hadn’t said a word and cleared your throat. “Oh no… did I lose my appeal?”

“So this is who you are?” You ask and his face softens slightly, he nods his head. “You’ll show me this but won’t tell me your real name.”

“I’ll save that for the second date.” He smirks and that smirk was enough to make you realize it really was him, the two could coexist in your mind purely by the way he smiled. You relax slightly, your creased brow calming. 

“I really don’t get you.” You said but your voice wasn’t sharp or annoyed.

“Figured maybe you had a thing for brunettes.” His words draw a laugh out of you as you roll your eyes. 

“I don’t know what my thing is.” 

“Well I hope you like sushi.” He raises his arm. You hadn’t even noticed he was holding a take out bag. 

“I thought you knew a place?”

“Mhm. Your place.” He smirks, crossing the floor to the kitchen island, ripping open the bag to start pulling out the food. “I wouldn't get a moment of peace with you out in the public.”

“Why's that?” You asked, crossing the floor to lean on the kitchen island, his hands, once smoothly removing the food, shakes a bit at your closeness. He clears his throat. 

“You’re a top hero… everyone will know you. Not to mention you’d be on a date… looking like that.” His eyes drag down your body then back up to your face. You glare at him. “Pushing my luck again?” You nod your head and he laughs, snapping as two glasses and a bottle of wine appear on the table. 

“If I had known we’d be staying in I wouldn’t have bothered with this dress.”

“I’m glad you bothered. And I’m glad I’m the only one to see you in it.”

“I wore it to a gala. A lot of people saw me in it.” You remarked, reaching for the wine but he’s quicker than you. He grabs it, pouring you a glass. 

“You hate being flirted with, don’t you?” He asks, pouring his own drink. You thought about that for a moment. It’s not that you didn’t like to be flirted with, it was more so there was still a part of you that hated that he beat you. And sometimes being antagonistic to his flirting seemed to be a small payback. You shrugged, taking a drink. 

“I wouldn’t say I hate it. Maybe you’re not as slick as you think.” You say and find yourself smirking into your glass. X cocks his head slightly, eyes devouring your expression. You flush under the scrutiny of his gaze and wonder if your words pushed him to try harder.

“See this is why I bartered for dinner. What other woman would tear me down at every given opportunity?” He asks, his face all amusement and light. You bite your lip, hiding a smile.

“I guess… maybe I am a bit mad at you.” You say as he starts dividing out the food.

“Why’s that?”

“You beat me.” You say and feel a bit out in the open at your response. You couldn’t hide the vulnerability and you’d never been good at keeping secrets and for some reason you felt disarmed by him. He showed a side of himself to you that no one else knew about. 

“I did.” He smirks and you glare at him. He laughs it off and reaches for his glass. “But that’s because you didn’t want to win for yourself, right? You wanted to win for your father.” Your mouth goes dry. “Look, it's not hard to see how hard he pushed you. When you first became a hero you were everywhere. In every tournament and talk show. You were in movies and on cereal boxes. Everyone knew who you were purely because of how much you worked. There’s not a single other hero, aside from Nice, that worked as hard as you. And we all know what happened to him.” That’s right. You remember seeing that on the news. The hero Nice killed himself because of the pressures placed on his shoulders. You remember your father laughing at the tv. Claiming not every hero can take the pressure. It made you angry. You pop some sushi into your mouth. 

“It… it wasn’t all bad.” You say, avoid eye contact. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if my father hadn’t pushed me.”

“Your father shoved you. Not pushed. And no one thinks about your father when they think about Winner. They just see you.”

“They see the persona he created.”

“Sure. He may have created Winner but what’s an empty persona without someone to fill it?” He asks. You swallow, slowly meeting his eyes. “Your success is yours alone. Your father never fought against villains or in tournaments. You did.” 

“You really do sound like a fan.” You try to lighten the moment, the tension between you two has gotten a bit thicker. 

“I’m a big fan. I already told you that.” He smiles. You blow out a laugh. “And if your heart is really in it, I think maybe you could beat me.” 

“I don’t know about that.” You laugh, gulping down the rest of your glass. “You snap your fingers and stuff appears like magic. You beat most everyone in the tournament in mere seconds. I could put up a fight but I don’t think I’ll win.” You say as X snaps his fingers and his other persona walks around the kitchen island to stand in your space. You turn, looking up at him.

“You wanna know my weakness?” He asks, somehow he was even closer. You swallowed dryly, tried to push down the heat rising within you, failing miserably as your cheeks warm up. You nod your head and watch a ghost of a smirk on his face form. He reaches for your hand, warmer than your own as he guides your hand to his chest, holding it right over his heart. “I’m still human. You pierce right here and that crown is yours.” Your heart skipped a beat, his hand enveloped yours, he towered over you. You couldn’t find words, your eyes were locked with his. There was so much confusion. Your head and heart were at war. Nothing winning over lust. Because you’d never met someone so invested in you. Not Winner. You. “Did I push my luck again?” He asked for final time. 

Your hand shot to his tie and yanked him down forcibly against your lips. He made a surprised grunt of a noise, probably due to your strength. Sometimes you forget the extent of your powers. X didn’t waste much time in reveling in surprise though, he recovered swiftly. His hands are on you in seconds, sliding down to your hips, pulling you closer.

This was a horrible idea. You’d be facing this man in a tournament for top hero. 

Your hand ran through, messing up his hair, the other sliding against his cheek as his hand reached out, knocking things off the counter out of the way as his arm wrapped around your hip. He easily pulled you up onto the counter, parting your knees with his hand as he stood between them, body pressed against yours. Your dress rode up dangerously high on your thighs, his hand sliding up your thigh.

You wanted to be top hero. You wanted to be top hero. You wanted to-

He trailed his lips away from your own, kissing down your jaw to your neck. You sucked in a breath. You felt as though someone set you on fire. You supposed it was X.

He wouldn’t even tell you his real name. He was trying to get into your head. This is how he’d win again. 

