#beyond happy with dri's work as well so great to work with

[ghastlybirdie]

I was at the laundry mat, late of course, since my apartment building doesn’t have one but thankfully there’s one a block away so I just walk. And since I go so late there’s no one there, and I gotta wash my massive pile of work clothes so imagine John coming in with his laundry

Not proofread or edited sorry it was really late

He comes in, acting surprised that you’re even there so late, making quiet comments about how “You should if told me you were coming.” “It’s dangerous coming alone.”

But it’s fine, the neighborhood is quiet and your feel somewhat safe coming down alone. He still offers himself to come with you, as he comes to do his own laundry late as well. With that he took up the machines next to yours despite the entire laundry mat being empty, smiling at you all the while.

Even though, he’s great company and eases your anxiety of not being able to look out into the darkness beyond the tiny parking lot, mostly listening to John chat about the latest football match.

“You mean soccer?” He gave you a smirk and side eye, huffing out a correction before continuing. You made the joke two more times before John tossed a sock at you.

He plays little phone games with you as you both wait for the wash cycle to be done, and he even helps you toss your impossibly heavy wet clothes into the upper dryers. You try not to act so embarrassed when one of your underwear drops unceremoniously at his feet as you struggle to shove your clothes into the dryer. He soothes your worry, saying it’s just clothes, until it happens a second and third time. You whip your clothes into the dryer to hide your shame.

As you both wait for the clothes to dry he offers you a snack at the corner store down the street, a treat he says, giving you his jacket to toss over your shoulders as the winds made it chillier than what you dressed for.

By the time you two came back, candy bars and a warm drink in hand, the clothes were dried and ready to fold.

It took the better part of an hour to fold all your clothes, John having accidentally mixed up some of your clothes when he dumped them onto the tables with yours. No harm, just a bit of a tease on your part as you laughed at the amount of holes in John’s socks and gag boxers he was gifted from his friends.

“They live not too far, actually. Maybe you’ll meet them when I have them over for dinner.” He offered but it felt more like a factual statement than anything else, letting you know the dinner will be the coming Saturday. It seemed as you were going.

By the time all was said and done it was well past midnight, clothes neatly folded away and secured in your basket. When you went to lift yours John had already gripped one side and waited for you to fix your face before the two of you walked back to your apartment building. As always he was happy to lift both of your baskets up the flights of stairs, dropping it outside your door and wishing you good night.

It felt natural for him to leave his hand resting on your back as you gave him a half hearted hug, waving him off and hauling the basket inside.

The following morning you only noticed that he left a shirt of his in yours, an understandable outcome from his mix up last night. You’ll give it back when you see him this weekend. You’ll also have to make sure you grab a mesh bag from the store. You most definitely had more underwear than what you had now. The machines must of eaten them, probably. Probably.

[jackfrombaskinrobbins]

being tony stark's daughter would include... (headcanons)

type of writing: headcanons / scenario

word count: 778

request: yes / no

original request: can you do one where the reader is tony’s daughter and loves to wear fancy stuff like cher from clueless 😭. and instead of being that stereotypical “mean spoiled rich girl”, the reader is actually super sweet and people sometimes take that for granted and use her for her stuff and money?

dynamic: tony stark x stark daughter!reader

characters: reader, tony stark, happy hogan, mention of steve rogers, natasha romanoff, bruce banner, peter parker, harley keener, and miles morales

a/n: ty for the request!! also requests are still open hehe :)

coming soon: clint barton younger sibling headcanons, overprotective avengers when reader has a boyfriend headcanons, hanging at the sanctum sanctorum over break headcanons

taglist: @nutellani

(message me or send an ask if you'd like to be included in the taglist!)

-----------------------✰----------------------

tony stark is an awesome dad. 

like he just goes above and beyond to make you smile.

it’s well-known that he spoils everyone at the compound, but since you’re his daughter, he spoils you A LOT.

you’ll come home from school often to find a little box on your bed, and it’s always something you either had mentioned in passing, or something that you didn’t even know you needed. 

like you got into crocheting for a little bit. you now have buckets full of multicolored yarns in every texture and color one could ever need!!

also i feel like when you told him your favorite ice cream was the same flavor as his favorite, he literally almost burst with excitement.

and now you ALWAYS have that ice cream.

he even built a little gadget that only lets you and him eat out of it.

the only exception to the rule is happy, as thor painfully found out one day.

