#because if his ice cream melts he's going to throw a big fucking fit

[queerdiazs]

wip wednesday ♥️

happy wednesday friends <3 i was tagged by @wikiangela, @exhuastedpigeon, and @rogerzsteven to share something so thank u all mwah

this is from eddie vs the hoa because he and buck made a pallet of blanket in the living room floor to sleep on and i think it was cute so please enjoy 🫶🏼

“I know,” Buck says, a little drowsy. And he does know—Eddie’s told him everything. There’s no secrets between them. “It’s big enough for you and Chris to grow in.”  “I think it could be a forever home.” It’s a whisper because anything louder might disrupt the moment. “Mine and my son’s and yours, too.”  Buck blinks, slow and sleepy. He’s less than five minutes from falling asleep; he worked so hard today. He deserves to rest. “Mine?” he repeats, voice pitched high like he doesn’t quite believe it.  Eddie’ll make him.  “Yours.” He reaches out, picks at a dark eyelash resting on Buck’s cheek, and holds the tip of his finger near Buck’s mouth. “Make a wish.”  Buck’s eyes cross, twin blobs of blue in the flickering light of the laptop screen, and he puckers his lips to blow a bit of cool air. The eyelash drifts off somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t care to know because the color of Buck’s eyes is the same shade of blue the sky was the night he stayed up with his abuelo.  “What’d you wish for?”  Buck chuckles. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”  Eddie hums. “I’ll make it come true,” he swears, and he thinks Buck’s cheeks tint red, but it might just be from the light of the laptop screen. 

no pressure tagging @honestlydarkprincess, @giddyupbuck, @eowon, @eddiediaztho, @wildlife4life, @watchyourbuck, @thewolvesof1998, @alyxmastershipper, @jeeyuns, @fortheloveofbuddie, @hippolotamus, @ladydorian05, @callmenewbie, @nmcggg, and anybody else who wants to share something!

[cricketnationrise]

Took me forever to send you this because I couldn't decide which Beyoncé lyrics to send (if the ones I picked aren't inspiring, feel free to request different ones, there's so many to pick from!) so I hope i'm not too late 🙃 this is so fun, thank you for organizing this fest!

9:26pm, the brownstone, Alex Claremont-Diaz, "Private show with the music blasting / He like to call me Peaches when we get this nasty", rated E 😈

My Ao3 username is Calou 😊

fitting that you were right under the wire in submitting because it took me almost five months to get to this prompt. i hope its worth the wait!

a big thank you to everyone who submitted and to everyone who's been reading and commenting along the way. i love doing the ficlet fests, the prompts are always a delight and let me get out of any writing funk i find myself in. yall rock.

as a parting gift for Ficlet Fest 500, please enjoy exactly 1000 words of straight gay up filth, as requested in the GC.

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

9:26pm, the brownstone

Alex’s brain falls out of his head when Henry comes downstairs. He apparently took Pez’s dress code seriously for once; he’s dressed to fucking impress. (Alex is so far past impressed he’s having heart palpitations.) Henry looks good in everything, from a full suit to sweatpants, but when he lets himself relax, lets himself lean into being one hundred percent himself, he ascends to a whole other level.

His white shorts are going to be the death of Alex. They’re short, showing off strong calves and stacked, polo-playing thighs, and just this side of respectably opaque. But if there’s a strong enough backlight, anyone who isn’t intimately familiar with Henry’s particular topography, will be. The shorts would be enough to cause Alex a factory reset, but then he notices the shirt. It’s halfway unbuttoned, straining to accommodate Henry’s wide shoulders, and short enough in the torso that he’s baring midriff. And it’s one of Alex’s shirts. The novelty ice cream cone print has never looked so fucking good. 

Alex can see the tops of Henry’s hipbones—they’re mouth-wateringly obscene. Henry shouldn’t be allowed out of the house like this; he’s a danger to everyone around him. Drivers will run their cars off the road, pedestrians will walk into poles, et fucking cetera. Really, Alex has a fucking duty toward public safety to tackle Henry onto their couch and take him apart with his teeth. 

So he does.

Henry makes a noise somewhere between a squawk and a whimper and Alex wants to lick it out of his mouth. He captures Henry’s lips in a kiss as they land, barely letting him breathe, let alone put up a token protest because he feels like they should be social. Henry groans and melts into the cushions, letting Alex do whatever he wants. The trust Henry puts in him is heady, and Alex spirals that much higher when Henry throws his arms around Alex’s neck to keep him in place. His own hands are busy mapping every bit of exposed skin on Henry’s chest, slipping beneath Alex’s own fucking shirt to reach the scant inches that are still hidden below fabric. Alex takes advantage of Henry’s gasp of pleasure when Alex scratches lightly at his bicep to slip his tongue inside Henry’s mouth.

Both of them are already breathing hard, the sound of spit and panting filling the air. Alex manages to stop kissing Henry’s mouth, but only to nip down his throat, pausing at the pulse point to bite down. Henry always complains about having to be careful of covering the marks Alex leaves, but he never actually asks Alex to stop. (They were thirty minutes late to meet Nora for brunch last month when Alex caught Henry pressing down on a hickey in the bathroom and Alex had to bend him over the sink about it.) Henry’s moan at the graze of Alex’s teeth against his neck is a siren song; the way he tips his head to the side to give Alex more room, a gift from the gods. 

Henry pushes at his head, directing Alex with a pleading whine. Alex is only too happy to oblige, nipping and licking and sucking down Henry’s sternum, fingers fumbling to open the shirt. He spends a few minutes teasing Henry, alternating kisses with quick bites across his soft belly. Alex noses along his waistband, inhaling the scent of sweat and something uniquely Henry. Alex’s hands tighten on Henry’s thighs involuntarily when Henry’s fingers find a home in his hair and pull tight. Alex can’t wait another minute to get Henry’s cock in his mouth.

Alex liberates his curls from Henry’s hands and rearranges them so that Henry is sort of upright and Alex kneels on the floor between his legs. Alex means to dive in at once, but he has to take a second to fully absorb the fucking daydream of a man in front of him. Henry’s eyes have darkened, pupils blown wide and clouded with arousal. He’s sagging into the couch, relying on the furniture to keep him sitting up, seemingly unable to count on his muscles to do the job. Henry’s flushed from his cheeks to his hips, his hairline starting to darken with sweat. Alex’s gaze keeps snagging on the hickey he left—one fine day he’ll give into the desire to leave a whole goddamn collar of them.

Henry shifts, drawing Alex’s attention to his erection, straining against the white fabric of his shorts. Alex can’t help but to give him a firm stroke to his bulge, delighting in the strangled gasp it pulls from Henry. He can feel Henry twitch beneath his palm, can feel Henry’s racing pulse through the fabric, and then he’s moving—undoing Henry’s fly and pulling down his shorts and briefs in one fell swoop.

Henry actually shouts when Alex takes him to the root in one long smooth motion—he’s never been more glad for his lack of gag reflex. He stays there for a moment, breathing through his nose, the tip of Henry’s cock right at the back of his mouth. He looks up at Henry through his eyelashes. Henry’s practically shaking with the effort of holding himself still. How unnecessarily gentlemanly. Alex pries Henry’s hands out of the couch cushion and back into his hair before moving his own hands to Henry’s hips. He blinks twice, their nonverbal green signal, just to really drive the point home. With a mumbled curse, Henry starts thrusting and Alex closes his eyes, groaning every time Henry’s cock dips into his throat.

Alex’s jaw aches from the stretch, and his own cock is leaking and pressing uncomfortably against his zipper, but he couldn’t care less. He’s got Henry filling his mouth, surrounded by his hands and thighs and noises and taste—

They’re definitely going to be late to Pez’s party, if they even make it out of the house. Alex couldn’t give less of a fuck if they don’t; there’ll be other parties.

[ferg0s]

Your writing is amazing.

Could I request a smut of how the gom would react to the s/o in there jersey only.

new format cuz.. why not hehe

Aomine:

you were suffering in the heat because the AC broke down and he forgot to call the mechanic to fix it and now it was the weekend

he was also in charge of the laundry, which he didn't do - shocker - so you didn't have your usual stuff to wear

including any undergarments

so you went looking into Aomine closet for something loose and long to wear

you were shocked to see that he still had his high school jersey

you thought it was cute the fabric was breathable so you wore it

as soon as he saw you his dick got hard.

he had come in the kitchen to get some more ice cream

you were turned around washing the bowl you had just used - in his old jersey. the jersey was too long to see if you had worn anything underneath

but it didn't matter lol

he snuck up behind you and grabbed your hips

long sloppy kisses down your neck

he presses his body against yours and you immediately melt into his touch

his hands trail down and hike the long jersey up to pull down ur panties

oh

you don't have any on

hoe. but like... his hoe you know ;)

His hand goes up to grab your throat, pulling your head back so you're facing him

his other hand fumbles to pull his shorts down so he can release his dick

his tip touches ur cervix while his tongue is tickling your tonsil

your backing up into him, he's thrusting into you like a monster - its the perfect combination for a knee-buckling orgasm, and a fuck ton of sweat

'round 2 in the shower?' you say as he slips his dick out of you.

Akashi:

you and Akashi shared a walk-in closet

while organizing some new articles of clothing he had gotten you notice something peaking out from his side of the closet

you often go and rack through his stuff so you walked over and pulled out the odd article of clothing

it was a jersey

'varpol swords'

he had told you about the event

the jersey looked like it was in good condition despite being so old

out of sheer curiosity, you decided to try it on, see if it fits.

taking off your shirt you put the jersey on and look at yourself in the floor-length mirror; you looked good.

you wanted to surprise Akashi, but first, you had to change into more comfortable clothing

you stripped out of your pants, taking off your panties too so put on your night shorts - but in the midst of putting on your shorts you hear the door open

'what're you wearing?'

you stop and look up to see Akashi, staring at you in awe

'i forgot i had that' he laughed. 'you look good in that'

'im probably better than you at basketball too,' you joke.

'it's harder than it looks,' he said walking over you

'you need to have very good hand-eye-coordination,'

you didn't know what he meant until he had you sitting between his legs, back against his chest and legs wide open with his fingers deep in your pussy.

His other hand tweaked your nipples through the thin fabric of the jersey

His fingers pumped deep inside you, twisting and turning and hitting places you didn't know existed.

You throw your head back and let out a moan before he leaned down and starts to pepper kisses on your neck and cheek.

You cum on his fingers, again, and again, and again

You physically had to push him off when you felt his fingers circle your clit

'you have stamina so that's a good start,' he laughed as he lifted you up in your arms

did he fuck you senseless with the jersey on as soon as he put you on your bed?

perhaps

Murasakibara:

big boi

a literal financial burden for his team because they have to order a new jersey for him every couple months

Which sucks for him, but you get your very own jersey to wear

he snuck one out for you - randomly grabbing it - and once you put it on you found out that it was the one he had previous to his new one

it was fucking massive

A literal dress.

and you wore it as such.

which gave you a good pre-game warnup idea

you wore a coat, the longest one you had that went down to your ankles and closed it up tight so nothing showed as you made your way to the locker room.

You waited for everyone to leave and snuck up on him.

you'd done this before - so he understood what you were trying to do.

what he didn't expect was you to pull off your coat and flash the sight of his old jersey - no bras no panties, nipples hard and showing through the fabric.

it hurt riding him - it was like sitting down on a big ass pole - but he made you anyways. he sat back and watched your boobs bounce with every movement

his hands held onto your hips as he helped slam you down in his dick

he was a lazy lover - barely putting in effort while he fucked you because he really didn't need to

he watched you struggle to take him in, pleading for him to slow down - him smiling and lifting you up and down his dick like a fleshlight.

wobbling out of the locker room you went and got a seat in the crowd. trying to keep your legs closed to keep the cum that hadn't all yet come out from dripping out of you.

Midorima:

the lucky item for your zodiac was a jersey

he rushed to give you his as soon as he heard

you were showering and he barged in and demanded you wear this for the whole day

you got out of the shower confused, wondering why he needed you to wear his jersey - but you did it anyways

coming out of bathroom with his jersey on and a towel wrapped around your head you asked him why you had to wear his - axe body spray infused - jersey all-day

he had seen you naked before - many times - and he knew you didn't take clothes in the bathroom and came out naked all the time - but seeing you like this...

pussy lips out for him to see while his jersey barely covered your breasts that peaked out from the wide arm holes.

whatever planet was in Gatorade at the moment was making cancers very horny - though it wasn't mentioned in his oh asa

midorima ate you up like it was his last meal

tongue fucking you, abusing your clit and leaving hickies on your inner thighs like a man possessed.

his nose teased your clit as he tongue fucked you - then shortly after he substituted his nose for his tongue and his tongue for his fingers.

he wasn't like a GOD at eating pussy - but he know anatomy thanks to his advanced bio class hehe

long slender fingers abused your g spot as he finger fucked you

more like finger blasted

you had never felt him go at such an intense speed before

the smell of multiple orgams eventually overruled the small of axe body spray on the jersey

Kise:

Kise loves Halloween, lets establish that

he's a whore for couples costumes

so its sitting for you both o go as Lola and bugs bunny from space jam

disaster strikes when you accidentally rip your costume while putting it on so in a panicked state you take Kises' jersey and roll it up to make the crop top you were originally supposed to have

everyone thought it was so cute that you were wearing your boyfriends jersey - but kise hadn't realized that.

after the party ended you two were alone

you were taking off your costume when you realized that Kise hadn't notice that you were wearing his jersey.

half naked with only the jersey on you ent to go show him

he grew quiet

'are you mad at me?' you asked

he wasn't, but he fucked you like he was

has you in his arms, lifted up with you folded in half as he makes you watch yourself get fucked by him.

your knees to your face as he has you against his chest while he thrusts up in you

his dick hitting the spot perfectly as he grunts out dirty, dirty things to you

demands you look at yourself as you get fucked

when you don't comply he thrusts up harshly, relishing in the sound of you whimpering

Accidentally cums on his jersey while trying to pull out for sure

Kuroko:

he knew you liked to drink, and he knew how you were like after you had a little too much

carrying you back after a night out was a challenge

'change into your pyjames, its time for bed,' he says as he gives you your pyjames.

you complain but eventually, you go to the bathroom to change and clean up

while changing you notice his jersey hanging on the hook behind the door

hehe

'how do i look?'

he turned to face you, eyed widening in shock when he saw you with his jersey on - and nothing else.

Flustered asf

'i look good right?' you laughed as you walked towards him.

he couldn't stop staring at you as you walked over to him, getting on his lap. he was sitting on the edge of the bed, you wanted to push him down on his back but you got a better idea

you began to rub your bare coochie on his clothed crotch.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you got on your knees and began to hump him

he let out whimpers whenever you would run your coochie over his dick - the one begging to be let out in get stuffed in your pussy

the both of you let out moans and whimpers as you two got closer to your release

his hands gripped your hips and helped you with momentum

you came, pressing yourself down on his, the sudden pressure rubbing him the right way and causing him to come

you leaned on his chest as you caught your breath, savouring the aftershocks of your orgasm

you felt him stand up, lifting you up in the process, before turning around and laying you down on the bed

he kissed you as his hands travelled down to the helm of his jersey

you felt him pull the shirt up, assisting him in taking it off

once the jersey was off you he pulled away and began to walk to the bathroom

'go to sleep,' he said before he threw your pyjamas at you.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 9

Fun fact: when I was like eight I got an ultrasound done on my chest because of some non-descript heart anomaly. Got to miss a day of school and everything. 

Anyway, on the day of cult girl’s twenty week anatomy scan, Hannibal has second thoughts about putting the baby up for adoption.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: pregnancy and lactation, medical examination

It was a small victory, but a much-needed one.

You kept in close touch with Max and Archie over the next few, crucial weeks. Before you knew it, your first trimester ended. You tried your best to push all worries about your rapidly changing body aside, in favor of your studies. To a point, it worked. You cranked out a few research papers and kept up on your reading, but not as efficiently as you may have wanted. Your body was operating at 100% all the time and you felt like an overheated laptop with the fan running at top speed.

The morning of your twenty-week checkup arrived far quicker than you hoped. You were noticeably pregnant, having put on a good ten extra pounds to support your passenger.

Your phone alarm sounded, telling you to greet the day. You'd been in and out of an uncomfortable state of half-consciousness all night.

"Good morning, my goddess." Hannibal cooed in his admittedly very sexy morning voice. He turned on his side and faced you.

Seeing him with bedhead was definitely the best part of waking up. But the delight quickly faded when you tried to turn on your side and realized you couldn't. You plopped back onto your back, seriously considering if any amount of money was worth this.

"Don't patronize me." You pouted, folding your arms.

"Patronize you?" He chuckled, pulling you into him. "Now why on earth would I do that?"

He cupped your head in his hand and stroked your cheek. "The most divine woman in the world is carrying my baby."

Before you could say anything, he brought his lips to yours. His other hand ran down your body, tracing the outline of your firm, round belly.

"And what an honor-" He whispered, weaving his fingers through your hair. "To have Venus herself descend from Olympia to carry my child."

You didn't want to unpack what he was saying. All you knew was you liked it. Your aches seemed to melt away under his touch and your worries dissipated with every word.

"My breasts are so swollen and heavy." You complained. "And they ache so much."

"Is that so?" Hannibal smiled hungrily and propped himself up on his elbows above you. "Well, what is to be done about that, Mrs. Lecter?"

You unbuttoned your pajama shirt, revealing your significantly larger breasts. You blushed and instinctively covered yourself.

Hannibal chuckled and effortlessly pulled your hands off your chest. He lowered his face to where your neck meets your shoulder and took a deep breath in. A pair of warm, gentle hands cupped your breasts.

"You're starting to produce." He observed, a little smile creeping on his face.

Before you could really register what he meant by that, his thumb began to stimulate your swollen nipple. A small drop of milk leaked out, dampening his finger. All you could do was turn red and whimper in embarrassment.

He brought his finger to his lips and tasted it.

"It's a bit thin, but my goodness, it's sweet." He said, as nonchalantly as if he were sampling ice cream.

"Only the best for our baby." You said.

That caught him off guard in the best way. Whether you were playing along or feeling genuinely maternal, he didn't care. He wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to gratify his crippling desire to feel like a father.

"Fuck, [F/N]." He cursed, looking at your protruding belly with awe. Not awe, but worship.

He cleared his throat, chasing away any strong emotions he may have let reveal themselves. "Never mind. Let's get ready to go to the doctor."

You swung your legs over the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing, my darling." Hannibal said, lying professionally. "Everything is wonderful."