“God… you wreck me..” He murmured against your neck. Who knew four words could make any shred of doubt about this moment completely evaporate. That little voice in your head had shut right up. You melted against him, hands yanking his lips back onto your own. You kissed him hard enough to bruise because your frustrations had passed into lust and you had to one up him in some way. Your hand slid beneath the shoulders of his suit jacket and pushed it off. He didn’t protest and even smiled against your lips. You fumbled with his tie, huffing as you pulled away from his lips to get a better look at the damn thing as it gave you trouble. He raised a brow watching you struggle. 

“What the hell?” You mumbled, he didn’t take his hands off you to help. “What kind of knot is this?”

“The regular one.” He answered with an amused expression. You shot him a glare, letting go. 

“Take off your tie.” You demanded and at your tone his hands flew to his tie, unknotting it with sly ease. You took over, whipping it off him. You blew out a sharp breath. 

“This is a new side of you.” X said, voice breathy and you met his eyes. 

Sometimes you got frustrated and angry. When you worked for your father your frustrations were seen as a weakness and what anger you had, your father had a whole reserve of. So usually you were able to take it out on the training dummies or run around the gym until you collapsed. You weren’t entirely sure what was making you angry here. Maybe the lack of control, your feelings of inferiority against X. 

You close your eyes, shaking your head. He’d done nothing wrong that you could see and you were misplacing your frustration. This just wasn’t something you were ready for. 

“This isn’t going to work.” You said after a moment. X’s thumb gently moved against your thigh. You couldn’t get out of your own head about all of this. About whether he was using you. “What… do you have to gain from this?” You ask and X’s hands pause on your skin. 

“I have nothing to gain but your time.”

“Bullshit.” You scoff. 

“Not everyone’s out for blood.” He says, reaching up and tucking your hair gently behind your ear. You met his eyes. “I think we both want similar things, judging by the way you kissed me.” You flushed at the memory. “I’m at your mercy, Y/n. What you say goes.” 

“If you're using me to— to get something I’ll kill you.” X smiles at your words, he drags his thumb gently across your cheek and leans in. “I mean it-,” He cuts you off, pressing a kiss to your lips. He kisses you tenderly, trying to make you forget those pesky worries. 

“I’ve been warned.” He whispers against your mouth. You breathed out shakily, flexing your hands tightly to keep from yanking him on top of you. He slowly pulled back, eyes looking over your flushed face. His hands slid onto your hips, easing you off the counter. “Walk me to the door?” He asks.

“You… you can stay. We can eat.”

“I don’t think we’ll do much eating if I stay.” He answers, his eyes eating up your face. You slowly nod your head, quickly fixing your dress, leading him to the door. You ruined the night, you felt it deep in your bones. You weren’t ready so you ruined things. He reaches for the elevator button. 

“Sorry.” You intone, a few steps behind him. His hand pauses, he doesn’t press the button. You look guiltily at the ground. “I ruined the date.”

“You didn’t.” He laughs and your eyes shoot up to him. “On the contrary, I had fun. Can we do this again?”

“You’re joking.” You respond tonelessly, bordering on surprise. 

“Nope. I’ve fallen quite hard. I think I need another night like this with you.” You can’t help but blush. “I’ll call you.” He presses the button and it dings, the doors sliding open. He turns and meets your eyes. You walk a few steps to the door, hand shooting out to grab his tie once more. You pull him to your lips again, a silent confirmation that you wanted to do this again too. You pulled away and let go of his tie just as the doors slid closed. You wouldn’t say you fell because only losers fall, but… it was sure something close to it. 

[nhmkhnh]

#SERIES—02 ──── CHAPTER—02

i choose you to fill the void.

pairings: dom!top!vi x sub!bot!fem!reader

author's note: GIRL IDK IF I TRADED MY SOUL TO DEMONS IN MY SLEEP?? IN A BLINK AND WITH THOSE SLOWED SONGS AND I DONE WRITING THE NEXT CHAPTER ALREADY??

rating: explicit (minors & men dni) | words: 1.3k list: post-breakup pain ;; vi is emotionally unavailable but trying ;; repeated hookups ;; soft moments between rough sex ;; vi catching feelings against her will ;; obsession blooming ;; light angst ;; praise kink ;; feelings slipping through the cracks ;; porn with feelings.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

1 | 2 | 3

the second time she came over, it was late.

no text. no call. just the sound of her knocking like she had nowhere else to be.

you opened the door in a sleep shirt and nothing else, blinking blearily at her. “vi?”

she didn’t say anything. just stood there, fists in the pockets of her hoodie, eyes heavy like she hadn’t slept.

you stepped aside.

she came in.

and when the door clicked shut behind her, she kissed you like she’d missed you all week.

you fucked against the kitchen counter.

vi had your legs wrapped around her waist, your back arched, your fingers tangled in her hair as she thrust into you with slow, aching pressure. the fake granite edge dug into your spine but you didn’t care — not with her teeth at your throat and her hands gripping your thighs like she needed to own you to breathe.

she whispered things this time. things she probably didn’t mean.

“been thinking about this all week…” “missed this pussy so bad…” “god, you feel like fuckin’ heaven, baby…”

you came hard. she bit down on your neck when she followed.

when it was over, she helped you off the counter, held you against her chest like she didn’t want to leave yet.

she left anyway, just before sunrise.

the third time, it was your idea.

you texted her around midnight: you up?

the door opened twenty minutes later. vi had a cut on her cheek and blood under her nails.

you didn’t ask. you just took her to bed.

by the fifth time, she had a toothbrush in your bathroom. you didn’t know when she put it there.

you noticed it while brushing your teeth one morning, and just stared at it like it meant something. like maybe she was trying to take root.

you didn’t ask. she didn’t say anything.

but that night, when she showed up again, her knock was softer.

and she kissed you longer before pushing you into the mattress.

vi wasn’t gentle. not always.

some nights, she was like a storm breaking — all rough hands and hungry gasps, grinding against you like she was chasing a high she couldn’t reach.