he went to have some and it shocked him, but happy just reached in and got it anyway.

also if you’re tony stark’s daughter, i just have to say what an iconic trio you, your dad, and happy are.

like y’all always look so badass with matching shades or whatever.

you got matching shirts for you three for christmas and they both reluctantly wore it.

natasha took like fifteen pictures and steve was literally on the floor dying because he thought it was so funny.

anyways one of the coolest things about being tony stark’s daughter are the gadgets.

for example, you have a lot of clothes. but guess what? you don’t ever have to do laundry.

all of your clothes are put in this special hamper. it washes, dries, and folds/hangs the clothes up for you, then puts them away in a neat fashion. 

you have a high tech mirror (ala cher from clueless!!!!) where you can “try on” outfits before you actually retrieve them to wear.

it’s kind of awesome? 

jk it IS awesome.

anyways you’re also super smart.

science and math just come easily.

it must be…. in your blood or something.

bruce made that joke once and tony locked him out of the lab. then peter tried to make it too and tony made him go “test” a robot that blocks people out of a room HAHA

that being said, your dad actually lets you in the lab.

ikr? kind of crazy.

you have your own little corner to work on stuff.

also you and bruce are so iconic. i think you would have tea parties every sunday. 

tony says it’s “childish” but you can tell he’s jealous

once you caught happy setting up high tea for him and tony but then he told you that you didn’t actually see anything

now, it’s usually a great thing to be tony stark’s daughter

but finding real friends is tough.

there are people who are awesome, like peter parker, harley keener, and miles morales. 

but there’s a lot of people who’ll use you to get to your dad or your money.

and yes that sounds stereotypical, but it’s really tough.

there was a group of kids who seemed really excited to go out with you, but then you realized it was all for social media clout and that they expected gifts and stuff.

so you ended up exploding on them, and it gave your dad some bad press.

you were so embarrassed that you locked yourself in your room, refusing to come out.

happy left some tea outside but you didn’t want it.

so then finally tony came in.

guys he’s iron man he can get through a locked door 

and you didn’t really want to talk.

so instead he just put on some music.

some really loud guitar music.

and then, with the door still open, tony stark began playing air guitar.

now you knew he would do this sometimes, but not with the door open.

and then he started to SING.

that man cannot sing guys.

needless to say, it gave you a laugh.

he grabbed your hands, pulled you up, and the two of you started dancing around the room, laughing harder than ever before.

when the song ended, he told you he wasn’t mad.

and that people can be losers sometimes

but that you certainly weren’t.

then he said one day he would come up with a loser detector so that you wouldn't have to go through something like that again.

and he was only half joking, so you just laughed.

but deep down, you were happy to have someone who cared for you as much as your dad, tony stark, did.

-----------------------✰----------------------

[apprenticestanheight]

hey! i forgot to send this in before so if you can’t take it i completely understand!

i was wondering if i could request something fluffy about adam — maybe cuddling with him after a long day with his head on your chest as you play with his hair 😻😻

Comfortable, Easy, Tired Silences - Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

Hi!! I'm so sorry that this took forever--if I'm remembering correctly you sent it like,, a day after my requests closed last month and I've been meaning to do it ever since--but I hope you like it!! I have this weird hybrid-y style of fics that I've done when I read a request and I go "blurb!!" and "set of headcanons!!" at the same time, so that's what this came out as, which I hope is all right!

Fic type- fluff!!

Warnings- none!!

so,, you and Adam both have particularly stressful weeks that culminate in a very long december friday.

For you, work is stressing you out beyond belief, but you're able to have weekends off and thats most of what keeps you going to get to friday afternoon.

For Adam, he's managed to find himself a spot in a gallery near the heart of the city and brainstorming ideas for a collection, only to have it vetoed by execs three times in four days was not the best way for the week to take shape. The other day was spent taking photos in the anticipation of being able to have a break from the stress that weekend despite the urge to make sure the photos turned out perfect with the filter he's testing.

So, you get home first. You shower, pull on one of Adams shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts because his clothes are closer to the door and you kind of just want to get dressed and then plop into bed, and debate grabbing the menu for the Chinese takeaway spot that delivers to your apartment despite the fact that something about the dumplings had tasted off the last time you'd ordered from them.

Adam shows up like, a half an hour after you do?? He grabs a pair of sweatpants and a towel from the dryer before going for a shower himself, and when he comes back into the room you share, you can't help but oogle him just a little.