You push yourself to your feet and follow him into the bathroom. "Hannibal, please."

He turned around and leaned against the sink. "It's nothing that concerns you, love. Don't worry about it."

You folded your arms. "You don’t need to be a doctoral candidate to recognize deflection."

"So you don't." Hannibal said. "Darling, please understand that I have your best interests at heart. Even if it is at the expense of my desires."

"I see what this is." You nodded. "You want to keep the baby, don't you?"

"I didn't know how much I wanted a child until now." He admitted.

"But you know the emotional and physical toll it'll take on me." You finished.

"I don't know, actually." He corrected, face contorting with frustration. "Thus the basis of my hesitation. There are so many facets of life that can be molded to one's liking, but parenting-"

"I get it." You sighed. "So many things could go wrong, or right, and either way it would throw me off track."

"If I could relieve you of all of the burden of parenting this child, allowing you to step away and finish your schooling unfettered with domestic duties, I would." He said. "But if we're being honest, it's not like you would let me."

"Ruth Bader Ginsburg studied law at Harvard while taking care of a baby." You offered. "And her sick husband."

"I have no doubts in my mind that it is possible, nor that you're capable, darling." He assured you. "But I would never forgive myself if I let you burn yourself out before you even get a chance to take off."

"Okay, look." You took a deep breath. "Let's see what the obstetrician says, assess the risks, weigh the pros and cons and talk to Max and Archie. We will figure this out."

You were counting on the assumption that going for your twenty-week checkup would scare you out of any desires to keep the baby. They often did. The more time you spent with an ultrasound wand in your vagina, the more you became convinced that you'd become implanted with an alien parasite determined to destroy you from the inside.

"Good morning, Dr. And Mrs. Lecter." The obstetrician greeted you as she always did. You hadn't bothered to correct her to save yourself an awkward conversation. "Here for our twenty-week ultrasound, are we?"

"No, I'm here for the taco truck in the parking lot." You said, half-jokingly. The other half was thinking about tacos. "I just thought I'd lay down on this surgical table for fun."

"Good to see you're still hanging on to your sense of humor, [F/N]." She smirked. "Should we take a look under the hood?"

You fought the overwhelming urge to smack your belly like a car salesmen and say "this bad boy can fit so many fetuses in it". But given that there was only one fetus, that would be inaccurate.

The doctor emptied a tube of extra-freezing gel onto your stomach and readied the ultrasound wand. "Have you been feeling any kicks, Mrs. Lecter?"

You shrugged. "Maybe? I wouldn't know what that would feel like so I don't know."

She smiled warmly. "Trust me, you'll know. But don't worry about it. First pregnancies tend to take their time. When you have your next children, it will happen much faster."

"I think you mean," Hannibal said, voice hardening. "If she decides to have more children. Let's not be presumptuous."

The doctor noticed her mistake. "My apologies, Mrs. Lecter. I didn't mean to assume."

You kept your eyes on Hannibal, too afraid to look at the screen as the doctor searched around for a clear image. 

“Oh my goodness, here it is!” She exclaimed with an ear-to-ear grin. 

It took you a minute to make out exactly what she was pointing to. It looked more like a fucked-up Rorschach test than anything resembling a person. You didn't want to say it out loud, but she sensed your confusion.

"This big round part is the head." She said, pointing to the opposite end of the screen. "There's its spine, and there are its little hands and feet."

It hit you all at once. There was a person growing inside of you. And it had limbs, bones and a brain. You finally had the answer to the question "how did something come from nothing". It was right there in front of you.

"Wow." You said, dumbfounded. "My body made that?"

"Amazing, isn't it?" The doctor smiled, clearly still as enamored with her job as she was on day one.

"And it made that without my brain even thinking about it." You continued, trying not to go into a ramble. "That's actually pretty insane."

"I told you that you're a goddess." Hannibal whispered into your ear. "My divine feminine."

"Would you like to know the sex?" She asked. 

“Sure.” You said, without really thinking about it. You looked back at Hannibal, who seemed pretty indifferent too. 

“Congratulations, you’re having a girl.” 

[nightshade-minho]

-Free Rent- ‘Melted Ice-Cream’-

Hyunsung + fem!reader, ft. Felix

Warnings: nipple play, food play, anal play, anal penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, face-fucking, etc.

Moving in with the boys was a lot more fun than you had thought. Sure, the day you moved in, Minho and Chan chose to welcome you in the most unconventional way possible...but it had been two days since Chan spent the night with you after that big dinner, and nothing sexual had happened since then.

They were quite kind, and not the reckless hooligans that Mina had made them out to be. The dinner they’d made to celebrate your arrival was probably the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted. They were all very courteous to you, and for the next two days they helped you settle in.

You were currently sitting on the sofa watching a movie along with Felix, who you quickly realized was a bit of a cuddler.

He had his arm around you, pressing your body close to his as he watched. It was a stark contrast to the last time he had his arms around you, holding on to your waist as you rode his cock.

To your knowledge, Changbin and Minho had gone to the grocery store for supplies, while Seungmin and Jeongin had already gone to sleep in their room. Hyunjin and Jisung were also in the living room, but they weren’t paying any attention to the movie; one was sprawled on the floor with his phone while the other was focusing all his concentration on a plate of leftover cheesecake.

You couldn’t deny that originally, you had expected them to not really warm up to you in this way, thinking that some of them would view you as nothing more than a sex object. Your fears were invalid, as they were all quite eager to accommodate you, and you were starting to feel quite comfortable with each and every one of them.

Suddenly you felt Felix’s hand which was around your shoulder sneak down to your breast, softly groping it. You looked up to see him staring at you, biting his lip. “Is this okay?” He whispered. You nodded, shuddering as he let his thumb ghost over your nipple. You looked at Hyunjin and Jisung, but both of their eyes were still trained on the phone and cake, respectively.

Felix softly rubbed your bud through the thin tank top, leaning in lightning quick to suck wetly on your nipple, moving to your other nipple and taking that into his mouth as well. He leaned away, his eyes roving over how his saliva had made the white fabric transparent, your nipples now clearly visible. He went back to drawing circles on your buds with his thumb, his gaze drifting back to the television for a while, chuckling at the way your breathing was laboured.

He leaned in close to your ear. “You have perfect tits, y/n. Maybe you’ll let me fuck them? Let’s go to my room.”

You looked at Jisung. “What about him?” You said, referring to Felix’s roommate. He shook his head. “Trust me, Jisung prefers savouring his cheesecake at a really slow pace.”

You were about to agree when you heard Chan’s voice. Felix’s hand quickly dropped from your boob as the four of you turned around to see a smiling Chan.

“Hi guys. Uh, I’d like to talk to y/n, if that’s fine?”

They all nodded, even Felix, who reluctantly let go of you. You got up and walked over to Chan who grabbed your hand and led you aside to the kitchen.

“Hey, just wanted to tell you that if you do want your room painted, we can get someone to do that. Of course you wouldn’t be able to sleep there for a few nights...it’s alright, Minho and I will sleep on the sofa, and you can take our room.”

You giggled nervously. “Oh, no...please don’t go that trouble. I’ll sleep on the sofa. It’s really more comfortable than my old bed, so-“

Chan cut you off. “No, you can sleep in any of our rooms. The beds can fit three anyway. I was just afraid that you would feel uncomfortable...you’re not sleeping on the sofa.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Chan spoke before you could say anything. “So...there’s something else. A girl called Mina keeps calling here, but you’re never around when she does. Does the name ring a bell...?”

Mina. Fuck. You hadn’t spoken to her since she told you about this whole thing. You felt guilt settle itself in your heart, promising yourself that you would call her tomorrow, since you knew she never kept her phone with her after 8 PM. Some weird “mindfulness” thing. You sighed. It had only been about three days, but you missed Mina and her inclination for yoga and smoothies that she claimed were ‘healthy’...(when you knew they consisted of just oranges, peaches and a shit ton of sugar.)

“Yeah, she’s my best friend.”

Chan widened his eyes. “Ah, okay then. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. Wouldn’t wanna let Felix down, right?” You gasped, as he winked at you. So he did see what was happening.

He left the kitchen, presumably to go back to his room. It was about 10 PM. You weren’t feeling very sleepy, but you knew it was time to go to bed, since you needed to wake up early tomorrow. Even though it was a Saturday, you knew that Mina had to go to an environmental club meeting in the afternoon, so you had to meet her before then.

You went back to the living room, searching the room for Felix only to see him absent. You frowned, going to sit down on the sofa. “Guys, where’s Felix?”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Oh, so now we exist?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Jisung rolled his eyes, setting down his empty plate on the table and coming over to sit beside you, leaning forward, his face hovering in front of yours. “You think we didn’t notice? We’re not blind.” He gestured to the two wet spots on your shirt, and you mentally smacked yourself for forgetting. So that’s how Chan came to know. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks, embarrassed.

Hyunjin finally tore his eyes away from his phone, getting up off the floor to sit on your other side, his hand firmly gripping your thigh.

“Felix went to his room to sleep right after you left with Chan.”

Ah. So that’s why he left. He probably thought that Chan was taking you away to spend the night with him. You shook your head. If only he’d waited a few more minutes...

You jolted back to reality when Hyunjin’s fingers now crept up your thigh, pressing against your underwear. His graceful fingers pressed your clit, as Jisung pulled the sleeve of your tank top down, exposing your boob. His finger came up to touch your nipple, which was still slightly wet from what Felix had done earlier.

“You really seemed to enjoy what Felix was doing to your nipples...” He pinched one, a squeal ripping from you when he did so. “Felix loves your boobs. It’s the first observation he made about you.” Jisung leaned in to lick a stripe over your nipple, looking over at Hyunjin.

“Not gonna join?”

“I’m more of an ass guy myself.”

Jisung grinned. “So am I.”

Jisung paused for a minute, seemingly deep in thought, before his eyes widened and he stood up.

“I have an idea.”

He left the room and you looked at Hyunjin, confused. He shrugged, pulling you onto his lap. He tugged at the hem of your top, pulling it off of you. He pulled down your shorts next, and put his hands on your ass cheeks. He stretched them apart as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with ardor.

“God, y/n, you drive me crazy. I’ve been waiting to have my way with you again since that day we all fucked you. Truth be told, I wish Jisung wasn’t a part of this right now, but we’ll get our alone time later. After all, you’re not leaving any time soon, right?”

You nodded, and he spoke again. “There’s just something about you. I think it’s the way your innocence co-exists with your sexiness...we all noticed it. It was why we chose you almost immediately. A lot of candidates came by, you know? None of them had that je ne sais quoi...the spark.”

He put his finger in his mouth and wet it. You moaned, because as he was speaking he had pulled your thong to the side, his saliva-covered finger tracing your rim.

Jisung came back into the room just then, holding a bottle of lube and...a tub of ice-cream?

You looked on, confused, as he set down the things on the table. Just then Hyunjin’s finger slipped into your anus and you gasped. He moved it in and out shallowly.

Jisung suddenly came over and lifted you off of Hyunjin, carrying you and placing you on the armchair instead. You heard Hyunjin let out an indignant sound, which he ignored. Jisung smirked up at you as he lifted the lid off the tub of ice cream. There was only a little bit left, enough for about a scoop or so, and it was all melted. Jisung used a spoon to take some and drip it all over your stomach, some of it pooling in your belly button. Though it was melted, it was still cold, and the sensation was making you dizzy. He drizzled some over your boobs as well. Throwing the spoon on the floor, he leaned in to lick the cream off you slowly.

He was taking his time, his tongue laving over your skin. Through half-open eyes you saw Hyunjin come over, leaning in to lick the ice-cream off your boobs as Jisung paid attention to your belly button, his tongue swirling around it.

Your wetness was gushing out of you by now, and you wanted to press your thighs together...but Jisung kept them spread apart. His fingers were hovering near your center...the attention you were being given was nice, but you were getting impatient.

Finally, you let out a load moan. “Just fuck me already!” The two boys stopped, looking at you. That was a mistake. There was anger flashing across their eyes now.

Jisung picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to Hyunjin’s room, which was close to the kitchen. Changbin still hadn’t come back from the grocery store, so it was currently empty. When he reached, he threw you down on the bed with a lot more force than necessary, and you whimpered as he crawled over you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hyunjin close the door behind him.

“Fucking whore. Can’t you just take what we’re giving you without any complaints?”

You felt the bed dip as Hyunjin moved onto it, settling above you. From your position, you could only see his face upside-down...but the frown on his face was still clear.

You closed your eyes. Jisung lifted your leg up over his shoulder as he pulled your thong off. His fingers went to your ass.

He looked up at Hyunjin. “You got to have her ass last time, so it’s my turn now. I bet she’s tight as hell...”

He squirted some lube onto his fingers, and applied it to your anus, two of his fingers slipping in at once, causing you to throw your head back and open your mouth in a loud moan. Just as you opened your mouth, you felt someone shove their cock in between your lips, sliding in. You choked, tears slipping down as your eyes shot open. Hyunjin pulled you up slightly so he could fuck your throat easier.

Meanwhile Jisung pulled his fingers out, pulling down his sweatpants enough so his cock could come out. He stroked it a few times before aligning it with your anus.

“You said you wanted to get fucked, slut? Here you go.”

His cock rammed into your ass and you cried out, gagging around Hyunjin’s length.

The pain quickly gave way to pleasure as the two of them worked up a rhythm. Hyunjin let his hands drift over your sticky skin, pinching from time to time. The slight, sudden bursts of pain made you clench around Jisung each time, causing him to groan loudly.

Jisung pulled out, followed by Hyunjin. He flipped you around so you were on your stomach, and Hyunjin moved up so that you could suck his cock more comfortably. You opened your mouth to take him in just as you felt Jisung slam back into you, his length moving in and out of you rapidly.

His grip on your hips was so tight, that you were sure bruises would form. You looked up at Hyunjin who gazed at you with a serious look on his face, absent-mindedly rubbing circles on your shoulder as he face-fucked you.

Jisung’s cock twitched in you, and you knew he was getting close. His hands reached down to rub on your clit furiously, and you hit your high quickly. He came almost right after, pulling out and watching his cum leak down your ass to your pussy.

Hyunjin’s thrusts were getting sloppy too. He pulled out, and told you to sit up. You did. He groaned as he stroked his cock, cumming all over your boobs. Hyunjin sighed, leaning back and pressing his face to his pillow, falling asleep quickly.

You turned around to face Jisung, who bit his lip as he surveyed you, covered with white fluid that could either be cum or ice-cream. He leaned forward all of a sudden and scooped you up into his arms, getting up and kicking the door open with his feet.

Baffled, you stared up at him.

He saw your expression and laughed. “Oh look at you, y/n. Your nipples are literally covered with cum...so wet and erect. I think I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I didn’t take you to Felix.”

You blushed as you remembered Felix’s intentions. Jisung smiled down at you as he stepped out of Hyunjin’s room to take you to his...only to bump into someone.

The two of you looked up to see Changbin, his hands holding grocery bags.

He took one look at you and glared.

“Now, just where do you think you’re going without me? Cause whatever this is, I want to be a part of it.”

[oftenderweapons]

And Chocolate for Dinner - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: smut, fluff

Rating: 18+ 

Hello babies, very NSFW Namjoon birthday fic right here! (Minors DO NOT READ OR INTERACT, PLEASE)

I won’t even say anything because I’ve just finished editing the banner and I’m honestly NOT in the right state of mind, still shocked from yesterday’s selfie AND that interview, you know what I’m talking about.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: very daddy. A lot. Heavy food play. Unprotected sex within an established relationship (please, be careful y’all!) Fingering. Buff, daddy Namjoon. (did I say daddy?) Wall banging ;). Mentions of oral. Size kink. Also a small mention of YoongixKitten... LOL.  

Wordcount: 3.7k

Here is my masterlist

And here a kind reminder that you should probably vote for the next prompt (check my bio for the link) :)

Enjoy!

"Vixen, baby I'm home!" Namjoon called from the entry.

You stayed in the kitchen — not like you had any choice. 

"Baby, are you home?" He called again, following the light in the corridor. "Holy fuck babe, yeah."

Yes, he had found you. 

At the kitchen table. 

Scratch that. On the kitchen table. 

Naked. 

A chocolate cake for two propped on your belly, together with a fancy silver fork. 

"Happy birthday, love." You greeted from the table, moving only as much as the cake allowed. 

"Fuck, is this a dream?" He asked, wide eyed, his incredulous expression quickly shifting to a big and ecstatic smile. 

"It's your birthday, daddy. I just tried making one of your wishes come true." You teased. 

"Vixen, love, I'm going to spoil you rotten, baby." He said, taking a seat. "You trust me with the silverware on you?" He asked, surprised. 

"There’s a small plastic disk at the base of the cake. Plus you're old now, mister, time to learn some manners. I'm not going to let you eat with your hands." You chastised. "I'll need those for later." You teased. 

He winked at you. "I can eat dessert before dinner?" He asked, happy like a three year old who'd just been granted ice cream for dinner. 

"This is just an appetiser. A snack." You said, carefully pointing to the cake. "And this is the whole meal." You said, your hand waving down your naked body. 

His belly laugh echoed in the kitchen. 

"Then let me start quick so we can move on to the main course. I've heard the house offers excellent fox meat tonight."

You smiled brightly at him as he bent down to your lips. “I love you so much, little one.” He pressed a kiss to your mouth, then to your forehead. “You have no idea how much.”

“Eat quick, the chocolate sauce is starting to melt and it tickles like hell.” You begged.

He smiled wickedly, grabbing the fork. “Last time I checked tickling turned you on, babylove.”

You pouted, watching him cut some cake and take the first bite. “It wouldn’t be ideal for me to break into a fit of giggles right now.” You commented. 

He nodded, taking another bite. “I’m sorry, love.” He confessed. “How ungrateful of me to tease you after such a beautiful surprise.” With his spare hand he caressed your hair, then touched your lips. “You’re so precious to me, little one.” He bent down again, his chocolate stained lips landing on yours.

You licked his lips sweetly, as innocently as possible. “Do you like your cake?” You asked, faking demureness, waiting for nothing but his praise.

“I love it, little one. But I love the plate way, way more.” 

Carefully he took a piece of cake to your lips. “Taste some, baby.” He said, feeding you a piece a bit too big, especially considering that you were laying down. 

“Sorry, doll. I fed you too much, uh?” He caressed your face as you munched, cheeks full, gulping with difficulty. “Want something to drink, ____?”

You kept munching, shaking your head delicately. 

You inhaled sharply as a droplet of chocolate slipped onto your belly. “Joon.” You whined.  