you liked it. you craved it.

the way her mouth pressed against your skin, biting marks into your hips, muttering, “mine. fuckin’ mine tonight.”

the way she’d pin your wrists above your head with one hand and finger you with the other, growling, “you like bein’ used, sweetheart? yeah, you do. so fuckin’ good for me.”

but then there were the other nights.

the quiet ones.

where she held you like you might disappear. where she fucked you slowly, watching your face, eyes dark but soft. where she stayed after, buried her face in your neck, and fell asleep tangled in your sheets.

you didn’t know which version of her broke you more.

you caught her staring at you sometimes.

not like she wanted to fuck — not exactly. more like she didn’t understand why she was still here.

and you couldn’t ask. because you weren’t sure what you were either.

it started changing.

she stopped only coming at night. she’d drop by during the day. once with coffee. another time with a bag of takeout, claiming she “just had leftovers” even though you knew damn well she didn’t cook.

she texted you more.

little things. saw this song and thought of you. don’t go outside tonight, enforcers are actin weird. did you eat yet?

you told yourself not to hope. she never said the word feelings. never kissed you in daylight.

but she always showed up.

and sometimes — when she thought you weren’t looking — she’d stare at you with this haunted, starved look.

like she didn’t know how she got here, but she couldn’t leave either.

the seventh time she slept over, you woke up before her.

she was curled around you, arm tight over your waist, breathing slow.

you turned slowly, careful not to wake her.

her lashes fluttered. her lip was split again. her knuckles bruised.

you reached out and touched her cheek.

she didn’t wake up, but she leaned into it.

something clenched in your chest.

you whispered it before you could stop yourself: “i think i’m falling for you.”

her eyes stayed shut.

but later, when she woke and pulled you into her lap, kissing you breathless, she held you tighter than usual.

the sex started changing too.

more eye contact. more desperation.

she’d fuck you like she couldn’t get close enough — her hips slamming into you, voice hoarse with praise.

“that’s it, sweet girl… take it, just like that… so good for me, so fuckin’ perfect.”

you’d cry out under her, hands clutching the sheets, cunt throbbing as she pushed you to your third orgasm in a row.

she’d groan, “god, you’re addicted, huh? this pussy was made for me.”

and she’d look broken when you whispered her name like a prayer. like no one had ever said it that softly before.

one night, she showed up with a bad split in her eyebrow and blood staining her hoodie.

you froze when you saw her.

“vi—what the fuck happened?”

she shook her head. “doesn’t matter.”

“it does—”

she grabbed your face. kissed you. hard.

you let her.

she didn’t talk about it. not before. not after.

but that night, she fucked you with her forehead pressed to yours, voice cracking every time she moaned your name. and when you came, sobbing her name into the night, she almost said it back.

i love you.

but she bit it down.

buried it in your skin.

you tried to pull away once.

you told her you couldn’t do this if it didn’t mean something. that your heart wasn’t built for casual.

she didn’t answer.

she just left.

and you thought that was it.

until she showed up again — three days later. soaked from the rain, eyes red.

you didn’t say anything.

you just opened the door.

she didn’t leave after that.

one morning, she brought you coffee and a tiny plant. you blinked. “what’s this?”

she shrugged. “it reminded me of you.”

you stared at it. a little violet, half-bloomed.

you looked back at her.

and vi, for the first time, looked scared.

you reached for her hand. held it.

she let you.

you never talked about caitlyn.

but once, half-asleep, she murmured a name in the dark — soft and broken.

you kissed her shoulder. didn’t ask.

she kissed you back like an apology.

and kept whispering yours after that.

there were no labels.

no promises.

but when she wrapped your legs around her waist and fucked you slow and deep, eyes locked with yours, whispering, “mine, yeah? tell me you’re mine,” —

you whispered yes.

every time.

and in the quiet after, when she traced circles on your thigh and kissed your temple like you were made of something she didn’t deserve —

you knew.

you were hers.

even if she couldn’t say it yet.

[perfumejamal]

friendly competition (m.l + h.l)

pairing: bf!mark lee x f!reader x haechan, (a bit of mark x haechan )

genre: smut w barely any plot !

warnings: slight mxm and mxf, blowjobs, spitting, gagging, oral, creampie, threesomes, haechan is dirtyyy, can this count as cheating? idk, i didn’t mention protection BUT stay safe y’all, mark is the bf and haechan is his bsf

a/n: hi yall… this was originally written as an aot fanfic but i rewrote it to be a mark and haechan fic instead! this is based off an audio i’ve heard, you can listen go it here(wear headphones)! hope you guys enjoy!!

+ special tag: @isseoisseo

your boyfriend was the cutest guy ever. you met him at a random party your friend had dragged you to. usually you didn’t go further than maybe a hook up, but mark was different. he was a sweetheart, and you couldn’t let such a good guy get away.

after being together for a few weeks, you realized just how close he was to his best friend and roommate, haechan. it didn’t bother you, but sometimes it’d make you feel awkward. there’d be times when you were trying to be alone with him, but somehow haechan would always be there. you thought of talking to mark about it, but went against it. instead you started bringing your best friend along as well, to lessen the awkwardness.

this weekend however, was different. she was on her way to a family gathering, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. so here you are in your boyfriend’s apartment, with his boyfriend.

the three of you sat in the dimly lit room, illuminated by the flat screen television in their spacious living room. you snuggled up close to each other on one end, while haechan sat on the other end. you guys were watching a random movie on netflix, girls trip.

you had never watched it but it was very entertaining. the three of you had your eyes glued to the screen. you looked over at haechan who occasionally glanced towards you and mark.

you quickly looked back at the large screen when they started talking about blowjobs. one of the girls in the movie started performing a blowjob on a banana using a grapefruit.

you weren’t shy to sex scenes in movies or shows, but this one made you blush slightly. you knew it made mark feel some type of way as well since he kept shifting in his spot.

you smirked at him, “don’t you think i give the best blowjobs?” you whispered to him forgetting haechan was also next to you guys. mark nods immediately, his cheeks turning red. as you continued teasing him haechan started giggling.

you roll your eyes, “what’s so funny, haechan?” you weren’t actually mad, but you were confused as to what he was laughing about.

“oh nothing,” he chuckles.

“you think it’s funny that i give the best blowjobs?” you ask looking over to him.

“i do think it’s funny,” he starts. “well, i think it’s funny because i’m very, very confident in my oral sex skills.” you roll your eyes again. “not just on women,” he adds making your boyfriend’s ears perk up in anticipation.

“i’m more skilled than you,” you flash him your sweet smile.

“is that right?” haechan asks, a smile plastered across his face. he turned to mark, who was red and in shock at your argument. “does she?” he asks. “does she give the best blowjobs?” he asks once more, making sure to specify what his question was.

haechan continues to laugh, knowing that mark will say yes… if he’s smart. mark let out a low whisper of an answer, “yes she does,”

“see i win,” you stick up your middle finger to haechan earning an amused look from him.

“hm, i don’t know. i bet i can give a better blowjob than you,” he started again. “i just get the feeling,” he laughs. “i’m sure you’re good, i just know i can do better. how about we test it out?”

you give him a questioning look, “what are you trying to say?”

“i mean, your boyfriend knows how you suck him off. how about we let him judge, let me suck him off,” haechan says without budging and your jaw drops. he wants to suck mark’s dick?

you never thought about haechan wanting to do that to your boyfriend, but maybe that’s why he’s so close to him? or maybe he’s just very competitive… like you.

mark is very intrigued seeing this scene playing out in front of him. “oh you’re so on, lee.” you shifted your attention over to mark, “is this okay with you babe?”

marks burries his face into his hands in embarrassment. “y-yes,”

haechan gets up from his side of the couch, quickly scurrying towards mark. dropping down to his knees stopping right in front of his lap.

“be ready to lose, y/n.” haechan says with a smirk on his face, soft hair held back in a messy bun.

you scoff, “yeah sure,” kneeling next to haechan giving him enough space to get to work.

haechan chuckles again before pulling at the hem of your boyfriend’s sweatpants. your boyfriend’s dick seemed to already be hardening, i mean how could it not with such a beautiful sight. his best friend and girlfriend kneeling between his legs, competing to see who could do him better.

mark’s dick sprung up hitting his abdomen and he let out a sweet moan. haechan placed his pretty hands around it, “i knew you had a pretty dick, but damn is this a hot sight.” he said, making your boyfriend whimper. precum leaking from his rosy tip, seeing this just made you even more turned on than before.

haechan put his mouth around the tip, swirling his tongue around it. “fuck,” mark let out a dragged out moan. the whimpers your boyfriend kept letting out just worked haechan up even more, causing him to take him into his mouth whole, inch by inch.

your fingers traveled down between your legs, sneaking into your pajama shorts. your boyfriend’s moans always drive you to the edge.

haechan noticed and moaned into mark’s dick, the vibrations making him go crazy. haechan kept bobbing his head up and down mark’s length, spreading all his saliva on it making a mess. he let mark’s tip rest on the back of his throat. he used his hand to fondle with his balls, making mark’s head throw back and eyes roll.

haechan slipped mark’s cock out of his mouth and used his hands to continue with the pleasure. “i hope you’re taking notes, y/n,” he said as he continued to stroke mark but was making eye contact with you.

you were opening your mouth to reply with a rebuttal, but your body betrayed you and you let out a loud moan. “fuck, shut up, haechan.”

he smiled to you before turning back to put his mouth around mark’s pretty cock, gagging to add to the pleasure. he knew mark was about to come undone, like never before. “you gonna come for me, mark?” he asks batting his eyelashes up at mark.

“mhm, fuck, fuck, haechan you’re doing me so fu-fucking good, shit,” haechan smiled at the praise coming from his best friend’s mouth.

“i want that fucking come down my throat,” haechan said as he stroked his dick faster, before lowering his head once again. he keep moaning mhm’s down mark’s dick. “i can feel you getting close,”

“you like that? like when i suck your dick and play with your balls?” mark cried out broken moan as haechan fiddled with his sensitive balls, “f-fuck haechan, fuck!” mark thrusted his dick into haechan’s mouth, making him gag around it. he came, mark came hard. his moans were echoing around the who apartment. his thrusts slowed down as he spilled into haechan’s mouth.

haechan took every single last drop into his mouth, moaned as he stroked for every last bit of it. swallowing it with a smile on his face, sticking out his tongue to show he rid of it all.

haechan chuckled as he looked at both of you, mark’s head thrown aback with a fucked out look, and you sat there surprised at his skills. “what’s the matter y/n? cat got your tongue?”

“i’ve never seen mark like this after my blowjobs,” you looked at mark then haechan when you said this. noticing that his shorts has wet patches and his dick imprinting against the soft fabric. “hae, you got hard?”

mark chuckled from the couch still mind blown at what just happened. “how could i not be? this shit was hot.”

your face flushed, and crawled over to eren. your hands playing with his waistband. “hae, lemme test out my skills on you, yeah?” you asked looking up to meet his eyes. he nodded nervously eyes looking up at mark then down to your own.

you got into all fours, lowering your head to his lap taking off his shorts and underwear. leaving him only with a white t-shirt, that exposed his soft muscles.

your hands worked their way around his hard cock, spitting on it, mixing his precum with it to make it easier for your hands to work around it. he was giving you filthy looks as a moan escapes his pretty mouth.

mark got up from the couch and walked behind you. lowering down to your ass which was in the air, moving side to side as you bobbed your head along haechan’s length.

mark’s veiny hands worked around your ass, delivering a sharp smack on your cheek making you choke on haechan’s dick. mark chuckled at your reaction as his hands moved between your legs, using the slick of your folds to rub up against you.

you were moaning against haechan’s making his hands travel to your cheek, wiping the tears falling from your watery eyes. “fuck, y/n, if you keep making that face,” haechan started. “you gonna make me fuck your pretty face,”

mark looked over to haechan as his fingers entered your tight cunt, “i think she want you to, haechan, her pussy is tightening around me.”

haechan chuckled, “y/n is that true? you want me to fuck your pretty face, huh?” you nodded your head eagerly, and haechan wasted no time to start thrusting into your face roughly.