“Yes.” He ate another bite. He was halfway through the small cake. 

“Chocolate. Near my belly button. Quick, please.” You said, your lower abs twitching as the sauce tickled you. 

He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyelids lowered in a sultry gaze. 

Slowly, he lowered his face to your skin, licking you seductively. 

“Joonie.” You whimpered. “It tickles daddy.”

“I’m sorry, little one.” He went back to the cake, making eye contact as he started the other half. “Do you want another piece, baby? A small one, this time.” He said, blushing slightly as he remembered his previous mistake.

“Please.” 

He brought the fork to your mouth, the piece maybe accidentally falling on your chest. “Oh, sorry baby fox.” He said with faux guilt in his voice. 

You pouted. 

“Here,” he said, collecting the piece with his lips and offering it to yours. Your kiss felt heavy with chocolate sauce, slippery and sticky. His mouth made you want indecent things. 

“That’s so good, Joonie.” You mewled, your legs squeezing together. 

“Is my babylove growing impatient?” He teased, caressing your hip. 

You nodded, your face made up with the sweetest, childish disappointment, a bratty remark ready on your lips. 

“Open your legs, Vixen.” He commanded. He smeared his fingers in chocolate, drawing a line between your breasts, up to your mouth. He tapped his digits on your lower lip, inviting you to suck on him. 

You carried out his intention, offering up even more, licking his fingertips deviously. 

“Look at that doll mouth,” he praised with wonder in his voice. “Yeah, baby, take it all.”

You nodded, proud. 

“That’s it, baby fox. Lick ‘em clean.” He continued. 

Wetness oozed from your slit, coating your thighs, condensation gathering on the table. 

“You’re so hot, Vixen. So incredibly sexy.” He murmured as he lapped at the chocolate line he had drawn on your body. 

You parted your legs obediently. “Now what, daddy?” You said, biting your lip with a lazy grin. 

He kissed the small snake tattooed on your pelvis. “You smell so good, baby thing.” 

He took a bite of the cake directly with his mouth, heading south. 

You grabbed his hair, pulling him away roughly as you needed to stop him quickly. “That’s not safe, love.” You chastised seriously. “Sugars mess up the natural balance down there.”

He listened carefully and nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He murmured, coming up to your mouth. 

You giggled as you noticed some crumbles on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay. Dork.” You giggled, cleaning the crumbles away with your finger, eating them from your digit. 

He shook his head, tutting at you. “Vixen, baby. Do you want to play a game?” He asked, peppering small kisses on you. 

You raised your eyebrows, curiosity running through your veins. “What is it?”

“Would you like to touch yourself? Get ready for me?” He offered?

Stretch yourself out. That’s what he meant. You were most definitely getting fucked after this one, and apparently not in the loving, soft way you had expected.

You tried reaching for your pelvis without knocking the cake over. Carefully calculating the angle of your elbow, you successfully managed to touch your clit, nodding. 

“Good girl.” He kissed your nose. “Always such a good girl for daddy.” He cooed, caressing your cheek. 

“I’m so wet, daddy.” You whined, your fingers almost too slippery over our clit. 

“That’s because you’ve been a good girl.” He explained with a condescending tone. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Baby is getting petty, uh?” He growled, “You were doing so good, little one. You wouldn’t want to get daddy angry when you’re so close, mh?” He put down the fork on your belly, the cold metal slightly warmed up by his grip, then he laid his head beside your ear. “I can turn this into torture, babylove. I can make you touch yourself until I finish the cake. And I’m feeling a little full, so I might take a pause, wait a while, and continue eating later.” He whispered before raising to his feet, taking a couple steps away. “Maybe I might finish it tomorrow morning for breakfast.” He announced nonchalantly.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I’m a spoiled brat.” You cried out, afraid of seeing him leave. 

He turned around, raising an eyebrow, clenching his jaw, observing you. He came back and sat down, cupping your cheek. “You’re forgiven, love.”

He picked up his fork again. “I need you to cum, Vixen. Stop toying with it.” He said, using his spare hand to guide the hand between your thighs. 

You whimpered. “Daddy.”

He kept eating, unbothered. “Yes, babylove?”

“I want you inside.”

“Then make yourself cum, so I can finish the cake and fuck you against the wall, baby fox.”

Your hand stilled. “Against the wall?”

“I promised you I would.” He replied.

You made a small “o” with your lips, which soon turned into a smug grin as you began to move your hand in earnest. He mimicked your expression, mocking you, before eating a smaller bite of cake. He was temporizing. 

“Daddy.” This time you moaned. 

“What is it, little one?”

“Can you please kiss me, daddy?” You pleaded. 

He smiled at you kind and gentle. “With pleasure, baby.” He gave you a taste of his lips, kissing your lower one, the corner of your mouth. 

And then you felt it, the intrusion of his fingers inside you. 

You whined out loud, mouth opening wide, and smartly he covered your mouth with his, his tongue tangling with yours in a drooly mess. 

Parting from you, he whispered: “Don’t worry, it’s my clean hand.” He reassured you, kissing where your jaw met your neck, under your ear. 

“I love you, Joonie.” You whispered as you slowly climbed to your climax, trying to ride his fingers.

Using his spare hand to hold your face, dwarfing your head, he looked you in the eye, staring half worried, half turned on at your helpless expression. “Relax, baby. You’re safe with me.”

His deep voice, the sweet comfort of his words helped you take the final leap off the edge, precipitating into the dark spiral of your orgasm. 

You came silently while his forearm blocked you from buckling your hips wildly and throwing the cake off yourself. You moved your hand away as he kept massaging your inner walls, stretching you properly to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you later. “Tell me when it’s too much, ____.” He reminded you.

You enjoyed it another five seconds or so before caressing his face. “Okay, Joonie.”

He nodded, taking his fingers away from you and immediately pushing them in his mouth, moaning with his eyes closed. “The fucking sweetest.” He growled with affection as he freed his fingers. Sitting on the table beside you, he caught hold of the plastic disk, lifting the cake from your belly, moving his other hand behind your shoulders to raise you up. 

“Come here, Vixen. My sweet angel.” He propped you up on his shoulder as he found the fork. With his arm around you, he fed you the remnant quarter of the cake. “You need your energies, babylove.” He kissed your temple as he fed you. “You’re amazing, princess.” He praised you. He had always had a kink for praising you after sex. Well, after any sexual activity. “Are you okay, Vixen?” He murmured, putting the dish on the table before holding you close to him, careful not to smash the chocolate work of art — or what was left of it.

You nodded. “I’m just a bit fucked out.” You giggled. 

“Do you want a shower and sleep?” He asked. Sure, he was hard as hell, but that was not the point. 

“I want you against the wall.” You murmured. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how buff you’ve been getting, mister.” You teased, asking yourself whether you had any sense of self preservation, considering that you were still fucked out but you were already searching for more. 

He laughed. “You’ve noticed?”

You nodded. “Have you been doing that to fuck me against the wall?” You asked. 

“For that reason too.” He admitted. “I love feeling healthy. And being strong enough to take care of my baby is most definitely another pro of this situation.” Once more he took hold of the plate, feeding you again. “You mentioned you were interested.” He whispered quietly. “I wanted to give it to you.”

You looked at him wide eyed. “Well, of course it’s a fantasy, but you don't have to make it happen.”

He bit his lip, insecure. Maybe you didn’t want it anymore. He frowned. “But I wanted to.” he objected. 

It was your turn to caress his face, stealing the fork from his hand, taking half of the last bite for yourself, his gaze focused on your sinful mouth. As you swallowed, you took the last piece and brought it to his lips. He ate. “I love you, Namjoon. And if getting buff is your goal I’ll stand by it and root for you.” You encouraged. “But don’t you ever feel like you have to get thicker to keep me interested in you. Or to make me attracted by you.” You removed the fork and the cake from your action zone, then, with a motion of your foot, you made him slide off the table and stand at the edge of it. 

You noticed with immense pleasure that his trousers were significantly strained. You straddled his hips. 

“I’m attracted by what’s in here.” You said, your polished nail tapping against his temple. “And here.” You said, dragging your fingernail against his sternum. “The package is cute, sure, but it’s not what I feel in the dark, when I tell you I love you before I fall asleep.” You murmured, your voice getting emotional. “I’m so in love with you.” You said, grabbing his face and kissing him. He tried to bring you closer. 

“Off with the shirt. Chocolate stains.” You explained, gripping and tugging at the dark cotton of his black tee. 

His hands helped you, then flew to your hair, bringing you closer, chest to chest. 

“The zipper, baby, please.” He groaned, almost pained. 

You nodded, kissing him again, your “sorry love” getting lost on your mouths. As you undid his belt you felt your hands tremble nervously, just like the first time. 

“Baby, please.” He whined again. 

“I can’t, love.” You growled, frustrated, shoving your hands away. 

He chuckled. "Baby's impatient. God, your hands shake every time, ____." He undid his belt and slapped your hands away as you tried to take over with the zipper. "How many times, Vixen? In the last ten months you've seen my cock more than I have." He teased as he undressed before you. 

"Joonie. Naked. Now." You chastised. 

His chest shook with laughter. "I'm here, my love." As soon as he rose, you looped your arms around his neck, tucking your face under his chin. “Here, baby.” He murmured sweetly. “You’re so cute when you act shy.” He continued, kissing your head. 

“You’re too tall.” You whispered from his chest.

He shook his head with a snicker. “Your size kink is out of the world, babygirl, don’t pretend you don’t like how big I am.”

“I hate when you’re right.” You said, puckering your lips. 

He tilted your head back. “I love you, you dumb little fox.” He whispered playfully. 

Shutting your eyes tight, you hid in his chest even more. 

“Tell me how you want me, little vixen.” He whispered in your ear after ducking his head.

“Inside. Now.” You protested. 

He caressed your face. “Here, on the table?” He asked.

You nodded. “You can just pick me up and turn around and do me against the wall when I’m close.” You instructed. That position was tiring and troublesome, you’d better save it for when the orgasm felt close, so that the physical effort would last less.

He snickered. “Okay, your highness.” He joked at your commandeering attitude. 

“I might like that nickname.” You teased back, one of your arms untangling from his neck and reaching down, stroking his hard on and bringing the tip to your entrance. 

“I’ll save it for the next roleplay, then.” He kissed your brow. “Look at me, angel.” He whispered as you positioned him correctly. “I love you so much, ____.” He moaned as he slipped in, your hand slowly sliding down his length as he entered you, until he was fully sheathed inside you and your hand cupped his balls. 

“Joonie.” You whined. 

He shushed you with a kiss. After all these months — and pretty intense one at that —, it was still new. Your face still scrunched in that lovely way, your inner walls still hugged him like the most perfect velvet glove. “Vixen, you okay baby?”

You nodded, your mouth going a little bit everywhere, hanging open, pressed to his skin to keep yourself from screaming his name. He was still that good. Even better. He was always so tender, so delicate, his big hands touching you like you were his porcelain doll, always so gentle and careful during his first few strokes. And inside he was always so big you had to take a minute to adjust, the thickness of him giving you a mindblowing stretch. There were nights in which he gave you orgasms back to back, with his hands, with his mouth, stretching you open with his fingers and various toys, and still it felt like only he could fill you to the brim, almost to the breaking point. 

“Joonie bear,” You murmured. “Wanna take care of you.” You whimpered.

“Let’s lay you down, love.” He grumbled, bending forward as you stretched down, laying on the table, the shift making him move inside you, his tip rubbing the bottom of your inner cavity.

“Fuck, Joonie, move.” You commanded with a whine. 

He obeyed, his arms still cradling you, looped under your waist and the other around your neck. He was literally latching onto you, so close you were melting into each other. 

Your mouth searched for his neck, leaving hickies on his pectorals, toying at his nipples with your teeth and tongue. 

“Vixen, dammit, love, you’re gonna ruin me.” He growled. 

Your hands scratched down his spine, grabbing his ass, pushing him into you. “You’re gonna make me cum babe, stop it.” He fucked into you angrily and you moaned loudly into his chest. 

“Daddy, harder, please...” You whimpered.

Reading your cue — and because he knew your body better than you did — he picked you up again, turning around and getting closer to the kitchen wall. “Ready, Vixen?”

“Is it...?” You asked, so fucked out of your mind that you had barely registered the movement, your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, while his hands were now groping your ass, his face scrunched in effort, but still sporting a mischievous smile at the advantaged grip he had on your bottom.

“Yes, love.” He left a peck on your lips. “Careful, little one, it’s gonna be cold.” He said, before making your skin adhere to the chilly marble tiles.

You moaned at the shift in temperature, the coolness at your back and his warmth on your front. He took a minute to position you properly, making sure that you stayed up but also close to him. The first thrusts were tentative, slow and deep, his arms keeping you up while his hips worked on you. 

There was some cruelty in the position, you discovered, as you tried to tip your head back, moaning for him, but the wall stopped your movement. You had to settle to turning your head to the side, your muscles so feeble that it fell heavy on his shoulder. 

"Are you good, Vixen?" He asked, breathless. 

You only managed to nod as your inner walls began squeezing around him. 

Humming darkly, he latched his lips against your neck, drawing a crimson splodge before asking you: “Can you touch yourself for me, ____?” 

You silently obeyed and immediately his thrusts grew restless and deeper, almost painful with the way he was pushing your legs open. 

Naturally, both your heads bent down to look at where your bodies joined, Namjoon getting distracted by your chest, sucking on your nipples and bruising your skin in an attempt to muffle his cries. By now his forehead was sweaty, droplets rolling off his skin and onto your chest, the heaviness of them  punctuating your breath and his thrusts in an obscene pattern of beats. It was a matter of seconds: with three rubs of your clit, your kegels spasmed, making him lose his mind and push you up higher, sliding and bouncing on his lap. Like a sensual chain reaction, the new angle teased your g-spot perfectly, sending you on cloud nine, and then down, fast, to the burning pits of hell, your skin melting at the hotness of your climax. Your spare hand gripping and scratching his back recklessly was all he needed, his own release manifesting as he followed you suit in pleasure, crying out your name, trembling against your skin. 

You were holding onto each other for dear life, panting like exhausted beasts, eyes closed, lost in the sudden silence disturbed only by your breaths. 

“Namjoon.” You moaned quietly, your ears tingling with your sudden change in blood pressure.

He hid into your neck. “Love, I think we have to do it again. Not now, but sometime again.” He whispered. “You feel so tiny on me.” He kissed your cheek, your brow, your heavy lids. “I love you.” He murmured. 

You could barely nod. You were a mess. A slippery, wet mess, sweat coating your skin, cum smeared all over your thighs, Namjoon’s saliva dripping down your nipples, drying on the bruised swells of your breasts.

“I want you on the bed Joon.” You whined. “I want to lick you clean. Sixty-nine. Ride you so you can spank me and call me your little girl until I fuck you so good you forget everything but my name.” You provoked him, squeezing him a couple times. He was hard again. 

Glorious. 

His chuckles turned into a groan when you tightened around him. “Let me take you to bed, then, babygirl.” And with that he slipped out of you and gently bowed down, throwing you over his shoulder, smacking your ass as he walked to the bedroom. “Hold on tight, cause it’s gonna get wild, brat.”

⫷⁂⫸ ⁕ ⫷⁂⫸ ⁕ ⫷⁂⫸ ⁕ ⫷⁂⫸

In the apartment next door. 

Yoongi stared at his dish in absolute disgust. “We need to move away from here.”

Kitten shook her head. “Thank fuck birthdays are only once a year.”

Yoongi stared at her with a desperate look on his face. “Oh, you’re forgetting her birthday, in a few weeks, apparently. And you weren’t here their first weekend together. And what about that time, was it her promotion?”

“I will never forget her promotion.” Kitten groaned. 

“What about when he came back from LA?” Yoongi teased. 

“When all of you came back from LA.” Kitten replied, arching her eyebrows with a fake angelic smile, reminding him how he’d barely closed the apartment door before falling to his knees, tugging her panties down and out of the way, hunching up her skirt and eating her out against the entryway. “Don’t forget that you make me loud too.” She shook her head. “And you get quite messy too, mister groan.” 

He nodded. Well, having to listen to the neighbours might be an inconvenience but… 

“Are you horny too?” He asked. 

“Kitchen counter or the sofa?” She replied, standing up, already taking off her shirt, only covered in her knickers. 

He stood up, standing behind her. “Just bend over.” He said, slipping her panties to the side. 

[echo-hiraeth]

Empty Promises - Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader

Summary: The reader is a forgotten past romance and works for Maxwell Lord. They’ve secretly been taking care of Alistair when Maxwell failed to do so. When he starts to take notice and offers them a promotion, they speak their mind.

Warnings: Angst

Masterlist

“Alistair!”, Maxwell beamed, spinning his son around while locking eyes with one of his many assistants. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon!”

“It’s your week with him Mister Lord, you ex-wife just had him dropped off”, a lady in a pencil skirt informed him.

You rolled your eyes at the both of them. Maxwell did this every time, too caught up in his bank statements and bleached hair to pay attention to his own bloody flesh and blood. It wasn’t long before the young boy was kicked out of the office once again. You’d watched this scene every other week, your heart aching for the poor kid, this had to stop.

“Hey there little man, how’s it hanging”, you started, kneeling beside the chair he was sat in.

“I’m bored”, he sighed, eyes glued to his tan hands.

“I see.. wanna come check out my office? I have my own fridge filled with snacks”, you spoke, whispering the last part of the phrase.

Alistair looking up at that, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Really?”

You nodded, smiling at him as he took your hand. “C’mon I’ll show you around, let’s have some fun.”

 The two of you had become inseparable over the weeks, spending every otherwise so dull moment together in your office, which you’d given a little revamp. Your mother had given you some of your old and retired toys that you kept in the bottom drawer of your desk. A small chair was also added, which your friend had graciously gifted to you.

Every day after Maxwell dropped his son off with someone else, you’d go and look for him. Once you found him you took him to your little, what he referred to as, clubhouse. Alistair would re-enact movie scenes with the dolls and toy cars you’d given him while you wrote away on your typewriter. Because despite the new self-acclaimed responsibility of taking care of your boss’ son, you also still had your actual job to do.

“Y/n, why can’t we play at home?”, the boy asked as the two of you ate your lunches together.

“Ah sweetheart, you know we can’t, we’re work friends”, you cooed, ruffling through his hair.

“Daddy said it’s fine, I can have friends over”, he continued, eyes filled with hope.

You went to stand, quickly stretching before grabbing two cans of soda out of your small fridge. “Well, I don’t think your daddy likes me that much, niño.”

“He said you went to adult school together.”