“fuck, y/n,” mark and haechan both let out loud moans. mark slid his dick into your pussy, you swallowed him whole.

mark’s hands held onto your hips and he bucked his own into yours. “shit, i’m close y/n,” haechan moaned his voice breaking out from the immense pleasure. not only because of your mouth, but the fact that your boyfriend is fucking you while you’re sucking him off is making lightheaded.

a few more thrusts from haechan and he was spilling into your mouth, his cum dripping out the sides of your mouth and your eyes watering. “swallow it all, y/n.” mark said and haechan slowly slid his dick from your mouth and you complied, swallowing it all.

haechan stroked your cheeks telling you to open your mouth and show him, and you stuck out your tongue showing you did as mark told. “fuck, good girl.”

mark sat back down on the floor, pulling you to sit on top of him. now you’re riding him, while haechan watches it. this sight making him almost come undone again. haechan hands sneaked down to your clit and started rubbing circles to make you cum. his lips met yours and he placed a sloppy kiss on your numb lips. this made your boyfriend come and he spilled into your tight cunt, moaning loudly as he did so.

haechan pulled away from you, a trail of saliva following as his mouth headed to mark’s. he placed a sloppy kiss on mark as you threw you head back, feeling haechan’s cock growing inside of you as his cum felt warm against your insides.

“wanna fuck her? fuck my cum back into her,” mark said the last part as a demand, not a question. you whimpered at the thought and haechan pulled you towards him. laying you on your back.

the cum was starting to ooze out your pussy, making both boys hard again. fuck, this was gonna be a long night.

mark’s eyes were lost in lust, they sparkled as he saw his best friend’s dick enter your cunt. amazed as to how quick you swallow him whole. you were a blabbering mess, “a-ah please, h-hae! youre f-fucking me so…”

haechan’s thrusts were sloppy and fast. like he was in heat. he fucked you like his life depended on it, and mark’s attack to your sensitive clit didn’t make it any easier. “youre so fucking good, taking him like a slut,” mark chuckled.

he walked behind haechan and wrapped his arms around him. making you moan out as your boyfriend grabbed his jaw, turning haechan’s face to meet his own and making out with him.

haechan’s thrusts continued, sloppy and fast making your head spin. mark’s hands worked down haechan’s abs and stopped at your clit once again, going in circles. “a-h mar-rk, haechan fuck!” you cried out as they continued to make out.

haechan spilled into your pussy, his cum getting fucked into your cunt along with mark’s. his dick slid out and he moaned as the cum started oozing out.

mark’s face met your dripping cunt, “i wanna taste you on her haechan,” his tongue licked along your core and cried out at the change in temperature. he licked your pussy clean of haechan’s cum. haechan lowered down next to him they both licked at your core like they were thirsty.

“pl-please, ‘s too much!” you cried and they laughed. you felt like you’re gonna explode any time now.

once they finished cleaning you up they got up from they previous position. mark placed a kiss on your swollen lips, “you were great for us baby,” and you nodded as your eyes were closing from your tired, fucked out state.

[thir10th]

I literally love the way you write emily! could you please do something like Morgan or anyone on the team points out how clingy you are around her so you get insecure, but Emily makes it better? thank you💕

hi anon 👋 ofc i can!! i love this concept ❤️

summary: Morgan says something that upsets you, thankfully Emily knows exactly what to do (basically the ask lol) tw: smut, shower sex, oral sex, idk i'm tired i think that's all a/n: i'm trying to do your requests, like you guys already know i can't promise i will make them all, but you're still very welcome to try! Like & reblog as always <3

You had spent a whole week on LA on this last case, more than 3 women had been murdered before you caught the unsub, which means you desperately needed a long night sleep, preferably wrapped in your girlfriend's arms.

You're sitting on the window seat, keeping the one next to it free for her, she smiles when her eyes meet yours, and sits next to you, you surround her with your arm, kissing her cheek, she moves to peck your lips as well

"hey baby" you whisper, your mouth close to hers

"hey" she answers with the sweetest voice, you can sense she also wants to get home as soon as possible.

Your other hand wraps around her leg, squeezing it

"I'm gonna go for a tea, ok? you want one?" she asks getting up, wrapping herself off of you "yeah that'd be nice" you answer, the silliest smile on your face.

"ugh, you two get a room" Morgan's voice makes you lift your head, the smile instantly erased form your face.

"What do you mean?" you ask, he has never pointed you two out before, so it surprises you

"c'mon, can't you spend 2 seconds without touching her? we were just at the airport and you were all over each other, i could not handle someone being so clingy" you're too baffled to say anything. Clingy? you had never thought about it, you loved your girlfriend so much it came natural to you hugging her and touching her, the possibility that she didn't like it had never crossed your mind.

Morgan couldn't be bothered about it, he put his headphones back on as soon as he dropped the unfriendly comment.

"there you go baby" Emily said, handing you your cup, you take it, a small smile to thank her, and you lay back to the window.

As much as you're trying you can't seem to get Morgan's comment out of your head, you never wanted to suffocate Emily, you just wanted her to feel loved, maybe she was just ashamed to tell you how uncomfortable it made her.

You sip your tea, looking out the window, "hey" Emily grabs your cup when you're finished and opens her arm offering you to lay on it

"I think I'm gonna try to sleep now, ok?" you tell her, and turn around to lay your head on the window.

You can tell se knows there's something going on, she frowns, you can feel her stare, but finally let's it go, and gets back to her book.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

When you finally get back to your apartment, Emily throws her bag away, and you do the same, moving to sit on the couch to take your shoes off more comfortably.

"Well, I desperately need a shower, you coming?" she asks as she takes her shirt off

"Yeah, you go" you don't even look at her to answer, trying to focus on untying your shoes, you keep your head down.

Emily stands on the middle of the hallway, she looks at you, raising an eyebrow, now she knows there's definitely something going on.

"You're not gonna shower, love?" she asks, a concerned tone on her voice "Yeah, sure, you can go first tho"

Your girlfriend was too stunned to speak. It wasn't like you to turn down the offer of showering together, you couldn't remember a time when you had said no to a shower with Emily, specially after a case.

She would always lather your back soothingly, you didn't even always have sex (although it was quite common), sometimes you would simply enjoy the warm water stream, you would take care of each other, wrap yourselves into a warm embrace that could last minutes, and she would always lend you her clothes afterwards, there was no other feeling better than going to sleep clean and fresh into your girlfriend's clothes, wrapped around each other. What do you mean you don't want to shower with her?

"So, you will wait for me to shower, and you will go after me? first on the plane, now this? Baby, is something wrong? Did i do something to upset you?" you lift your head to look at her after getting rid of your shoes, her big brown eyes reflect the worry on her voice, she looks to you carefully to see what is going on.

"no, it's nothing, i just... i just don't want to be too clingy, you know?" you finally reveal. Her mouth tenses up, and she bites her lip. You know your girlfriend way too well to know that's one of her classic faces, it's the one that says -ok now i see-. She walks up to you, sitting right next to you on the couch, places her hand on your thigh soothingly.

"Baby, who told you that?" you don't wanna say, you don't want her to get upset too, but the way she runs her palm over your leg to soothe your worries makes you want to tell her everything she asked for.

"Well, Morgan, he suggested i could be suffocating you" when you say it aloud it sounds ridiculous, since when do you care about what Morgan says? About what any man has to say about your relationship? His words had just sunk into you way more than you could've expected.

"what did he say?" she licks her lips out of impotence "Because after a whole career on the fbi i'm considering murder just now" you laugh it off, blinking to avert the tears pickering your eyes.

"he said if i was his girlfriend, he would feel suffocated by how clingy i am, and how i can't keep my hands off of you" her eyes scan your face, runs her hand up and down your thigh "ok, i'm sure gonna kill Morgan tomorrow" you both chuckle "well he is kind of right, i mean we can barely spend an hour off of each other" you say trying to make sense out of the situation

"ok, so you are clingy, so what?" her voice raises a bit towards the end, a couple of notes higher, you can't help but to smile, you think it's too cute.

"I love touching you" the hand that was resting on your thigh now gets higher to rest on your waist, her other hands moves up to your neck, her thumb caressing your face "I love it when you touch me" her face gets closer, the tip of her nose brushing against your cheek, you close your eyes relaying on the touch

"I love feeling you close" she moves to sit closer to you on the couch (if that is even possible at this point) her hand keeps moving up and down your back, she kisses your cheek, "and i don't care about what anyone has to say about that, i don't want you to care about it ether" her words sink into you, everything is basically forgotten.

"I want you to touch me, to feel me" she moves your hand, previously resting on your side, she places it on her waist, and you take it upon yourself to grab her face with your other hand.

Closing the small space between you, your lips collapse in a deep kiss, Emily holds you. The kiss is quite sensual. Emily takes her time and eases your mouth open, slowly pushing in her skilled tongue into your mouth, but to your displeasure, the kiss breaks.

"C'mon, baby, come shower with me" she says standing up, holding your hand, you get up too, grabbing on to her for support "lead the way" you say, a grin on her face.

Emily opens the water stream, letting the warm fog fill the bathroom, you try to catch Emily's lips to kiss her again, she offers a very fast for your liking peck that you try to prolong, but she's faster to grab the neck of your shirt, unbuttoning the buttons one by one, and taking it off.

Her eyes never leaving yours, she kisses your collarbone as she unclasps your bra, you reciprocate the action, doing the same with hers, Emily sighing in relief as her own restricting bra was undone.

The soft trail of small kisses on your collarbone soon moving southern to your sternum, she reacher your left boob, her soft lips feel warm on your smooth skin, never getting exactly anywhere, she removes your pants along with your underwear, and you do the same with hers.

You just want to jump in the shower with your girlfriend as fast as possible and forget the day.

She slowly pulled you into the shower behind the hot water, instantly calming your tingling body. Emily instantly pulled you into a hug as the warm water engulfs you two, running her hands through your back.

She lets you lean on her shoulder while she takes whatever sweet scented body wash she could reach faster and scrubs your back, washing the day off of you.

You do the same, grabbing the bottle and squeezing some on your hands to lather your girlfriend's slightly muscular arms, up and dow, then you move to get her shoulder, her back, you cover her in bubbles.

"I love your hands" She says. Her words take you by surprise, too focused on your task of getting your girlfriend clean that you hadn't even realized she was following your every move, her expression full of love. You chuckle first, but she interrupts before you open your mouth "I'm serious, baby. Please, please don't stop touching me" she kisses you again, depositing all her love and care on the kiss.

When you break the kiss you keep your ministrations, this time you lower your hands, her breath hitches when you cup her breasts, the same massage you were delivering to her arms, now you give them a gentle squeeze.

"mh- please, honey, touch me" you love hearing your girlfriend beg, asking for it, it's not the most common thing for her to do, but whenever a plead falls form Emily's lips, your completely at her mercy, ready to comply anything she asks you to.

She let out a breathy gasp as you played with her breasts, giving your girlfriend's mighty breasts another hearty squeeze before ultimately releasing her boobs. She grabs your hips pulling you close to her, she then leaned in, giving you a quick kiss, as you swiped her tongue against her bottom lip, she grabs your ass ginig it a gentle squeeze.

Grabbing her by the hips, you push her body gently against the shower wall, you move the kisses to her neck, sucking and biting her sensitive spots as Emily throws her head back to give you better access. You slowly kissed down her valley, dropping to your knees and stopping at her belly button.