“Did he now? I thought he’d forgotten all about me”, you laughed, handing Alistair a can as well.

“He thinks you’re pretty and that you’re very smart too”, he said between gulps, a little bit of soda trickling down his chin in his enthusiasm.

“Your daddy said a lot of things to me back in the day Ali, but people don’t always mean what they say”, you sighed, a sense of nostalgia washing over you as you remembered your time with Maxwell back in college.

“Daddy never plays with me, he always promises me but he’s never home”, the child whispered, lip starting to quiver.

“Hey, your daddy loves you, okay. He loves you so so so much, he’s just… very busy.” You wrapped your arms around him, wiping some of the tears that had fallen from his eyes.

“I don’t think he means that”, the boy sobbed. That was the exact moment your heart shattered and you vowed yourself to fill the void Maxwell had left to the best of your abilities.

“How about I come over to play some more tonight? I’ll sneak in some ice cream too, your dad doesn’t have to know.”

 That night you went home with Alistair after arranging with the nanny that you’d be taking over for the night. She was grateful to have you take over, eager to get home to her own family. So here you were, sitting in the colourful bedroom, laughing away with your tiny friend.

“No way, my Action Man is waaaaay cooler looking than yours”, you giggled.

“Yeah but mine will kick your butt”, Alistair retorted, throwing the dolls at one another, acting out an intense fighting scene.

“Hey! No fair, you snuck up on me, that’s against the Action Man code!”, you yelped, tackling the boy to the floor and tickling at his sides.

“Since when”, he spurted out between fits of laughter.

“Since I said so little Mister”, you ordered, grinning as you helped him to sit up straight again.

He wrapped his little arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Thank you for playing with me.”

“Ah no you don’t, don’t get all sappy and gross now”, you jokingly warned. “C’mon, it’s bedtime.”

“Will you stay to read me a story?”, he asked, eyes pleading.

You couldn’t resist. After he’d changed into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth after you pushed him back into the bathroom four times, you finally tucked him in. He fell asleep after not even a page of his “Arthur” storybook.

With a sad smile plastered on your face you left his room, carefully shutting the door so as to not wake him. You grabbed your bag and headed downstairs, looking forward to ending to day yourself.

“Y/n?”, a familiar voice sounded.

“Mister Lord”, you greeted, reaching for the door handle.

“Actually, would you mind staying another ten minutes or so, I need to speak with you.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms in front of you as you turned around to face him. He beckoned you to follow him into his living room, urging you to sit down as he offered you a glass of Scotch. You politely declined and waited for him to start talking.

“My Alistair has told me you’ve been taking care of him during your shifts, is this true?” he questioned, playing around with the melting ice in his glass.

“The kid’s bored out of his mind every moment he’s stuck there. So yes, I look after him from time to time. Is there a problem?”

“No! No, not at all, in fact, I’d like to thank you. I looked into your files and noticed your pay is quite average. Besides it seems your potential is wasted in your current position, I’d like to offer you a position as my righthand, secretary-general if you will.” He looked at you with a smug smile, making big hand gestures as he spoke.

You shook your head slowly, scoffing: “No thanks, I like where I’m at.”

“Well if not a promotion then I think a raise would be in order, how much do you wish for?”, he questioned, extending his hands over to you.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His face contorts in confusion. “I don’t need your money, I’m not some babysitter.”

“Come on now y/n, it’s not that big of a deal, let me give you a token of my appreciation”, he purrs, pulling out a check book.

“Token of appreciation my fucking ass, if you cared about your son as much as you care about your money I wouldn’t even be here in the first place. Do you think I enjoy wiping the fucking tears off of his face when he’s once again crying because he thinks you don’t love him?”, you yelled, standing up and pointing a finger in his face.

“I-I didn’t know..”

“Of course you don’t! How can when you never spend more than five minutes with him! How can you know what your son needs when you’re never even around to hear him out!”, you screamed tears starting to well up in your eyes. “He doesn’t want a pony or a fucking pool, he wants a dad that will sit down and play with him. He- he wants someone to love him”, you spoke in a hushed voice, on the verge of breaking down into sobs yourself.

Maxwell had done the same exact thing to you all these years ago. It was such a cruel trick of fate to be hired by his company, which you didn’t found out until a couple weeks in he was the owner of. You’d been too stubborn to leave, vowing to yourself that you were an adult and totally over your past romances.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to disappoint you again”, he whispered, too ashamed with himself to even look you in the eyes.

The first sob left your throat, making him look up. “This isn’t about me Max… Your boy needs you.”

“I fucked up, I never stopped thinking about you, I couldn’t. If you could please just… help me. I-I’ll do anything, please, I just want Alistair to be proud.. and happy”, he pleaded, slowly stepping closer to you.

“I can only help you if you’ll let me”, you mutter against the skin of his neck as he embraces you.

“Can you even forgive me for what I did to you?”, he inquired, voice shaking with emotion.

“Yeah, if I couldn’t I wouldn’t have missed you so much”, you admitted, slowly letting go of him to look into his red eyes. “Take the week off to catch up with Alistair, the secretary-general will take over for now.”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Sky Full Of Stars - CH09

Sequel to Something Just Like This

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, ex mobster boss, still a little cocky, less ruthless and not at all short tempered anymore. Instead, he thinks he’s hilarious (she doesn’t agree, though). They both try to live a quiet life. And Dean hopes, very hard, that his former life won’t come knocking at their door.

Warnings: Whole lotta angst, NSFW

WC: 2574

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean doesn’t think he has gotten any sleep at all last night. 

After what happened, he immediately called Gabe and Cas, Y/N was listening in, too. She’s still mad at him, he knows that, but she is willing to not give him hell because her number one priority is protecting her family, which, Dean thinks, is the same thing as he wants either.

They talked on the phone for a while but then decided that they’d rather meet in person today. 

He wakes up with something on top of him, opening up his eyes, Dean sees Ella straddling him, “Wake up, Daddy!” 

Dean smirks and closes his eyes again which prompts Ella to jump up and down on him like he’s a damn horse, and then she starts to poke her finger into his face. First his cheek, then on his lips, his nostrils and then his eyes.

“I’m up, I’m up!” Dean shouts, “I surrender!”

Ella bursts out in a fit of laughter.

After a while, Ella lays herself on top of him, whispers into his ears, “Mommy is sad, she’s crying.” 

Dean knows that Y/N’s still in bed with them, knows that she cried herself to sleep, if she even slept at all. 

“I know, El-baby, why don’t you go get dressed and play in your room, leave me some time with mommy, huh? I’ll come and get you,”

“Okay,” 

What Dean loves about his little girl is that she understands things. Especially when he talks calmly to her. Certainly not a trait she got from him. 

He waits until Ella walks out, little footsteps tapping along the floor, waits until she closes the door.

Dean turns around, sees that Y/N faces the other way. She’s laying on her side, he hears her breathing evenly. He moves closer to her, lifts up her blanket and covers himself with it, his arm sneaks around her middle. She doesn’t protest so Dean moves even closer, pressed his chest to her back, melts his body against hers as he noses at the back of her neck, breathes in her scent. She smells like home.

“I got this,” He whispers, placing a kiss on the nape of her neck. 

She only sniffs. 

Still crying, then.

“Baby,” Dean’s grip tightens around her, and he rolls them around on the bed, it’s still so easy to manhandle her. 

He rolls them until she’s on top of him and a tear drips down, right onto his cheeks. He rolls some more, places her next to him so he can look her in the eye as he brushes at her tears with the pad of his thumb. 

Dean hates how much it hurts him. How he absolutely hates whenever she cries and he’s the reason for it. Even though, right now he might not be the real reason but he’s a part of it.

“Everything will be okay,” He says, doesn’t really know if he’s saying the truth but he hopes he is. “We’ll find a way,”

She nods at him, her eyes are red and puffy from crying. 

“Fuck, I hate to see you like this,” He mutters, leans in, kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. He kisses her lips after, it’s warm and soft, a little wet too, “I need you to stay positive okay? Can you do that for me?” 

“I don’t know,” She pushes the words past her lips and they feel like daggers to his heart.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you or our family, I promise.” Dean kisses between her eyebrows, the place where he wanted to kiss last night. He leaves his lips there, pulls her closer. 

  Y/N’s pacing around the room, she’d put Neo to bed for his nap and Ella’s watching Frozen on the ipad upstairs so they have a little privacy. Privacy to talk about the impending doom without getting interrupted. Cas’ here and Gabe came around with a couple of his best men. 

She doesn’t like the way they all look at her. Doesn’t need their pity, it makes her feel even worse.

Dean shows the men the message she got from Crowley.

“I want you to up your security all around my property.” Dean tells Gabe and the other man nods, “I want all eyes on Y/N and the kids.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, “Crowley barely has anyone left who’s loyal to him. How did he manage to pull that off?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, and he has his hands balled to fists. He’s angry, she knows. 

And god knows she is, too.

She paces around, thinks about the bloody situation she’s in, while the men are talking. They go on about a plan, try to come up with something, she doesn’t really listen. 

Suddenly, she speaks, “Guys, hear me out,”

Dean’s looking at her as if he’s seen a ghost, and already he’s frowning. Mainly because he knows for a fact that anything that comes out of her mouth won’t be any good, “Baby, no.”

“Yes!” She shouts, “Yes, Dean, because it’s the only way and you know it as much as I do.”

He sighs in defeat and the others just stare at them, “Fine, go on. I’m listening.”

“Crowley clearly wants me,” She starts to say.

“No!” Dean shouts now, too. Louder, and it makes her flinch. “I said what I said, Y/N. No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!” She throws her hand around her. 

“I don’t need to hear it because I know exactly what you want to say and no, I’m not fucking giving you up, alright? You’re not going to be any kind of bait!”

“Why not? He clearly has beef with me, not with you guys. If that’s what I need to do to save my family, I’ll do it.” 

She wants to, is sure as hell that the only way to stop Crowley from harming her family is to give herself up. She’s about ready to do anything as long as Dean and her children will get to be safe and live their lives to the fullest. They don’t deserve this. Nobody does. And it’s really not a big price to pay. That way she can right all the wrongs she’s done.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean lets out, rubs over his face with both of his hands, “I can’t believe I’m listening to his fucking bullshit!” 

Y/N sits down in an empty chair, wraps her arms around herself and she tires, tries not to fucking cry because mainly she doesn’t want to come across as weak, and secondly, there’s simply no tears left that she can shed. She feels empty, feels fucking numb.

And Dean knows that too, knows that she’s close to tears and she hates that he knows her better than she knows herself. He comes to stand before her, lowers himself onto his knees and cradles her face between his big hands. 

He kisses her, soft, tender, and whispers to her, “Baby, I can’t let you do that.”

“Why?” She mumbles but doesn’t look at him, her gaze is still trained downwards.

Dean sighs, kisses her forehead one more, “Do you really think that’ll stop him? Do you think when he gets you where he wants, that he’ll stop? He’ll go after us all, one by one.”

She looks at Cas and Gabe and they both nod in unison.

Gah, she hates that. Hates that Dean always has to be right. 

Y/N excuses herself to go upstairs. There’s nothing she can say anymore that will get approval from the five men anyway.

She sits on her bed, looks out the window into the meadow. It’s a windy day, there are clouds in the sky. She’s sure the stars won’t come out tonight. 

Taking her phone from her pocket, she types in a message.

Y/N: What do you want?

 It baffles her that the answer comes right away.

 C: Darling, you’re not dumb. You know what I want.

Y/N: And if you don’t get it?

C: I’ll take everything you love.

 There’s tears pooling in her eyes. Apparently the well of tears hasn’t dried down yet.

 Y/N: And if you get what you want?

C: I’ll leave them alone.

Y/N: How do I know that you’re not shitting me?

C: I’m not a liar. Never was, never will be, unlike some people.

Y/N: How do you want to get to me?

C: I have many ways but I rather not tell. It’s best if you come meet me.

 Her hands are shaking but she types on her phone anyway.

 Y/N: When? Where?

C: Wait for my instructions.

Y/N: Okay

C: Tell Ella Fergie misses her

Y/N: Fuck you

 She deletes the conversation one by one, only leaving the picture message standing as not to raise suspicion should Dean take a look. Then she pushes herself out of the bed, undresses herself and walks into the bathroom, draws herself a bath. She thinks of drowning her sorrows in alcohol but knows that it wouldn’t help. She needs a clear head to face her children. They deserve that much.

  Dean walks along the landing when he sees Ella disappearing into their bedroom. He opens the door and hears a shower running. It smells like bath salts too. Y/N is now probably showering herself off. 

Ella’s standing in the middle of the room with her ipad. “Mommy?”

“Hey baby girl, what do you need from mommy, huh?” Dean kneels down in front of Ella.

“Frozen is finished. Can I watch another one, daddy?”

Dean chuckles, “No El-baby, I don’t think I can allow that,”

He can see the little girl pouting. Damn that fucking pout. That’s certainly something she’s got from her mother. “But you know what?”

“What?” He sees Ella frown at him, curious but not quite trusting if it’s going to be better than another movie on an ipad.

“What would you say if you go out with uncle Sammy and auntie Jess for Mc Donald’s and ice cream, huh?”

“Yaaaay!” The girl jumps up and down and Dean smiles.

It’s so easy to cheer a kid up. They’re so innocent and he likes to protect that. Likes to keep them away from all the bad things for as long as he can. 

“Then go on down, they’re already waiting down there with your brother.”

“Does he have to come too?” 

“Ella, we’ve been through this,” Dean lowers his voice a little.

“Okay, fine. But I’m not talking to him.” She says and Dean has to chuckle. He kisses her forehead and sends her away.

Dean gets up on his feet, walks over to the bed and sits on it, waits for Y/N to come out of the shower. 

He stares at his feet, listens to the running water and thinks about what just happened. Thinks about all the things that are fucked up. Five years ago, up until two days ago, his world seemed good, great even. He had everything. And now one fucking leprechaun is threatening to destroy everything he knows and love. Dean can’t let that happen. Not on his fucking watch.

When he comes back to his senses he looks at the watch on the bedside table. She’s been in there awfully long already so Dean gets up, walks to the bathroom to see what’s taking her so long. 

The sight that greets him damn near breaks his heart.

Y/N’s on the shower floor, hugging her legs, crying quietly into her knees. 

Dean doesn’t hesitate, goes right in fully clothed, pulls her up and into his chest, “Baby,” His voice sounds broken, “Fuck,” 

Her body goes rigid and she pushes him away, making him stagger a couple of steps back. Dean watches her, he’s near tears himself. 

He tries again, pushing himself against her, grabs her by her arms and pulls her in. She’s hitting his chest, hands balled into fists as she drums against it. 

She’s sobbing, cries and shouts, “Why don’t you let me do this? Fuck you, Dean. Fuck you!”

Dean’s crying, he doesn’t know what to do so he does the only thing he knows that will take the pain away, at least for a short time. He knows that he fucking needs to feel it, needs to feel a sense of normality for a short moment, and he knows that she needs it too. So he lifts her up and crowds her against the shower wall, kisses her deep and hard, pours all his feeling into the kiss, says things without speaking, I won’t fucking let you go, and a warning, Don’t fucking dare leave me. 

Y/N still cries against the kiss but she kisses him back, equally hard and deep, her tongue restless inside of his mouth, drinking in his sorrows, his fears, spills hers into him. 

“Fuck me,” She whispers, holding him around his neck tighter, and Dean’s soaked his shirt and pants, even his socks, he doesn’t care, “Make it go away, Dean. Fuck me, please,” 

“Okay,” He whispers back, “Okay,”

He pins her harder against the wall, one hand still holding her up while he fumbles blindly at his belt. He kisses her again, gives her no time to think about anything else, tries to fill her head with want and need and not with Crowley and sorrow, until he can free his cock. 

Dean peels and pushes the fabrics down his body one handed, manages to lower them past his cock and balls and he strokes himself before pushing the head of his dick against her entrance. He lowers her a little while he fucks up into her at the same time, is still kissing her when he feels the warmth of her walls hugging his cock tight. She moans into the kiss but she doesn’t stop either, kisses him more and more while Dean moves his hips up, fucks into her slow and steady. 

Breaking the kiss, Dean leaves his forehead on hers, kisses her eyes when she closes them, her nose, her lips, “‘M sorry,” He says between thrusts, “‘M sorry for not telling you sooner.”

She doesn’t say anything, buries her face into the crook of his neck and sucks at his throat.

He fucks up, a little faster, a little harder, getting himself deeper as she likes it and lowers his face to her neck, “Promise me, baby,” He says between pants, “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Dean thrusts three more times and feels her coming on his cock, he’s so close himself, “Promise me you won’t leave me, that you won’t leave us.” Dean comes, sinks his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder.

He dries her off later, carries her into the bed, helps her into her clothes before he peels his own wet ones from his body. 

There’s a knock at the door and Dean watches as Y/N lifts herself off the bed, dashing down the stairs to open up. He hears Ella’s happy squeals when she sees her mommy, hears Neo’s babble and imagines Y/N taking him into her arms. 

Dean takes his time, changes into dry sweats and a shirt and then he remembers that Y/N didn’t promise him anything in the showers. He hopes deeply that the kids can change her mind.

CH10

[aethelar]

The thing you don’t realise when you look at Newt is that he was born a girl. Or - no, that’s not right. He was born a boy, and even when he didn’t realise it he felt uncomfortable and out of place every time he was reminded what people saw him as.

Maybe, he thought as a teenager, hair down his back and makeup lining his eyes, maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. Maybe, he thought, looking at the other girls, there’s something wrong. Or maybe there’s nothing wrong. It’s normal for girls to be uncomfortable in their skin, isn’t it? That’s why makeup exists, why you grow your hair so long the weight of it gives you headaches, why you define yourself by the way other people see you and not by the way you see yourself.

But that was then. He was born a boy in a girl’s body, and when he was fifteen, kneeling in front of the bed so Leta could make a lopsided mess of his hair with the too-blunt scissors from her pencil case, throwing out the revealing clothes he’d tried so hard to feel feminine in and curling up laughing in a baggy hoody that disguised his chest, he became a boy in a boy’s body, and it was good.

It was good. A womb does not define a person. He’s lucky; with his hair short and his binder on, he looks like the boy he knows he is, and for him, that’s enough. He never went for surgery. He didn’t need it. This is not a story about struggling to accept yourself or to be accepted because Newt called himself a boy and he was one, and when Graves learnt that his body was a different shape underneath his clothes he didn’t run screaming for the hills because really, who does that? The sort of relationship that matters to is not the sort the story’s about.

It’s about the sort of relationship that started at university. First day, first term, Newt met Graves on the stairs and Graves offered to help him with the oversized suitcase he was hauling to his room. We’ve gone for a modern AU. No magic. They’re the same age, or nearly; Graves is a few months older. Newt studies science because he’s good at biology but he wants to be a writer, Graves studies history because you shape the future by learning from the past, they live two doors down from each other in first year and in second and third they share a house with three other people and Newt spends more time in Graves’ room than his own, and in fourth year Newt stays on because he changed to zoology half way through and is a year behind and Graves goes out to the world and gets a job and it’s hard to be apart but when they see each other they make a big deal of it and it’s good.

This is a fix it. It’s not fixing canon. Newt is the way he is because a womb does not define a person. It’s a fix it.

They live together again when Newt graduates. A flat above a shop in the centre of town. Not a flat, a maisonette. They have an old cat, one that goes out the window over the kitchen sink and scampers along the rooftops, a sofa made squishy with too many cushions, and an entire cupboard in the kitchen dedicated to an overflowing variety of tea. Graves’ coffee lives on the side. They stay in the flat for less than a year, then they travel; that’s on Newt, who came home one day and said, “I’m going to quit my job and go to South America, do you want to come?”

Maybe it was drastic. Maybe it wasn’t. He doesn’t do well in offices. Graves blinks, and phones his mum, and tells his work, and they offer him a promotion if he’ll stay because fuck it, he’s actually really good at what he does. He chooses Newt. It’s that kind of love story. You have to understand, Graves chooses Newt, all Newt’s failings and all the stupid ways Newt doesn’t fit together and doesn’t understand how people work and the way he changed degree half way through because he has the sticking power of a greased teaspoon and the only thing he’s ever stuck with this long is Graves, and Graves chose him.

I don’t know what needs fixing. I don’t understand. I love Graves. Newt loves Graves. Why does anything have to need fixing.

The cat went to live with Newt’s parents. She enjoys the garden, and Newt fusses about the fact that she needs the expensive tooth crunchies because she’s an old cat. Old cats still need love, they just also need someone to care for their teeth, and when the flat is packed up and moved into Newt’s parents’ loft the box of cat things is left at the bottom of the stairs to take over the rest of the house. As it should be. Newt and Graves travel, and they argue, and in Mendoza Newt throws his hands in the air and says fine, if that’s the way you want to be - and when he storms off, Graves comes after him.

“You muppet,” he says, catching Newt’s hand in his. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Even when they argue, Graves is stupidly sweet. It would be easier if he wasn’t. The problem with things that are nearly perfect is you can’t back away. You’re in too deep to ever give up, and when they come back, they get married. They choose a house with a spare bedroom that could be turned into a nursery. They make a fuss of their old lady at Newt’s parents’ house and decide it would be kinder to leave her where she is. Part of loving a cat is knowing when it would be selfish to uproot their life again just because you want them close, and Newt’s parents’ house is full of sunspots that she likes to sleep in.

In their new house, they have fish. Many fish. Newt names them all, even when they breed, and it breaks his heart to take some of them back to the fish shop because they’ve bred too much and he doesn’t have the space to house them all, but he does. Gerbils, two gerbils, in a big glass tank with a wheel fixed to the back by plastic hooks stuck to the glass. They sit in Newt’s palm and eat bits of courgette, and they like trying to dig their way through his elbow when he’s wearing sleeves. Another cat, a little menace from a rescue shelter who has zero manners and zero regard for appropriate play, but who, slowly, cautiously, learns that Newt is for sleeping on and that Graves is for rubbing her head against and that she can meow to get what she wants instead of going straight for the kill with her teeth.

She isn’t allowed in the gerbil’s room. She learns to open doors. When Newt and Graves thought they’d have to install child locks at some point, this isn’t quite what they had in mind.

“Papa’s little monkey,” Graves says, scritching at the base of her tail while she purrs. “Savaging Mummy, knocking everything off the shelves, what are we going to do with you, hey?”

“She doesn’t savage Mummy any more,” Newt protests. “She’s getting better at claws-in.” Her favorite toy is a sheep-plush tied to a piece of garden twine; Newt dangles it for her and she does a somersault in its general direction and pounces. She only savages now when it rains and she has too much energy to be cooped up inside, and she sits on the windowsill and yowls as though Newt were being too slow in fixing the weather for her to go out and play.

It’s family. Newt is Mummy. Graves is Papa. It’s nothing to do with the fact that Newt has a womb. The house has an extra bedroom, it’s full of boxes at the moment with a random chair thrown in for fun, but it’s meant to be a nursery at some point, and here’s the thing.

Before they got married, they talked about kids. Graves is a softie. He melts. He does the silly voices reading the story books, he picks them up and lets them ride on his shoulders to make them laugh. Cousins. Friends’ kids. It doesn’t matter. He was always going to be a dad, and Newt always wanted to be there with him, and that, like so many other things in this story, is good.

Newt can’t remember how the conversation happened, but. At some point, it came up. Newt has a womb. There is no reason, biologically, that he couldn’t have kids. He loves Graves. At some point, at some time, when it was a thing for the distant future, he said yes.

He said yes.

They tried to have sex that way. Newt couldn’t. Not - no, he could, he’s just not trying hard enough. Maybe there’s something wrong with him. Maybe there’s nothing wrong. He’s been through this fucking trial before and he accepted himself and this isn’t a damn story about that.

He was on birth control. Side effects include loss of libido, among other things. He talked to a doctor, and he said, “It’s fine. He’s fine. He knows I don’t like sex, that’s not the problem, I’m not worried about our relationship. I just... want to give him kids one day.”

He went off birth control. He was recommended a self help book. He was prescribed anti depressents, anti depressents, he’s asexual not fucking depressed and the reasoning, apparently, is that it makes you calm so you don’t panic while it happens and is he meant to fucking roofie himself for the sake of his damn fix-it?

He doesn’t take the anti depressents. He tries reading the self help book and gives up in disgust. His periods come back, and with them the pain and the urge to cry and scream and hate the fact that he can wrap himself in his flag all he likes but flags don’t solve problems like this and Graves doesn’t push, Graves never pushes, Graves understands and brings him ice cream and sits through the most awkward conversations with as open an expression as Newt could ever have asked for and Graves is damn wonderful it isn’t his fault that Newt has a womb and doesn’t want to use it but how the fuck do you fix this mess -

And the place it goes wrong is that Newt says: “What do you think of adopting?”

And the place it goes wrong is that Graves says: “Oh.”

It’s not a good oh. It’s an oh that says, I wanted your kid, not someone else’s. It’s an oh that says, I’d really rather not. It’s an oh that says, there’s no pressure, take all the time you need, but at the end of the day adoption is not the solution you hoped it was.

Why not. Newt brought it up after the first time they failed to have sex, tentative, not pushing. Then he went to the doctor, got his implant taken out, went through all the tests and all the awkwardness until he could get referred to the hospital. The hospital. There’s nothing wrong with him. Being asexual is not a disease. Having a womb and not wanting to use it is not a medical issue that needs to be fixed.

He’s had consultations. He’s had an ultrasound and confirmed that all the tubes are tubing like tubes ought to do, there’s nothing to stop him getting pregnant if he tried. It’s almost a disappointment, that, and when he realises he was waiting for it to be a way out he brings it up again.

“Graves,” he says. “If you want the baby to be yours, would you consider a surrogate?”

“Oh,” Graves says. “I thought the hospital was going well?”

Going well. The tubes are tubing. Newt does not have a disease. Newt does not want to have sex. Or to be pregnant, or to give birth. “You can’t cure asexuality,” he tries to explain, but Graves knows that. “You’re asking a lot of me,” he says next. It’s been over a year since they married. Graves hasn’t been to the doctor about this, Graves wouldn’t be the one growing a baby inside him for nine months. “We both want a family, and I’ve been trying really hard to give you one, but all the compromise is ending up on me and I don’t want to go through with it.”

“But if we adopt,” Graves says, “Then all the compromise goes on me.”

Here’s the thing. Newt doesn’t understand. I don’t understand. A baby is a baby, what do you lose if it isn’t genetically yours? The fish that were born in our tank get taken back to the petshop, the cat that was abandoned by someone else stays in our house and claws up our sofa, what’s to stop you loving someone just because you didn’t make them? You make them when you raise them, you love them because they need you, none of that changes if they don’t share your DNA.

Graves can’t explain. I don’t know how to write him. I don’t know how to fix this. I love him. How can’t he see, how can he be the person I know so well and love so much and not see the months I’ve been going to the hospital, the compromises I’ve already made, how can Graves not appreciate that Newt having a womb doesn’t mean he has to use it, how is this story meant to end?

“Will you talk to someone?” Newt asks. “Someone who isn’t me?”

“Why?”

“Because when you talk to me, I think there are things you don’t say because you don’t want to hurt me. Neither of us want to argue, and it means that we’re both being too careful, and I think that if you talked to someone else you wouldn’t have that to hold you back. I think it would help.”

Graves is doubtful, I think, but he agrees. He’s quiet for the rest of the day. At lunch, he takes himself up to the gerbil’s room that will one day be a nursery and drinks his coffee and Newt leaves him to it, and maybe he’s talking to them about it, who knows.

At lunch, Newt sits by the fishtank with his cup of tea. He opens his laptop. He writes, and he talks to fictional characters, and he starts a story he says is a fix it and ends with it in a jumbled mess.

You can’t blame Graves. You can’t be angry at him. You have to understand, he’s a good man. I love him. Just because he can’t explain why it’s important doesn’t mean it’s not important, just because it doesn’t matter to me that the baby is genetically ours doesn’t mean it shouldn’t matter at all. It’s not his fault Newt is the way he is.

It’s not meant to be anyone’s fault. There’s not meant to be anything wrong with it. He’s always understood that before.

I don’t know what to do.

[areiton]

wanna be my baby - stucky

Read on AO3

~*~

Bucky is laughing and chattering, his eyes bright and happy while they walk through the city, and his nose is red. 

Just the tip, bright red against his pale skin and dark hair and slate blue eyes. It’s distracting and 

Steve catches his elbow, tugs Bucky into a little shop on the way to dinner. The shop is dark and luxurious--it reminds him of the little tailor that Tony dragged him to before their first charity outing. 

It’s rich and dark, leather coats and elegant suits, and--

“Stevie?” Bucky asks, hesitantly and Steve hums, looking around until he sees the tasteful display of scarves and gloves, and he runs his fingers over one, tightly knit wool so soft it feels like silk. 

There’s cashmere but he’s a traditionalist, and the blue wool will look nice, with the black. He taps the scarf and a pair of leather gloves, slim and lined with soft warm fleece. “These, please,” he says, and the salesgirl hovering a step behind Bucky scurries to box up his purchases. 

“Cold, Steve?” Bucky asks, while they wait, and Steve smiles at him, waiting until they’re outside again, the air cold and brisk and making Bucky shiver in his heavy coat, before he digs the soft blue scarf out and loops it around Bucky’s throat

Bucky goes still, letting him tuck the end into the loop, adjust the fit until he was happy with it and a flush was rising in Bucky’s pale cheeks. 

“Gloves too,” he murmurs, and Bucky tugs them on with careful fingers, while Steve watches, a rush of warm pleasure uncurling in his belly. 

When Bucky spreads his now-gloved hands and blinks blue eyes--they’ve never been that blue--at him like he’s waiting for judgement, Steve smiles and nods. 

“Better,” he murmurs, and turns them back toward their dinner destination, while Bucky leans into his side, warm and comfortable. 

~*~

The problem about life in a future he didn’t ask for is that it’s strange and unfamiliar and more than that--it’s lonely. He has his team, but Natasha and Clint spend more time on missions than they do in country, Thor is off world, and Bruce hides in his lab. 

Tony is friendly, they’ve worked through their initial issues, but there is only so much of his mania that Steve can stand before he needs an escape, needs the reality of the world they fight so hard to save, and he spends hours walking, aimlessly wandering the city and slipping into bookshops and bakeries and small shops that felt like stepping into the past, antiques and art supply stores and a upholstery store that smells just like his Ma’s laundry. 

It’s how he finds Winter’s Brew. 

It’s how he finds Bucky. 

~*~ 

He doesn’t do it often--it’s only--

He has the money, a staggering wealth that makes him queasy sitting in his bank account, growing every month he stays on the rolls as an Avenger, a combination of backpay and a salary for being a super hero, neatly negotiated by Tony’s team of lawyers and Pepper Potts’ demanding smile, sugar and spice and everything he’d loved about Pegs. 

So he has the money, what he never had in the forties, when he wanted so desperately to take care of his Ma. 

And he doesn’t need it, is the thing. 

Because Tony houses the team, feeds and equips them, and he merely has to muse about wanting something before it’s arriving, compliments of JARVIS and Tony both. 

Bucky though--

Bucky is brilliant and hungry, a grad student studying and working on his thesis during late night shifts at the coffee shop. He walks dogs in the morning for the wealthy business men and women who can’t find the time for the animals they love and walks kids home in the afternoons to their drunk mothers and au pairs waiting with toddlers, and he hustles, works too hard for too little.

It makes sense, adds up to Steve, because he has this money he doesn’t know what to do with, besides stuffing a hundred or three into cups of tired eyed vagrants and pouring money into charities that he likes. 

And that’s nice , it is, but--

But there’s something very satisfying about the smile, sunshine bright and strangely shy, when Steve buys Bucky something. 

There’s something sweetly calming about the sight of Bucky in something he bought, like the silk blue dress shirt is a claim. 

It scratches an itch to be needed , when Bucky stumbles into the coffeeshop with a bag full of text books he paid for, when he curls up on Steve’s sofa with a laptop he bought. 

And sometimes--sometimes when he buys things for Bucky, it’s not because Bucky needs it or because he can . 

It’s simply for the look, wide-eyed and pleased, a pretty flush in pale cheeks and wonder in slate blue eyes, that Bucky gives him in return. 

~*~ 

They’re crammed into a small booth at a bar that Bruce insisted on, and Bucky’s a warm weight against his side, listing into Steve the more he drinks. He’s comfortable around the Avengers at this point, has spent enough time on Steve’s couch with Tony Stark crashing in without warning that he doesn’t even blink to see Clint and Natasha drop into the bar. 

Bucky is drinking and happy and Steve’s team is around them, all of the people he likes best in the world and it’s perfect, even if Tony’s gaze keeps flicking back and forth between Steve and Bucky and Natash’s watching them with sharp eyes despite the vodka shots. 

When his watch beeps, Steve nudges Bucky. “Time to go--you said you had class in the morning.” 

“Class is stupid,” Bucky grumbles, and Steve laughs softly as he pats at his pockets, his motions growing choppy and desperate until he hisses a curse, and Steve tips his head down, toward Bucky. “What’s wrong?” 

“My fucking--I don’t have my wallet,” he says and his eyes are big and worried and Steve frowns. 

“Where’d you--” 

“I gave it to Peter when we were walking home, so he could get some ice cream,” Bucky says, and Steve plucks the phone he’s tapping frantically against the table, tapping in Bucky’s password before scrolling--

“Peter has it, Buck, you’re fine.” 

“But--” 

Steve shushes him and slides two hundreds off his billfold, tossing them on the table before he stands and tugs Bucky after him 

“I’m gonna help him home,” he tells the team, all of them watching him, and Bucky, Bucky is watching him with those damn wide eyes. “You can’t get a cab without money, Buck,” he says reasonably, and tucks Bucky’s scarf into his coat. “C’mon.” 

He doesn’t think about the way his team watches him walking away or the way that Bucky allows himself to be led. 

~*~ 

He only meant to get a cup of coffee. He didn’t mean to befriend Bucky, or maybe it was the other way, maybe Bucky befriend him, filling the afternoons and evenings in Winter’s Brew with quiet chatter, rambling about his classes and reading bits of whatever sci-fi he had found, or leaning over the counter to show Steve a particularly adorable picture of Alpine. 

He slipped under the edges of Steve’s defences, until he was snug under the skin, nestled where Steve kept the people who mattered to him--the team and his Ma, Peggy and the Howlies--and it never bothered him, really, that Bucky fit there, so effortless and easy. 

~*~ 

He gets the call while he’s on his way to the garage, and answers it with a grin. “Buck, you promised, you can’t back out--” 

“I’m not,” Bucky says, “But you need to stop and buy my hair goop.” 

His voice is pitched with panic and sharp with command it makes Steve’s spine snap straight, and he’s nodding, even as Bucky rambles on, “I’m sending the address, Alpine knocked it in the sink, I’m not going anywhere without my hair done.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll be over with it soon.” 

“Thanks, Steve,’ Bucky breathes, and Steve shivers as a cool wind slices across the garage. 

He gets the goop. 

He gets some leave in conditioner and a mask and some bath salts too, because he thinks Bucky’d probably like it and he’s already here . 

And the tiny smile Bucky gives him when he peeks in the bag--that tells him he was right, and sends a bolt of warmth through him that’s stoked a little every time he catches scent of conditioner in Bucky’s hair that night. 

~*~ 

Bucky is normal, is the thing. 

He knows who Steve is, Steve never tried to hide it, but Bucky never seemed to care . He smiled at Steve , listened to Steve complain about mission reports and overpriced fruit and the weird taste of bananas, and he rambled to Steve about school and his sister’s shitty boyfriend and the fact that there was a decent single guy left in the city. 

Bucky is normal and it doesn’t matter if he’s curled up on Steve’s couch in Avenger Tower, or if they’re crashed in Bucky’s apartment fighting over the remote, it’s always easy, comfortable, being with Bucky. 

And if he likes to bring new blankets for Bucky’s threadbare couch, and push a box with motorcycle boots across the table at him before they go upstate for a hike--if he likes to feed Bucky and buy him the little odds and ends that Bucky sees when they’re wandering through the city, it doesn’t mean anything. 

It’s only that Bucky smiles at him, pleased and happy and sometimes--not always, but sometimes-- his eyes go half-lidded and his smile goes sly when he says, all smoke and promise, “Gonna have to let me pay you back for this sometime, Stevie.” 

And Steve aches. 

~*~ 

Sometimes they get looks. 

When Bucky smiles at him, sweet and hopeful and Steve nods, and buys a series of books or a set of DVDs. 

When they’re at the movies and Bucky is bouncing on his toes, trying to decide what candy he wants and Steve patiently says, “Get him one of each.” 

When they’re at the Tower and Bucky says, “I love this blanket,” while he snuggles into Pepper’s favorite throw and Steve says, “JARVIS? One in blue, please?” 