"I will touch you as much as you want baby, whatever you need" You say as you look up at her. Emily only moans in response to your reassuring words. The sound sending her into a frenzy as you slowly lick up Emily's pussy with your broad tongue, stoping at her clit as you slowly suck it, swirling your tongue with intent. 

"oh god- yes sweetheart just like that" you moan at the nickname, the sound sending vibrations over the swollen bud. You alternated between gentle licks and firm sucks, using your fingers to tease and explore every inch of her sensitive flesh.

Emily could already feel herself beginning to fall apart, with her knees threatening to buckle out at any moment while pressure swelled within her loins, she places a hand on the back of your head for support, slowly pushing it to encourage you to keep going, and breathed out, "y/n… More! F-fuck, this feels great baby…" said as you dive back into her pussy with your tongue.

Your own arousal surged at the taste and sound of Emily's ecstasy, with each flick of your tongue, each gentle caress of your fingers, you bring Emily closer and closer to the peak of pleasure.

Really, you could keep your head in your girlfriend's pussy all day just eating her out, especially from hearing Emily's sweet moans.

Honestly, she could have stood to keep you buried between her legs forever. It won't take too long for her to be able to keep holding out against the growing pressure between her thighs, which makes her legs feel weaker and weaker with every lap of your tongue.

"I'm so close, baby, please" she moans, you pick up the speed, flicking your tongue against her clit as you curl your fingers against her g spot over and over again. Emily screams as her orgasm takes over. Crying out your name, she allows her body to do as it pleases as she comes hard onto your face.

As she comes down from the height, Emily holds you tight as you slid back to you feet, standing up, the warm water still running, warming your muscles, as your bodies grind against each other, she holds you close in an embrace, surrounding your waist with her arms, you both stay there letting the water rinse your bodies.

Emily is the first to break the silence "you have no idea how lucky i feel when you touch me" she says, caressing your lower back in soft circular motions.

"I'm the lucky one, Em" you say looking at her, she grabs your face, all wet from the shower "but i'm starting to get cold, we should get out now" she chuckles, pressing your lips together in a much sweeter, gentler kiss.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Next day you arrive to work together, Emily has her arm fully wrapped around yours, you don't pull apart until you get to your deks.

Emily sees Morgan on the kitchen, he's making himself a coffee, excusing herself to go talk to him

"Hey Prentiss, how you doin'?" he asks, in his face the usual cocky grin, Emily doesn't even respond

"If you ever tell my girlfriend anything about the way she is with me again, you will suffer the consequences, all right?" she says, a big, ironic smile on her face, she pats him on the shoulder, warning him.

She never leaves your side for the whole day.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Ok yes this one is longer than i thought it would be, but this was such a cute concept, I love overprotective Emily (should i write something with that? idk) Also no hate to Morgan at all!!!! I love him and he was just being playful, ok? I won't tolerate any Morgan hate on this blog!!!!

Hope you enjoy!! <3

[lovecolibri]

Okay, I haven't been on Tumblr yet and thoughts may change throughout the day but here is where I stand at the moment.

I do not thing the show *as a whole* is baiting us, because the story is not finished yet, and you don't bring something like that up in-universe to make the audience think about it if there's no follow thorough. I DO think they are trying to tease it like a classic m/f slowburn but without consideration to the fact that it IS different for mlm pairs, ESPECIALLY 8 seasons in. If this was season 2 or 3 it would be a different story. If we'd had sometime even this season a "classic slowburn" trope of an almost kiss or something like that, even that might be enough to pull the kind of press stunt they did. But we are kinda in uncharted waters here, with characters/actors with so much chemistry AND the willingness to follow through on it, and a show/network/showrunner that seem to be on board, or at the very least not actively hostile. This changes the game a bit! And unfortunately the old marketing techniques are not gonna fly in the case without SOME KIND of immediate payoff, because mlm ships have been burned so many times before.

All that said, I DO think, for this episode specifically, the hard Buddie push and Buddie press before an episode where they did not even have a one-on-one scene talking together and barely spoke, WAS ship baiting people into watching what they knew was going to be a lackluster finale that was not giving anyone anything to look forward to. (Except maybe Chim becoming captain, what is anyone else even set up for next season???)

The Abbott Elementary cast can come make arguments about characters just being friends (while knowing they were getting together) to tease and rile up the audience because those shows and those m/f ships ALWAYS get the follow through, AND most viewers won't see one random article, and so will just follow the clearly laid path playing out on the show. For mlm/wlw ships, that kind of talking point plays directly into some harmful stereotypes, and fans are often looking for ANY scraps so the articles are much more likely to be seen.

IDK man. I think there is a reason they kept the writer under wraps (which should fucking tell them something about allowing that writer to continue on rhe show), and I think they hoped dropping a lot this week would be enough to carry everyone through hiatus, but if the show itself is not delivering ON SCREEN what is happening with these characters, no amout of press is going to get people to tune in. Why bother when you can catch any important character moment in an insta post or two, and read an article about the stuff happening with characters that never gets shown?

ANYWAY. I'd say disappointed but not surprised, but I AM actually surprised that the set up for a perfect 9-1-1 wacky save and triumph over death storyline was right fucking there, and they chose NOT to capitalize on it. They literally could have put a couple seconds at the end of the episode of Bobby in a lab and no one would have shut up all summer about it. I just...HOW do you utterly fail on THAT scale?

[thedomesticanthropologist]

What do you think the companions would ask for if Tav owed them a favor?

Oh this is fun! Let's assume it's in camp during their journey. Tav owes a companion a favor! What do they ask for? (This kind of evolved past a favor in a few idk if it counts but I tried)

Assuming no romance, relatively high approvals.

Shadowheart: Very practical, considers your favour repaid when you've performed all of her chores for her. Every day. For a week. She delivers her terms with a sweet smile, and carefully picks over your work to ensure it's up to standard. She may also plop herself down right beside you and watch you work while she lounges. Maybe makes a show of doing her nails or humming.