They get looks, and Bucky sometimes flushes when he sees the way people watching them, and it bothers Steve, makes him scoot closer, wrap an arm around his broad shoulders and squeeze until that flush and guilty embarrassment fades away and Bucky melts like sugar into his side. 

~*~ 

They’re out with Natasha when it happens. 

Steve’s been shopping with her often enough that he doesn’t even blink when she leads them into a high end lingerie store, just slides a glance at Bucky to make sure he’s ok. 

He’s got a look on his face, wide-eyed, mouth a little parted, a delicate flush rising in his cheeks. 

“Buck,” Steve says, concerned but Bucky’s already drifting away from him, fingers running over a pair of lace panties. 

It’s unbearably erotic, pale fingers against midnight blue lace, and Steve swallows hard. 

“It’s pretty,” Bucky breathes. 

Steve swallows and says, not real sure where it’s coming from, “You--you like this kinda stuff?” 

Bucky flushes, glances at him from under long dark lashes. “Yeah. I--it’s expensive, so I don’t got very much, just a teddy and a couple pair of panties for special occasions.” 

Steve stares at him, and then, so soft it’s barely a whisper, “Show me what you like.” 

Bucky blinks at him, big blue luminous and does as he’s told. 

Later, when he’s home and the image of Bucky’s long pianist fingers brushing reverently over lace and silk and satin is burned into his eyes, he makes an order. 

Two days later, Bucky sends him a picture, a broad chest wrapped in delicate silk the same deep blue as his stealth suit, a pair of boyshorts trimmed in white lace cupping a thick cock that makes his mouth water, and a simple thanks to caption it. 

It’s followed quickly by a text. Tell me how to say thanks properly? 

If he closes his eyes later, strokes himself to the image of Bucky wearing white lace and miles of pale skin, and eyes wide with gratitude and devotion--well. 

He keeps that thought and the spine-meltingly good orgasm to himself. 

~*~ 

It doesn’t mean anything. 

He’s still Bucky, and sometimes when Steve looks at him all he can think about is the little black lace panties he’s got on under those skin tight pants, but for the most part--he’s just Bucky. Beautiful and brilliant and everything Steve didn’t realize he was missing. 

And that’s all Bucky wants from him--just Steve. The friend. The guy who shows up and listens and hangs out when Bucky needs to get outside his head and quizzes him before a test. 

He doesn’t want--doesn’t need-- to be kept and cared for, he’s been taking care of his sisters since his dad died when he was sixteen, he’s completely capable of taking care of himself. 

They’re friends. 

It’s only--sometimes he wants to take care of Bucky. 

Sometimes, he wants more.

~*~ 

He’s sitting in the workshop and flicking through a few tablets he thinks Bucky’d like. “Add that, would you J? And send it over to him?” 

“Of course, Captain,” Jarvis says smoothly and he settles back into the couch, a book already open when Tony’s curious gaze makes him pause. There’s a smile curling at the corner of Tony’s lips, that too knowing gaze sharp and mischievous. 

“What?” he asks, a little self-conscious. 

“I never thought you’d be the one to get a sugar baby, is all. I mean--not gonna judge, I’ve had a few in my day, but--”

“What are you talking about?” Steve interrupts, his ears burning and his stomach twisting, and Tony stills. 

“Bucky bear. He’s your sugar baby. Can’t even blame you, Cap, the boy’s got a mouth made to fuck,” Tony laughs and Steve goes scarlet, flushed with rage and embarrassment, and something in Tony’s gaze softens, just a little. “Shit. J, would you--” 

The phone beeps in his hand, and he scrolls through the descriptions and definitions, the explanations and his fingers tremble, and he doesn’t know if it’s from shock or hungry want. 

~*~ 

It sits in his belly, a kernel of knowledge he doesn’t know what to do with, doesn’t really want, and it makes him anxious, makes him question when he goes to buy something, when he reaches for his card and Bucky smiles, all sweet and happy. 

When Bucky bumps his shoulder and says, “Gonna have to let me repay you sometime.” 

It’s that--Bucky’s familiar throwaway comment one night after they’re leaving a musical he’d been talking about for weeks, when Steve says, “You don’t have to, you know. It’s--I don’t know what Tony said, but it’s not like that.” He laughs, the sound rusted and awkward in his mouth, and Bucky is watching him, eyes big and curious and cautious. “It’s not like you’re my sugar baby.” 

Bucky blinks at him, and when he smiles, it’s smaller, somehow. 

~*~ 

Bucky stops answering his calls and when Steve shows up at work, he’s brusque and distant, almost cold, and it doesn’t make sense, it just--it burns in his chest, this place that’s empty and aching where Bucky should be and he knows that if Bucky is done, if he’s tired of this friendship that doesn’t give him nearly enough--he’s taking care of a seventy year old disaster, for fuck’s sake--that’s fine, that’s Bucky’s choice, that’s something Steve’s gotta respect. 

He does. 

He just--

“I miss you, Buck,” he says, earnest and Bucky stares at him wrapped up in a soft scarf and heavy coat and Steve can remember buying both, and he loves that even as angry as Bucky is, he’s still dressing himself in Steve’s clothes. 

“Fine,” Bucky says. “We can get lunch. But I’m buying.” 

~*~ 

It goes like this--

Things get better. 

But Bucky is prickly now, about Steve buying things for him, almost snapping when he reaches for the bill, when he sends over gifts, when he shows up with food and movies and coffee, and he doesn’t understand because it’s nothing different, this is what they’ve always done. 

It stings--a rejection he doesn’t understand or like. 

It comes to a head on a Saturday morning after Bucky’s semester ends, when he shows up at Bucky's apartment with bagels and coffee and a new handheld gaming system because Bucky worked hard, and he deserved it, even if he’d never get it for himself. 

Bucky stiffens when he sees Steve, laden with breakfast and a shiny red bag dangling from one finger and he pulls back, all stiff faced and closed off and Steve is tired . 

“Why won’t you let me spoil you,” he snaps and Bucky recoils. 

That isn’t--

That wasn’t what he meant to ask. 

“Buck--”

“You don’t want me,” Bucky snarls, the momentary paralysis bleeding away and leaving fury in it’s wake. “You said you don’t want a sugar baby. 

“I want you, ” Steve shouts back.”I wanna take care fo you and spoil you and you won’t let me.” 

“Well, I wanna suck your cock and call you daddy, so I guess neither of us is getting what we want,” Bucky sasses back because he’s a brat and he’s beautiful and he’s everything Steve didn’t know he wanted. 

He drops the coffee and the bagels, the stupid little toy his baby will coo over later, and Bucky makes a startled noise as coffee spills across hardwood, and then Steve is kissing him, licking into his mouth while Bucky is clinging to him and whining, hot and sweet and sucking on his tongue. 

Maybe, Steve thinks, before Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders and levers himself up , maybe they both get exactly what they want. 

~*~ 

Bucky looks beautiful in the pretty panties Steve bought him, sprawled across his silky sheets Steve gave him. 

He looks even better naked and sucking cock, and when he can think again, all he can say is, “Tony was right--you’ve got a mouth made to fuck, baby,” 

[beyoncesdragon]

The disappointing Gender

Pairing:  Bestfriend!Ashton x Reader   

Warnings: shit ton of cursing, dont worry I love men, but women are just easier at times. Based on a real story, that shit really happened to me. 

Summary: Some men are just straight up trash. And what’s better than to vent about them to your willingly listening best friend Ashton. 

My Masterlist 🦋

(Gif credits: @ghostofmashton​)

“I don’t know exactly what goes through your mind when deciding to finally peel your limp body out of your comfy sheets, go through the usually long, self-esteem-damaging process of “getting ready”, find an outfit you would feel comfortable but not underdressed in and then leave for a party. Let me be honest, I mostly think: at least let it be worth all this. And then maybe something like; maybe I’ll meet someone. “Someone” carefully and fully on purpose undefined because you don’t want to get your hopes up and then be disappointed. But “someone” secretly being a guy, optionally a boyfriend even, but just maybe.

“However, now you are at that party, ready to meet new people and you take a look around. You see many people; some you think are pretty in your eyes some aren’t. But that’s okay, that’s only natural. So then after a time, when you have met a few girls you get along with, you spot the “someone”. And your friends somehow knew about him and all that bullshit and tell you the teeniest bit of bloody information alright? And he, on top of that, seems to be interested, keep that in mind.”

I stopped for a second, taking a gulp of my water. The few ice cubes clicked softly against the glass when I placed it back down.

“Alright. Now, you chat with him, all friendly funny business, you develop a sort of insider joke. It’s funny and you think wow, it isn’t all that difficult to talk to boys, amazing. Eventually, you also had a few, and I don’t want to say advantageously but it does help.”

A giggle fell from my bestfriends lips, but I decided to just keep going. “I will again be honest, I was a bit…inebriated if I may say so and if you would want to take me as an example. However, maybe you flirt for a while, and it really all goes well, so well that you would’ve started to become suspicious, since it was you after all. Continuing, because you’re bloody sloshed, you don’t suspect anything, even though if you would’ve just listened closely you could’ve totally heard fate snigger.”

I earned an amused hum from Ashton for that, picking up my glass again. “Further on, one of your new friends disappears with a guy and it’s okay for you but not for her friend whom you also are friends with now. That, because the other girl actually does have a guy eventually. But she isn’t sure. So you go get her, and you sit down with the girls outside to have a chat. Because it’s important that she still has a good night and so on. During that amount of time, you selflessly neglect your guy. Not that he is your guy in reality, but you secretly might have planned on making him your guy.” After a big gulp I placed my glass back down again, the ice now almost completely molten.

“Suddenly, that bloke walks out, raising a single hand at you as an obvious goodbye. And you sit here, startled and a bit dumbfounded because what the fuck is he leaving already. Quick note; it was hardly midnight, the clock stroke twelve maybe two minutes ago. So you get up, approach him and ask, why in the love of Jesus effing Christ he’s leaving already. His response; well. He hasn’t been blessed with the best of experience with women.”

And annoyed frown settled on my face. “I mean what kind of excuse is that? I haven’t only met them good guys either, but do you see me acting like an antisocial scaredy-cat? Nope sir, because I am not that superficial, and you shouldn’t be as well because I am not “women”. Also, have I mentioned that my friends told me, that he was total slag, like a fuckboy freshly bred. Best experience with women my fucking ass. However, back to my example; you then are still a bit startled because he slips that he has been cheated on and all that godforsaken crap. And in your woozy, naturally kind-hearted state you are in, you do feel sorry and possibly even apologise for being so bold. Also, because you don’t want him to think bad of you, he is very attractive after all and you have not given up your hopes just yet.”

A grin had now settled on Ash’s lips, as he leaned back with his drink, the attention still fully with me. “Then he says something like; but it was nice to meet you, and asks you to say your name again, and you do so. Naturally you do ask him the same thing…and you may have forgotten the name already.” I added with a frown, desperately trying to remember. “Something with F and it sounded French or such. Don’t know, not important anyways. Just like his existence.”

At that, Ashton laughed out loud, but wisely keeping quiet. “Yeah you just laugh…however, he then throws that horrid line; we’ll see each other again yeah?

At you, and you might think cool. But how for the love of fuck, since you don’t have anything except for a name. So the thing you do then is, you scrap all of your…I don’t know confidence from off the bottom of your rotten self and ask, if he wants to at least give you his snapchat.” Ash let out a whistle but I waved him off.

“I’m not done yet. So you ask. And he just ignores your question somehow, can’t really remember how. The whole time he’s walking away from you backwards, I guess towards the busstation and you have to follow him like damn mongrel…however. You end up leaving it be and sprinting back to your friends telling them what happened. Because they “know” him, they know his Instagram, so you decide to follow him. But he is on private so you got to send a request. Done with a few clicks, in approximately ten seconds. So now he is gone, you feel disappointment bubbling up, because fuck.”

Ash nodded slowly, looking up at me since I got up impatiently from his couch. “Sounds fun?” he said in a more or less questioning manner and I shot him a dark look.

“Buzz off twat, the best part’s only coming.” Ash rose an eyebrow, leaning back expectantly again. “Next morning you go and check your Instagram, somehow curious if he accepted your request and what do you see? He fucking declined it! This bloody wanker skipped my music, stole my attention and wasted my fucking time, four hours of it!” Ashton broke out in a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his drink.

“Comedy at its finest, certificated gold. Platinum even. Oh Jesus Christ. And that all has obviously not happened to you, you just purposely told it like it did right?” I huffed annoyed, dropping down again. “Never, as if stuff like this would ever happen to me. I mean, I totally understand mankind, it’s just that you can’t fucking use any of them.” Ash giggled, a dopey grin on his face.

“Come again?” I rolled my eyes. “I said, that you can’t fucking use any of you gentlemen. Men are so disappointing, like get a grip on yourselves honestly.” Ash grinned, nudging me with his foot. “Haven’t you just said that he should stop being superficial because of one woman?” he teased and I gave him an angry glare.

“Cheating and just generally being international disappointments is something else. I slowly start to believe that you guys are just born with that twat-gene. It’s almost not your fault. It’s probably the Y-chromosome, would explain why women aren’t like you guys.” Ash shot me an amused grin.

“I don’t know if I would surprise you saying that the explanation why men and women aren’t the same accurately is rooted in our genes. To be specific, it’s even a matter of just those two chromosome, the X-chromosome and the Y-chromosome…” I groaned annoyed, aiming a pillow at his head. I missed, but the message was clear.

“Smart-alecky dimwit, get off my back. I need emotional support, because member belonging to your sex has wasted my time and, in addition to that, ruined your all’s reputation.” Ash just hummed amused.

“Is that so.” I nodded, pouting bolshie. “Then I suggest, you listen to Ariana Grande’s Thank u Next and some Beyoncé, maybe also Rihanna. They’ll support your idea of men being trash immediately I am sure.” I flipped him off immediately, even though he had brought up a good point.

“I am kidding sweetheart. I know men can be idiots, but so can you females.” I couldn’t help but throw him a derisive look “Yes, males and females can be difficult at times.” I mocked him and he just shot me a lopsided grin. “Now you get off my back, annoying brat. But you are over him?” I shrugged.

“I mean, I was never actively involved with him, so I guess?” he nodded softly. “Venting felt good?” I nodded quickly. “Always does. Thanks bud.” He smiled warmly at me. “Everything for my best friend. Mind if I quickly call Kaitlin…” as he saw my face he immediately rolled his eyes. “Oh your little girlfriend huh? Young Irwin’s a little whipped?” giving me the finger he got up and grabbed his phone. “Shut up. I’m right back you bitter prick.”

I laughed sitting up again. “I am not bitter, I am happy for you Ash. Furthermore, I don’t have any problems with taken people or relationships. The problems I have, start when selfish and inconsiderate assholes rub in the fact that they have someone, and start gushing about them. When I, as an admittedly slowly bitter, but independent single person, couldn’t give a shit or two.” Ash grinned at me, shaking his head slightly. “I love you, you madwoman. Also, I am sure you’ll find your guy and we can do all those disgustingly cute things best friends do when they both are in relationships.”

I scrunched my nose. “Like what? Double-dates? In this case, I’d rather stay single Irwin, and now get lost you need to call your babygirl or whatever. Our ice cream is melting and our friends-day is not over yet. So you better hurry your red-dyed, slicked back visage up.” I responded harshly but with a loving lilt to it.

“On my way, woman. Love you, don’t eat my ice cream.” I just huffed, waving him off quickly. “Love you too, you ashy bitch.” I then almost choked on my water when I saw his expression at my words. He grinned and shook his head, pressing his phone against his ear.  

[andcontemplation]

I saw your pic of Winona and Helena and I was wondering if you could do a short ficlet of maybe young Joyce discussing her fling/friendzone/love with Hop with her older sister cause hell she's desperate about it

Like the sister could ask her out, give advice, tease her about it, they could talk about each other's experiences or Joyce could even ask her for advice cause she's afraid to fuck things up if it gets physical

I'm not a writer so I'm leaving all my ideas here, I'd love if you wrote this but don't worry if you're too busy or sth

Dear Anon -- I don’t normally take many fic requests because I’m such a slow writer, but this one just sprouted fully formed from my brain the moment I read your ask! It still took me a few days to get after since life got busy for me. It also turned out to be about 1400+ words so I’ve pasted below under the cut. I’ll be uploading it to Ao3 soon too when I get a chance :) I’d be happy to dedicate it to you if you feel comfortable dm-ing me your username on Ao3. Thank you for sending it along!

"Hey, you! What's wrong?"

Joyce nearly jumped out of her skin at the disembodied voice that called out from the empty bedroom -- or at least, the bedroom she thought was empty. She turned on a dime, clutching for her heart. Joyce might’ve been sixteen going on seventeen, but she was far too young for a heart attack.

"Jesus!" She gasped at the familiar figure sitting at the edge of the bed. "I didn't know you were home."

"Ma didn't tell you I was coming home for Thanksgiving?" Stella stopped unpacking the small duffle at her feet and raised an eyebrow at her sister.

Joyce sighed and leaned against the doorframe.

"Ma's not even here! She went to Chicago this morning with her new beau."

"Color me surprised," Stella deadpanned, throwing the pair of socks down on the bed in disgust. "Which one? Tom?"

Joyce shook her head.

"Randy. Tom was married."

Stella rolled her eyes and reached for another handful of clothes.

"Of course he was," she snapped. "How does she keep falling for that same old line?"

Joyce only shrugged and toed the door jamb, waiting for her sister to invite her into her room.

They hadn't seen much of each other since Stella ran off at sixteen to live with her boyfriend in Philadelphia, almost two years previous, and as the months and then the years passed by, Joyce felt more and more distant from the sister she grew up with. It was beginning to feel like eons had passed since they would spend all their days together, playing dolls and dress-up in that exact bedroom, performing plays for the neighborhood kids in the backyard or riding their bikes downtown to go try on perfume and makeup at the five and dime.

Joyce was still a little miffed at Stella for running off and leaving her behind with their mother and not taking Joyce with her when she left. It didn't seem fair that she had to stay when she was the baby -- the baby with the most responsibility -- the one who ended up making sure Ma didn't go completely off the rails, dependent on the bottle again or running off with a third husband. The resentment Joyce still carried always made her forget just how much she missed having her big sister around and how much she still needed her.

Stella looked up from her duffle bag and saw Joyce standing there, looking at her with big, red-rimmed eyes.

"Sorry Ma skipped town. I'm glad you're home," Joyce said, meaning it.

Stella's frown melted, and she dropped the clothes in a heap, patting the bed beside her.

"I am too. Now tell me what's wrong."