Wyll: "A favor? You repay me each day just by fighting at my side, friend." Takes a while to convince him you owe him anything, honestly, you'd have to work on it. If you really push it, he tells you you have to create a hero name for yourself and a catchphrase, which must be yelled out in the next battle. The Blade is always at the ready with a heroic word, and you shall be as well! He is chuckling as he suggests it, and if you look horrified, he drops the subject and claps you affectionately across the shoulder. He doesn't hold you to it. ALTERNATE ALTERNATE makes you wash his socks. They're stinky. He grins shyly about it.

Laezel: You have to spar with her. She's allowed to wake you up at any time, or jump you when you least expect it. You must always be ready and on alert. However, she knows this has humor potential, so she spends days sometimes just suddenly moving quickly in your direction only to abort the motion or do something innocuous instead. You jump out of your skin every time, fumbling what you're holding or tripping to try to get into a fighting stance. Her eyes twinkle. It's hilarious. One night she absolutely beats the shit out of you, sorry. Favor repaid.

Gale: Could go one of two ways. One: he demands first pick of the best magical loot, or, undisturbed and no-timelimit access to the next library/book room you encounter. No complaining allowed. Or! He's so excited to have a partner to play lanceboard with. If you don't know how, he teaches you. You must try to beat him as best you can. He absolutely destroys you and makes a big show about it, peacocking around. Then challenges you again. Gives you solid advice on how to do better next time.

Karlach: If she can touch again, she asks for shoulder rubs. Then arm, neck, back, feet, hands. You rub until you cramp up. Then she asks you to brush her hair. She's grinning like a loon and happy as a clam. If she can't touch, she considers the favor repaid when you pull a funny prank on someone else in camp. Whether it fails or not doesn't matter, she just wants to witness it so she can have a good laugh.

Halsin: "There is nothing you could owe me that would take a dent out of the debt I owe you, my friend." Refuses outright that you could ever owe him anything. Won't budge. Absolutely stubbornly will not.

Astarion: comes up with multiple suggestions, if you complete one, claims he was just talking out loud and that wasn't it OR that was just the first part, it's a multi-part favor you see, so really it will be paid back when.... and so on and so forth. Sees how much he can get away with. Alternatively: starts out with a REALLY extravagant ask and has to be whittled down to something you consider fair, whinges that he is doing YOU a favor by being gracious enough to accept the... favor... you just did him.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Stop beacause i cant stop thinking about luke and hair pulling, like him just pulling at your hair any given moment and not even sexual sometimes, but just like little tugs to remind you you’re his

Warnings: extremely short sorry anon, pulling hair, jealous-ish Luke, I don't like dominant men, I've lost interest in Luke guys, fixation has moved on, maybe I'll drop back into it in a week or two but idk, apologies but like my blog my hyper fixation, sent with love, lmk if it doesn't satisfy, enjoy

You were sitting next to Luke on the ground. He had his arm thrown over your shoulder. You watched a small ant try to drag a leaf three sizes too big. You were so focused you didn't even notice the younger camper coming up to you and asking you something.

Luke nudged you. You still kept your focus on the tiny little ant. You decide his name was Antonio. Luke reached behind your head and gently tugged on your hair. You looked over to him. Luke pointed at the camper. You finally answered the camper's question and moved back to watching Antonio.

Then again at dinner Luke stood behind you, talking to a peer while you ate. When Luke noticed a boy was flirting with you, unbeknownst to you. You thought he was just kind. Luke combed his fingers through your hair. You leaned your head back against his stomach. The boy seemed to take the hint and left politely. Luke jerked your head back. You stared up at him before he gently pressed his lips against yours. You smiled and pulled away, returning to your dinner.

[bunny-hoodlum]

My brain is dead. My hand is dead. I finished Hinata but still have to do Naruto, ahahhahahaha 🤪 maybe tmw. ughhhh I need a more efficient style. 😫 And I'm stuck with these washed out colors because it's supposed to look like a dim kitchen during a house party. Maybe the final piece will look better. There's also always gradient maps and color balancing too. Editing in post type stuff.

Ah yes, so my Witchcraft AU is going to be Los Angeles-coded. Everyone is Japanese-American-coded, LA Asian Community proxy, etc. Not gonna take place in RL. Not gonna reference actual nations/races, etc. But LA food culture will be there. Other aspects of LA culture will be there, or so I'll try.

I automatically headcanoned this Naruto to be into Mexican Punk/Skacore, so it's just gonna be Skacore in writing, but maybe I'll create his personal playlist or something and share it here later.

He's a jock but he's also really punk at heart, gets hotheaded, gets into trouble but not in a delinquent way. So we got a jock that grew up next to 'Cholos', puts elote in his cup ramen or something like that. Maybe has a weird personal recipe for ramen tamales, idk, I'm throwing spaghetti at the wall here. 😂 Cultural fusion, go!

Hinata is a bi witch, soft goft girl. Big tiddy goth girlfriend. Nuff said.

I'm thinking Ino and Sakura could be witches too. Ino is a herbalist and Sakura is too focused on studying theory to actually practice or something. Ino and Sakura are together, but sometimes the witches have lesbian orgies because... occultic reasons. Just kidding. Actually, I did have a concept in mind, of course the reason is semi-ritualistic, or like, it's just normal for the girls to need to comfort each other. 🤔

I'll drop the official summary for the whole story sometime this week, just been obsessing over this art. Which I really should have just flat colored or something. Maybe I'll scrap all the coloring on Hinata that I already did and focus on a simpler coloring style. It'll be more cohesive looking anyways. 😫

I might add a drabble to the final piece, too. That'll be fun. 🥰

Hmmm... maybe Naruto's traps don't look big enough. 🤔 Maybe Hinata's boobs don't look big enough either. 😂 Oh, I still dunno what type of athlete he is. I wanna shop around before settling for football player. 😂