Joyce sighed deeply.

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"Boys?" Stella asked with a knowing grin.

Joyce sighed again, and her eyes fluttered up to the ceiling, embarrassed at the degree of stupidity she was feeling that very moment. She willed herself not to cry over him.

Stella pushed Joyce's bangs out of her eyes and off her cheeks, where they stuck to pale skin, and gave her little sister a look. But instead of imbibing confidence, it just made Joyce want to cry more.

She made a face and sucked in a breath before letting it all out.

"Karen and I saw Hop behind the bleachers with one of the cheerleaders today at lunch."

Stella's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh. Which cheerleader?"

"Chrissy Carpenter. That bottle blonde bubble-headed... bimbo!"

Joyce glared out the window and across the street at the edge of Hopper's front lawn, the only piece of his house she could see from that angle.

Stella choked back a giggle when she noticed how intensely Joyce was staring.

"Woah. That's some serious alliteration."

"Yeah, well," Joyce grumbled and shrugged. "I'm upset."

Stella went back to emptying out the rest of her bag, but not before throwing her sister a loving look.

"I can see that. But I thought you and Jimmy were just friends?"  

"We are!" Joyce finally dragged her eyes off his house and pouted at Stella before trailing off. "It's just that…"

"Oh come on," Stella said and ruffled Joyce's bangs. "You know you can tell me!"

There was another eye roll from Joyce.

"I just thought that something had changed between us this year. Maybe... Oh, I don't know anymore."

Then she clammed up.

Stella walked over to the window, took out a pack of Slims, and lit one up before opening the window a crack.

"Know what? Spit it out, sis!"

Joyce couldn't look at her older, prettier, more elegant sister, sitting there smoking at the windowsill like some french model who could have any man she wanted -- wrapped around her little finger. Joyce wished she could only look so mod and in charge.

Instead, she felt pathetic for pining after the boy across the street.

"Well," she started, flopping back on the bed, finding it easier to confess without having to worry about seeing the look of judgment cross Stella's face. "He'd been acting weird since we went camping this last summer. Then I realized by the second week of September that he was over here almost every night. At first, he said he needed help with his schoolwork because he really wanted to graduate, and since we're in all the same classes, it made sense, right? But by October, he was coming over for the dumbest reasons, and then I started to think he was gonna ask me to the homecoming dance. Like, I was so sure he was gonna do it. A few times, actually. But it was like he chickened out or something."

Stella held up a hand to pause Joyce there, even though Joyce couldn't see it.

"Waitaminute. Didn't you say on our last phone call that Lonnie Byers asked you out that night?"

"Yep, and what a date that was." Joyce rolled her head to the side and looked at her sister with a scowl.

Stella smirked, tapping the end of the cigarette out over the eaves.

"I warned you about him."

"Yeah yeah, I know: 'Lonnie Byers is scum.' But I'm pretty sure we're talking about Hop here?"

"Pardonne Moi! Please... continue."

"So, he seemed a bit distant after homecoming, but he'd still come over to study sometimes, and I'd catch him staring at me. It almost looked like he wanted to kiss me or something. And one day during gym, he told me I looked pretty when I knew for a fact I was a sweaty, frizzy mess. I guess it got in my head because I started to think, well maybe I want him to kiss me. And maybe I like him too? I was gonna tell him this weekend. I had it all planned out. But then he runs off and swaps spit with Chrissy, and now here I am, crying over a dumb boy. Stupid, stupid me."

Stella put the last bit of the cigarette out and moved back to the bed, pushing Joyce's legs out of the way.

"Not stupid," she said. "Just young and in love."

Joyce sat up on her elbows, nose turned up in protest.

"Gross. I am not!"

"You are." Stella chuckled.

Joyce frowned as she slowly realized her sister was right and succumbed to her lovesick fate.

"I am, aren't I?"

"'Fraid so, my dear."

"Cripes -- this sucks!”

"Oh, don't worry." Stella smiled. "I know just the thing to fix a broken heart! Ma might not be around but we can still have fun. What’s say we stay up late, paint our nails, eat our way through an entire tub of ice cream and I can give you some pointers for when you find yourself a real man. You'll be over that silly Hopper boy in no time."

"But what if I don't want to be over him?" Joyce whined, feeling sick for even thinking it let alone admitting it out loud. He was her best friend, since before they could walk, and those feelings had remained strictly platonic but lately, she couldn't imagine being without him, let alone sharing him with anyone else. Especially bottle blonde bubble-headed bimbos.

Stella held her hand out to Joyce and helped her sit up.

"Trust me, sis. It's for the best. Boys like Jim and Lonnie will ruin you for life. You belong with someone sweet and kind, who won't rush you before you're ready…"

Joyce scoffed.

"Boys like that don't exist!"

"Sure, they do!" Stella nodded. Then she had an idea. "Say -- isn't there a Sadie Hawkins soon?"

"Yeah, the Snowball," Joyce said, cluing in, trying not to look too excited. "You think I should ask Hop?"

"No!" Stella sighed. "I'm saying you should ask a nice boy to go with you."

"A what?"

"Think of the nicest, and well... let’s say the nerdiest guy in your class, and ask him to the Snowball. Not Lonnie or Hop! No more bad boys who play ping-pong with your heart."

"No, no way!" Joyce shook her head and dove headfirst into the pillows. "I am not asking Bob the Brain!"

Stella threw her hands up in the air.

"Fine, be miserable and alone forever then. See if I care!"

"Fine!" Joyce shouted, muffled by the pillows before dissolving into a fit of giggles as her sister beat her over the head with another frilly embroidered pillow.

"I'm glad you're home," Joyce said when she caught her breath.

"Me too, sis," Stella said. "Me too."

[ee-laugh]

𝑬𝑪𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑪 | 𝑷𝑱𝑴

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: ɪᴄᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

Trust.

It's a big word.

You know what else is big? Your husband's dick.

But that doesn't mean you'd trust him, right?

Of course not.

But you do. You trust your husband. Not because he has a big dick or something, but because you love him too much. You were in too deep, which meant you'd do anything to gain back his trust.

Be it running errands for him, or just simply staying away from your step brother, jungkook.

-

You were naked in bed when the first rays of sunshine hit your face. You squinted your eyes to adjust to the dim brightness of the room.

There, peacefully sleeping beside you was the light of your life. Your husband.

You could almost chuckle at how soft his features looked in his sleep. Nobody would ever believe the positions he tried on you last night, if they saw him snoring like a baby.

You were still sore from last night's activities. Your lower abdomen throbbed with pain and you tried to soothe it with your warm fingers. But to no use.

You dragged yourself to the bathroom and brushed your teeth. You felt like throwing up.

Could it be..? No.

You put a hand over your mouth as the strange thought crossed your mind. Jimin didn't get you pregnant, did he?

So you decided to take a pregnancy test, while you tried to remember if you guys used protection last night. Well, jimin was busy finding something in the left drawer.

The results were negative.

You sighed, placing a hand over your heart. You felt stupid for thinking he'd do something like that. When you got out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, your husband was awake.

His eyes roamed around till he found your frame leaning against the bathroom door. He smirked, his eyes visibly darkening by the second.

"Yeobo.." You sucked in a breath as his raspy voice echoed in the bedroom.

You clenched your thighs together as you could feel the liquid warmth beginning to build between your legs.

Just his gaze on you was enough for sweat to pour out on your tanned skin, even with the AC on full blast.

"Jimin.."

You surprised yourself with the tone of your voice, which sounded desperate even to your own ears.

"You're getting late for work."

He sighed, considering the fact that you were right. He got up and put on his night shirt, meanwhile you took out his work clothes for him.

-

The sky was slowly fading into a mush of dim colours.

You took a kitten lick of your vanilla cone ice cream, that threatened to melt away in your warm hands.

You were feeling extra lively today, like the weather had infused a new buzz into you, a new life.

You sighed. The pregnancy test. Now of course you were glad you weren't pregnant yet. You were too young for that. And were still trying to pursue a career in fashion.

But something about having jimin's kids made your insides clench warmly. The possibility of you carrying his baby one day made your heart soar.

You didn't realize your ice cream had disappeared until someone patted on your shoulder.

You turned around.

"Seems like someone's in a great mood today."

"Kook.."

He grinned.

You looked down at his feet.

"My ice cream. Fuck."

You bent down to somehow fix his ice-cream-damaged-shoes with the small tissue paper in your hand.

"Yes, baby girl. Fuck."

You caught his wide smirk and rolled your eyes to the back of your head. You got up and kicked him in the shin.

"Ow! Y'know it hurts noona."

"Uh huh?"

You cooed at the cute frown on his face.

"And you haven't been picking up my calls lately. What's the matter?"

"You were disturbing me at work."

"So can we get a coffee maybe? It's been long since we hung out."

"Y'know what? I'd rather not. I.."

You looked guiltily at his face for a while.

"I have other plans."

"Oh, is Mr Park taking you out somewhere?" He smirked while elbowing you.

"Y-yeah. And stop calling him that."

"Can I at least drop you home?"

His provocative pout was back.

You rolled your eyes.

"Fine."

-

You entered your home carefully, tiptoeing while looking around.

"Phew." You heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn't home.

You sat on the couch with a glass of water, that felt chilled against your tongue, giving you goose bumps.

"Shit. I need warm water." You whined, beginning to get up.

"May I get it for you?"

You stilled.

Then turned around in haste.

Jimin was smiling at you with that classic crooked smile of his, charming as ever.

You thought you'd lost your tongue with the way he was gazing at you.

Seducer.

"S-sure." You managed to get your tongue to use.

You watched his back as he disappeared in the kitchen. He was still wearing the maroon shirt you picked out for him this morning.

"Here you go."

He returned. With the glass of water as he promised.

And a glass of wine for himself.

"My eyes are up here, sweetie."

Your cheeks reddened as you removed your eyes from his shirt. It fit him perfectly.

"I know."

You took a long sip of the warm water, emptying the contents of the glass into your parched mouth.

"So.." Jimin started, swinging the wine in his hand.

"I heard you met jungkook today."

[fuck-customers]

So this is gonna be a few stories, sorry in advance if this turns out to be a longer post! (Especially since I can’t figure out how to add a Read More thing…)

Tw for yelling and a couple customers getting a little aggressive.

I work in the Cost-mo food court. People can order at the counter, or if they have a card, they can order at the kiosk and their order prints at the counter for us to make, then call their number. They also get a number if they order a whole pizza. Not if they order at the counter. I have so many customers who don’t hear their number being called, then get upset at us over it, or customers that walk away when I’m working at the register and I say “Wait here a moment while I get your food.” They also get upset when I don’t call their “number” which they usually end up thinking is the store number printed on the reciept…

Usually when I call someone’s number, I start out quiet in case they actually stayed nearby, then I get louder and louder until I’m practically screaming, then I think “fuck this” and put it in the warmer. One lady comes up and is instantly pissed off saying “Excuse me! I was told my pizza would take twenty minutes, I want to know what is happening in your kitchen that would cause this kind of delay!” So I ask her what her number is, she shows me, and I grab her pizza out of her warmer and say, “Oh! It looks like your number was called already, sorry about that wait! :)” Then this lady rips the pizza out of my hands and yells, “You should have called louder!” Like yes… I could have if I wanted to destroy my lungs. Have a shit day.

One thing that really bugs me is that we have an extremely short menu. There’s legit like 10 items on there. Please have your order ready when you get to the register, something I’m sure a lot of food service workers can agree with.

I had one guy order a strawberry sundae. They’re big for their price, like everything in my food court, and also weighted so we’re not losing money or something if we put way too much ice cream in. There’s also a pretty good amount of strawberries on there.

He takes his sundae and I tell him to have a great day thinking that’s the end of it. He comes back later with his ice cream mostly gone and melted, and cuts in line. I tell him I’d be with him in a minute and address the couple standing behind him. The girl just waved her hand and said I could deal with him first so I nod and ask what I can do for him.

He asks for more strawberries. I can’t do that because he took the item already and ate most of it. I’m pretty sure that’s a health code violation or contamination or something to modify food that a customer has already taken out. I tell him that I can’t do that and he says, “Well obviously I’ll pay for them, just charge me for extra strawberries!”

So I tell him I can’t do that because there is no way for me to charge for just the strawberries, I have a few buttons on my register and they’re all for full items. I tell him the only way I can give him more strawberries is for him to order another sundae. Even after explaining reasons why I can’t give him more strawberries on his already eaten sundae, he keeps arguing. Saying “I don’t want another sundae, I just want the strawberries! I told you, I’d pay for them!”

It just went back and forth, me trying to stay calm and keep my customer service smile on my face which is looking more like a grimace at this point, and him saying the same thing over and over until he finally got it through his dumb head that he wasn’t gonna get more strawberries. So he screams “Fine!!! Just fucking throw it away!” and slams his melted ice cream down. Luckily it didn’t make too much of a mess. So I just say “Okay, have a nice day!” and throw it away while he stomps off.

The couple behind him were angels and complained about him with me while I got their food.

Final story. Superbowl is the busiest day of the year for us and our pizza wait times can get to almost two hours because of it. Our average wait time is 10-15 minutes. We had people order so many hot dogs that we couldn’t keep up on keeping cooked ones ready, our lines were curled around the wall and we had people screaming at us about their pizza orders. We make sure people know the wait time before we ring them up and the pizzas were coming out on time. We were pulling them out of the ovens as fast as we physically could and even had some managers from the other departments helping us.

but of course Mister Crusty comes in. You guessed it, a crusty old white man. He immediately starts screaming at my coworker, who is one of the sweetest ladies you’d meet. She’s not taking his shit though. She keeps her head level and deals with him as nicely as possible. He’s freaking out because “I’ve lived here for 12 years!!! How come your pizza times haven’t improved? Every superbowl is the same, it’s always a huge crowd out here and no one is ever organized I’m waiting hours for my one pizza! Where’s your manager?”

We had several with us right now, take your damn pick. So one of our managers goes up and tries to explain “Sir, we’re doing orders in the order they’re placed. I’m sorry about the wait, but you were told what time your pizza would be ready and our cashiers make sure you’re okay with this before ringing you up.” That of course wasn’t good enough for Mister Crusty. He continues screaming about the injustice and wants his pizza right then and there. The manager checks where his order is and says “There are still five more pizzas ahead of yours. It’ll be a few more minutes.” and isn’t budging.

Finally, just to make him go away, they had to take up one of our two registers to give him a damn refund and we had to give him his pizza for free. Like wow, do you do this every year? Our pizza wait times don’t improve because we can only fit so much in our oven and if you want a pizza to be cooked right you will fucking wait.

Tl;dr One lady rips her pizza out of my hands when she doesn’t hear her order number and blames me for her waiting after I called her several times.

One dude freaks out that I can’t give him some extra strawberries.

One guy got a free pizza for being a big ol crusty bastard on the busiest day of the year for us.

[thiswasinevitableid]

What about #1 with induck? :3

I decided to make this part of three of “oh no I called the hero and I like him” and “where’s the hero when I need a hug.” But you can also read it as a stand alone.

1: How to make a plot villainous enough to attract they attention but tame enough they won’t get hurt 

Indrid stares at the screens, flipping between images and notes, dismissing them one after another. 

The scheme needs to hit just the right balance. 

It’s been a month and a half since The Green Knight, alias Duck Newton, snuck into his hideout to comfort him after his body and mind betrayed him by making him sad.

They’ve spoken not a word about it to each other. And Duck has once again reverted to only fighting Indrid with another member of the Pine Guard present. Duck kissed his forehead when he left that night, Indrid would bet his entire fortune on it. But Duck won’t even banter with him during battles. 

He’ll barely even look at him.

Does he revile Indrid so greatly that any affection between them must be made up for by a double measure of disinterest and mild disgust?

Indrid has thrown everything he can think of at him; if Duck sees him as a villain, then he will be a villain. He will fight, he will scheme, he will swear revenge. No matter how often he thinks of the way Duck fit against him, a puzzle piece in strange picture of this life. How his fingers itch to call him each night.

Even as he runs through his inner monologue he knows he's oversimplifying the matter.

You see, it’s not strictly true Duck hasn’t spoken to him. There have been no face to face talks or phone calls, that is a fact. But if one were to look at Indrid’s personal phone, one would find a text chain that is mainly images. Birds, trees, sunsets, a cat. 

The most he gets for context is:

Thought you might like this

Made me think of you. Don’t know why.

And, on the ones of moths

Look, it’s a cousin. 

And an even more recent one of an ice cream cone

Tried that Gelato place you liked. You’re right, it’s fucking baller.

Indrid replied blue moon, excellent choice.

He did not add that the flavor is mellow, sweet, and a bit strange, just like the man himself. 

He’d considered orchestrating a run-in at that shop, since Aubrey Little’s Instagram suggests Duck has been going there often with his friends. But Indrid has no doubt Mrs. Nyguen would ban him if he started a fight in her shop. 

Instead, he’s narrowed down his plot options to two: an art heist, or breaking into the mayor’s mansion. 

He has had his eye on that one Gauguin….

------------------------------

Indrid limbers up in the entryway of the museum. Between his powers and technological abilities, the main security was easy to disable. And there is a route to the post-impressionist gallery that will keep him clear of the more heavily secured rooms.

He pads across the tiles to the entrance of the traveling Monet exhibit. 

And sticks his foot into the path of the motion sensor he knows is there, setting off an alarm. 

He continues forward, setting off more alarms as he goes. Its when he’s in the modernist exhibit that the wisps of unease floating through his system coalesce into a form.

No security guards have appeared. He planned to disarm them and knock them out, and they should be here by now.

A glimpse at the futures gives him just enough time to turn and see a shape stepping into the arched doorway behind him.

“I was wondering if you’d turn up.” A clipped, cold voice muses as the figure produces a small remote, clicking it once to shut off the alarms. He recognizes the reflective white glasses when the figure grins at him. 

“The Flame. I, it can’t be, how did I-”

“Not see me coming? I don’t know, little brother. But at a guess it’s because you’ve lost your touch. Which would be of little concern to me, had your carelessness not just alerted our enemies to our presence here. So I will be need to be certain you cannot cause such issues in the future. Not to mention, one fewer villain in the city means one less person to stop me from taking  total control of the underworld.”

Indrid narrowly avoids a blast of white light, diving into the annex to his right. He doesn’t retaliate, activates his wings and shoots straight up through the skylight instead.

He’s not ready to fight the Flame. He’s never been ready. Not when they were children, training together. Not when they were sparring partners. Not when he’d finally had enough, when he saw just how much The Flame enjoyed hurting people. 

That’s why he ran from him in the first place. 

Landing on the roof, he considers his escape routes. Where is his nearest hideout, where is is his defensive equipment, where-

A small, clear orb hits the toe of his shoe. Even as he throws his arms around his eyes, he knows it won’t be enough. The light is blinding, bleaching his eyes as he crumples to the bricks beneath him. The next phase of the disorienter kicks in, high pitched tones drowning out his ability to hear anything, save for The Flame’s voice.

“You’ve become such a disappointment, little brother. First you abandon the life we trained for, your constitution too weak to handle the realities of our profession.”

“You, you speak as though I haven’t spent the last several years a prominent villain in my own right.”

“You’ve thrown in with some two-bit thieves and blackmailers, perhaps an eco-terrorist or an anarchist superhero when the mood struck. And you’re soft. The Indrid I knew would never hesitate to kill his rival by any means necessary. You’ve spared the Green Knight so many times I lost count.”

“You spied on me.”

“Of course. I, unlike some people, know how to scope the hero/villain layout of a town before making my debut. Good god, brother, you must have used your powers to determine your enemy’s name and true identity by now.”

“What I do with my powers is no business of yours.” He kicks a leg out in the direction of The Flame’s voice. The fear flooding his mind, scanning the futures for escape, means he fails to see the weapon before it connects with his shoulders. 

The scream of pain as electricity courses through him goes unheeded. The Flame does it a second time, and Indrid collapses, limp, on the ground. 

“Goodbye, little brother. So nice of you to lend my grand entrance into the city’s awareness an extra victim.”

Indrid loses consciousness to the sound of sparks. 

---------------------------------------------

“Ned, can you get us closer?” Aubrey yells from her position on the wing of the hovercraft, “I need to be more in a closer range to control something this big!”

“I will do my best, but if the wings begin melting I reserve the right to get us the hell out of here!”

“There any way I can help, Lady Flame?” Duck leans over the passenger side of the craft, looking down at the blazing rooftop for the origin of the fire. 

“Grab me if I lose my balance?”

“Will do--oh, fuck! There’s someone down there. Aubrey, can you clear me a patch, right there, so I can jump down?”

“I can” the first half of the fire dies out when Aubrey makes a fist, “but that roof can’t be stable at this point.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Aubrey circles his arm twice, and a landing pad appears around the figure. He leaps from the craft, hits his mark right by the body’s feet. The smoke is still thick, even with Aubrey’s intervention, so he squints as he gathers the figure into his arms. 

“Don’t worry, we’re getting you out of here--ah! Oh come the fuck on!” He yells to no one in particular as the roof gives out beneath him. 

Landing on his knees, he’s relieved to find the fire never made it inside , though smoke did. In the flickering orange and spinning red and blue from the nearby emergency vehicles, he shifts the body in his arms, looks down with clear eyes for the first time. 

“.....Indrid?”

Nothing.

Indrid’s chest is corpse-cold in spite of the fire when Duck puts his ear against it. There’s a heartbeat there, a faint flutter that’s the most beautiful noise to ever grace his ears. 

Duck turns to the portraits on the walls, “what the fuck do I do now?”

-----------------------

The first thought in Indrid’s mind is: pine?

As he noses the soft pillowcase, still half-dreaming of coastal woods and a campfire, his eyes blink open. 

The room is dark, unfamiliar. Thick curtains cover the windows, thicker blankets coat the bed in which he’s laying. 

Cautiously, he pushes the covers aside and eases his feet onto the ground. His glasses are waiting for him on the bedside table, and his reflection in the closet mirror shows his thin frame covered in black sweatpants and a large shirt that reads “Devils Lake State Park.”

Hell has a sense of humor, it seems. A sense of humor and a very rustic decorating style. 

He opens the bedroom door, poking his head out into the dark hallway. Moves slowly, half from the stiffness between his shoulder blades from where The Flame hit him, and half from apprehension of what’s at the other end of the hall. 

The answer turns out to be anticlimactic; a living room, with a kitchen off to one side. 

Maybe the flames and sulfur are waiting for him outside the front door.

Or maybe he’s not dead, maybe someone rescued him. 

No, that second option is ridiculous. 

“Mew?”

“AH!” He jumps as a black, scruffy cat bumps into his shin. 

“H-hello there, little friend, do you happen to know where I am?”

“Mew.” The cat hops onto the back of a nearby chair, and he pets it hesitantly. 

“My, you’re soft. Soft and familiar. Where have I seen you bef-, oh, oh my, it can’t be. He wouldn’t.”

The front door opens and Indrid grabs the cat protectively, spinning to face whatever comes through it. 

“Mornin.”

“It, it is your house.” Indrid stares at Duck, the cat wiggling free of his hold and bounding over to greet her owner.

“Uh, yeah.” Duck slips off his canvas sneakers, grocery bags slipping on his arms as he bends to pet the cat, “where else would it be?”

Indrid looks at the room around him more carefully; the poster for the Monongahela forest, photos on a shelf showing Duck with family and friends, the ranger had hung by the front door. 

“In retrospect, it was a tad obvious. But in my defense, I assumed I was dead and in hell.”

“Geez, my decoratin ain’t that bad.”

“Nono, I’m sorry, I mean-” he stops when a grin cracks Duck’s face, and is managing a smile in return when his back spasms and he grips the chair to keep from falling.

“Shit, you okay?” Duck sets the bags down and hurries over to him. 

“Yes. I, the weapon the Flame used, the side effects can be felt for over a week. It also scrambles the futures in my mind for several days, which tends to make me dizzy.”

“Fuck, that sucks. Uh, I got some Tylenol and other medicine and shit while I was out, wasn’t sure what you’d need, and, uh, don’t usually have it in the house on account of bein super tough. You should probably eat before you take anythin though.”

“Yes, good idea. I, uh, I don’t want to impose, I, I can get something on my way home.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh.” Duck scratches his arm, ashamed, “no, you can’t. You ain’t in any shape to travel, or to be on your own for longer than a few hours. I brought you here so I could look after you somewhere safe, where whoever hurt you couldn’t find you.”

“That’s very kind, Duck, but all the same I should go back to my hideout.”

“Also you’re under house arrest.”

“Excuse me?!” Indrid leaps up, then immediately sits back down, dizzy. 

“Look, when the police saw who I rescued, they kept clamorin for me to turn you over, or to send you to a hospital who would do the same as soon as you opened your eyes. I just...couldn’t do it. So Ned talked ‘em into a deal. You’d stay under house arrest with the Pine Guard, and we’d look after you while also makin sure you couldn’t start nothin.”

“So I’m going to live here. With you.” Indrid tries to sound resigned instead of excited.

“Yep. But, uh, if you need a break or change of scene, or we ain’t gettin along, even though it sees like we been doin a better job of that lately, you can stay with someone else. Aubrey’s place has a real nice garden, and Mama’s is real fortified and cozy-”

“Duck, I want to stay here. I am sure the others are lovely once you get to know them but, well, I trust you. I, you have seen me in vulnerable moments and did not harm me. You didn’t even mock me. I feel safe with you. Also, your cat likes me.” He points to where said cat is now kneading his leg, purring happily. 

“That is a point in your favor. Here, I’m gonna go put away groceries and get some pizza bagels heatin up. You just take it easy right here, okay?”

“I can manage that. But, before you do, please answer me one thing?”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you stop fighting me one on one?”

Duck sighs, sitting down so the cat is between them, “I wish I could say it was some strategy or because I wanted to be better at keepin the city safe. Real reason is, I was gettin fonder and fonder of you. I didn’t know what I’d do if we were alone, and not knowin scared the fuck out of me.”

“I see. Was it so alarming to feel affection for me?”

“Wha-no, no, what I meant was that I was afraid I wouldn’t want to hurt you but you’d still want to hurt me, or I’d want to do things with you that you didn’t want but felt like you couldn’t stop me, or, just, any combo of things where conflictin feelins lead to trouble.” 

“Oh.”

Duck stares at him for a moment, waiting for him to say more. But nothing comes. Indrid wants to confess, but he can’t figure out what, exactly, the confession would be. The shorter man’s face falls for an instant, before he smiles again. 

“Guess we’re roommates now.”

“Roommates. Yes.” Indrid wracks his brain for what he knows about how two people live in a space, something he has not done since he ran all those years ago.

When that fails, he draws on his nights in front of the T.V for clues.

“Do I need to label my food? Or hang a sock on the door?”

“What?” Duck giggles

“Those are roommate things!”

“You’re right, you’re right” Duck holds up his hands in surrender, still giggling, “You don’t gotta label food, and no need to hang a sock if you need privacy; that room you’re in is the spare bedroom. Mine’s just across the hall. We can figure out chores and things as we go; might make you clean the bathrooms to make up for all the punchin.”

“That is more than fair.” Indrid smiles.

“There it is.” Duck murmurs.

Indrid cocks his head.

“That smile. You’re happy one, not your evil one. Make’s you look so fuckin stunnin.”

He disappears into the kitchen before Indrid can decide on being flattered or flustered. Settles on both, rolls onto his back on the couch, pulling a large, plaid blanket down onto himself, fuzzes with the pillows to find a position that doesn’t hurt. 

The smell of processed cheese and cheap marinara fills the house as Duck walks in with something hidden behind his back. 

“You might need this while you’re nestin up on the couch.”

He produces the mothman pillow from Indrid’s hide-out, which the villain grabs, wrapping his arms around it.

“Kinda had to give away your hideout. Sorry. They’re gonna bring more of your stuff over later, but they let me put together a box of things you might need right away. Grabbed your toothbrush and such too.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s replies, muffled against the pillow. “Duck, I, I don’t know how, what am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to repay you?”

“You don’t got to. Yeah, there’s some things you could do that’d make both our lives a whole fuck of a lot easier. But Indrid?” He kneels down so they’re face to face, cups the back of Indrid’s head, and it’s tender and warm and Indrid presses into the gesture, desperate for more. 

“Long and short of it is I’m so fuckin glad you’re alive.” 

The chapped lips on his cheek can’t be written off as a dream this time. Duck turns his face gently by his chin to kiss the other and Indrid whimpers.

The timer dings.

“That’s lunch ready. I’ll go grab it, we gotta some calories into you, you been out for nearly whole fuckin day.” He stands, pauses, then reaches forward to trail a thumb on Indrid’s left cheek and down to his lips.

“Don’t you go anywhere.”

Indrid kisses the pad of the thumb before nipping it once, “Not a chance. You are stuck with me, Duck Newton.”

Duck grins, “Think I can handle that”

[langdvnshepherd]

Headcanons: Jim Mason as a dad (Jim Mason x fem!reader) 

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: dad!Jim, pregnancy, drug mentions, mentions of smut, this is basically all fluff I couldn’t be mean to sweet Jimmy

A/N: I am back with more dad! content and honestly I am thriving. Anything that gives Jim the happy ending he deserves is the move. As always, send me feedback and let me know what else you wanna see!

Jim is the one that first brings up having a baby

You ditched Palos Verdes as soon as you graduated and had enough money to get an apartment

He became a completely different person, a happier person

You guys lived pretty lowkey and just minded your business tbh

Medina occasionally dropped in for a night or two, but you were alone with each other most days

Jim didn’t mind it being just the two of you, it was what he preferred actually

You’d held him through so many bad nights, and he couldn’t picture you not being with him for the rest of his life

Everything was peaceful, unlike how it was in PV with Jim’s parents and the Bay Boys

It didn’t seem possible, but spending the past several years away from the chaos made you both fall even more in love with each other

Jim felt like he had missed out on being truly happy because of the drugs, so he was making up for lost time by simply enjoying the little things in life with you

Maybe you’ve went to the beach so Jim could surf and you set up your towels next to a young family that had a small toddler with pudgy hands that looked like a spitting image of their parents

He sees how happy they are and how cute their baby is and thinks about how he could potentially have that with you one day

The little baby is so cheery and excited and Jim is obsessed

The baby runs up to you with one of their shovels and tries to scoop sand into your lap and you play along with them and help them build a sand castle

It makes Jim’s heart go SWOOSH

The way you effortlessly welcomed the baby into your care made Jim absolutely positive that you would be the best mom

When he finally builds up the nerve to talk to you about it he’s really straight forward

Tells you exactly what he wants and why

Your heart melts at his speech and you think about how far along Jim has come since overdosing on the beach so many years ago

He really wanted to be even more happy than he already was, and a baby would do that for him

It doesn’t even take any convincing on his part whatsoever

Just the idea of a mini-Jim with blue eyes running around your house made you weak

Plus, who are you to deny Jim of something you know who make both of you so content?

Jim definitely cries when he finds out you’re finally pregnant

Dad mode is immediately kicked into full gear

He doesn’t let you do hardly anything by yourself

You have to tell him to let you breathe sometimes, reminding him that you’re pregnant, not injured

He reads stories to your belly and always falls asleep in your lap at night

He wants to make sure that the baby knows his voice when they’re born

You know for a FACT he buys a newborn sized denim jacket so they can match

I think his hipster ass would also buy those little baby onsies that have band names on them too

Buys every stuffed animal in the goddamn world

For the sake of giving Jim everything he deserves, I’d say your pregnancy was relatively easy

No scares or problems really

It was Jim that endured the struggling

He thought there was no way that he would ever feel down knowing that he had a baby on the way

But he slowly grew sick to his stomach that he was going to fuck it up somehow

He was convinced that eventually he’d relapse, or his bottled up aggression would resurface

He’d fuck up his kid’s life and yours with his own problems, ruining everything

Causing you to pack up and leave, and his happy ending would fall apart

It took a lot to talk him down, but you managed

That night, you’d held him as close as your giant bump would allow and rubbed circles on his back until he fell asleep with his head buried in your hair

I picture Jim’s first born being a son, one that looks just like him

Blue eyes and chocolate brown hair

 Is a super soft and gentle boy that loves being close to his mom and dad as much as possible

A son also acts as another step in Jim’s healing process to see himself in his little boy and do everything he can to make sure their life is perfect

We all know that Jim does not stop crying when he finally holds his baby for the first time

He whispers softly to them over and over that he promises that he’ll never let them be exposed to the ugliness that he had been through

Jim is obsessed with everything that has to do with his baby

His sneezes? Adorable

His little toes? The cutest

His tiny butt?  Don’t even get him started

He loves taking care of him, but he really loves watching how the two of you bond

Little bubba laying on your chest while you both take a nap after a feeding? He can’t stop staring

Those are his two favorite people in the world that he’d do absolutely anything for if they asked

Jim is literally his baby’s biggest cheerleader

They learn how to hold up their head or sit up on their own or hold their bottle? He’s clapping and telling them, “Good job! I’m so proud of you!” While aggressively giving him smooches on the face

He knows they have no idea what the fuck he’s saying, but it makes the baby smile so he does it anyway

Let’s just say, Jim’s baby grows up to be a chunker

Like...a fat ass little baby with leg rolls and arm rolls and the squishiest cheeks you’ve ever seen

Jim loves to tickle their belly and do anything he possibly can to get them giggling uncontrollably

Squishy cheeks = slobbery baby that loves to put everything in his mouth

Jim’s nose, your cell phone, the corner of the coffee table, his fat little feet, the leash of Jim’s surfboard that’s propped against the wall? It’s free real estate for him to put it directly inside of his mouth

Since he’s so damn chubby, the little kid is like a portable space heater because of his rolls making him so warm

He also LOVES to cuddle with Jim

They are both Big Sleepy Boys so you can always find the two of them taking a nap together whenever they’ve gone missing in the house for a bit or their laughter had died down

His favorite spot is laying on Jim’s chest with you tucked under Jim’s arm so you can stick your hand out and he can wrap his tiny hand around your finger and conk tf out while you brush your thumb across his knuckles soothingly

Jim never wants to put him down, and you know he’s lowkey sad when his baby starts to walk and doesn’t need him to carry him around everywhere

He starts calling you ‘mama’ because he thinks it suits you and it always makes you blush

“Come here and let me love on you, mama.”

“You’re such a good mama.”

He mutters it into your neck during sex when you’re both exhausted and taking your time and it just feels so good

Let’s not waste anymore time and say that Jim is counting down the days until he can take his bubba to the beach and let him see the ocean

Knowing babies, your son probably freaks out when the tide comes up around his feet

Does the thing where he kicks his feet up while Jim is holding his hands so he can stand without falling and immediately gets scared and throws a fit

His crying makes Jim freak the fuck out because he never even considered the fact that his child of all people would hate the water

You have to tell him that he probably just didn’t like the cold and that he’d get used it eventually

And eventually that fat ass little baby does!!

He loooooves crawling around in the sand and trying to eat it

He also loves watching Jim surf

You point Jim out to him when he’s out catching a wave and clap his hands together with yours when he rides in on the shore and eventually

“Look at papa!! He did it!”

He keeps chanting, “Papa! Papa! Papa!” When Jim waves at you two from out in the water

There’s an old man that owns the ice cream shack on the beach where you guys have been going to ever since you moved there

He always told you guys that you two were the sweetest couple he’d ever seen on this beach

He also absolutely loses it whenever he sees you with your baby in tow

He’s been watching you guys grow older together and now you have a baby and he is your number one fan

He always gives you a free popsicle for the baby and squeezes his cheeks whenever you guys visit the shack

He also really loves watching how happy the baby gets when he sees the sugary treat

By the end of the afternoon the three of you are sitting on your blanket relaxing and digesting your lunch

Jim is burying your baby’s legs in the sand and savoring his little squeals as he does so

Soon he starts rubbing his eyes and you know that means he’s tired

He stands up out from the sand and crawls into Jim’s lap and wraps his arms around Jim’s neck

Jim lays back and lets him take a lil nap on his chest since he was so exhausted from chasing seagulls and dogs all day

You pack up and have a peaceful drive home, all three of you are drained by now and too tired to say anything

Jim rests his hand on the inside of your thigh and rubs his leg with his thumb absentmindedly as your son is in the backseat snuggling with his favorite stuffed monkey Jim had bought him before he was born

Once you get home, the baby immediately goes back to sleep in his crib and you and Jim collapse into the bed after a quick rinse in the shower

He buries his head in your hair and gets comfortable with his arms around your waist

Mumbles something into your ear and you ask him to speak up

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

For staying with him, for loving him when it seemed like no one else did, for leaving PV for him, for giving him the most precious boy in the world, for making him truly happy when he didn’t think he ever could be

You give his arms a little squeeze, silently letting him know what he meant adn you both fall asleep peacefully

Imma tag the fellow dad!Jim thots I can think of and that’s it alright have a good day

@langdonsoceaneyes @thedeviltohisangel