Adam walks in with his sweatpants somewhat low on his waist, not having bothered with a shirt. His hair is dry because he'd dried it before calling the Chinese place you'd been debating ordering dinner from and you just. you have to grin a little.

"You like what you see?" Adam asks teasingly as he further enters the room. "Ordered us dinner from Elliots--they have weird dumplings but the rest of their menu is pretty damn good. How was work?"

"It was--well, work," you shrug and Adam joins you in bed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and slipping his hands beneath your shirt to rest on your hips. "Crappy, which is becoming the norm. How was work on your end?"

"Crappy," Adam laughs and one of your hands goes to his hair, idly running through it to calm your racing mind. "It was work, Y/N. Nothing too great, though I finally got a theme for the collection that the gallery likes. Now I just have to worry about the photos."

His head is on your chest, hands on your bare hips, legs entangled with yours, and for the first time in a week, Adam Stanheight is happy.

For the first time in a week, your mind is also at ease. You feel like you can breathe again, almost, for the fact that neither of you are so busy as to not be able to give one another your undivided.

You relish in the first comfortable silence you've had with one another in too long, running a hand through Adams hair while he traces shapes against the skin of your hips and occasionally leans up to press a kiss against your shoulder.

They're the silences that the two of you have grown to love as your relationship has progressed--comfortable, easy, tired silences where neither of you will complain if the other one falls asleep.

Eventually, though, Adam is mumbling that he loves you while he's half asleep and you're responding while in very much the same state, and the two of you fall asleep that way. Your hand in Adams hair, lips near his forehead, Adams head on your chest and his hands resting on your hips.

It's the perfect end to a very long week and a longer day even still.

[changingplumbob]

Villareal: Chapter 6, Part 8

Joey gets a call from a friend in need and Devin prepares for set.

CW: Moderate sim spice. Content Warning Guide

Luna (mummy) and Devin (mama) use some German and Italian. Bambino/s (Italian) Male child/children Caro (Italian) Dear Grazie (Italian) Thank you Piccolo (Italian) Little one Zia/Zio (Italian) Aunt/Uncle

Joey is catching another nap when he’s woken by his buzzing phone.

Joey: Hmm, yeah bro

Tuesday: Oh my gosh, have I reached Joey York? The JOEY YORK

Joey: *sleepily* Tuesday?

Tuesday: Yes the best woohoo buddy around. You down to push it?

Joey: Watcher needs me to stay on lot tonight but if you can come over… and then come over and over

Tuesday: Shut up dork I’ll be there, I need to unwind

Joey gets up and after checking the twins are certainly asleep he goes to let Tuesday in. He knows if Devin or Luna hear weird noises they won’t investigate and just assume he’s doing something, but he doesn’t need toddlers interrupting anything. The pair make their way into the kitchen and Tuesday continues her performance of fawning all over him.

Joey: Not that I don’t love some attention for one as hot as yourself but is there a reason for this performance?

Tuesday: *jokingly* I’m in the presence of greatness

Joey: What?

Tuesday: *sighs* Dude have you been asleep all afternoon? Memorandum is all over simstagram

Joey: You’re kidding!

Tuesday: Nope hot stuff. The gamers are flocking to it like wildfire. Congrats man

Joey pulls her into a bro hug while she laughs.

Tuesday: I’m friends with woohoo benefits with a celebrity!

Joey: 1 star maybe

Tuesday: Come on genius, you won’t stay 1 star forever. You work hard and play hard, you’ll get rewarded. You think the watcher exists right? If they do they've got plans for you

Joey: Holy watcher, I am trending! Well Memorandum is

Tuesday: But you’re the cute face behind it. So what do you want to do to me to celebrate

Joey: Tuesday… you normally come to me with a plan in mind, not that I don’t like being creative but I don’t like to over step

Tuesday smirks and pulls him in for a kiss. Her hands snake under his shirt and caress his chest while she whispers her plan in his ear.

Joey: You serious? I thought you didn’t want to try it

Tuesday: One of my flings wants to and I would rather know what to expect. He is smaller than you so he shouldn’t hurt as much but the point of our arrangement is practice. So… want to help me?

Joey: You are just giving me all your woohoo debuts now aren’t you

Tuesday smirks and pulls him in for another deep kiss. While he’s distracted she unloops his belt, works his pants down and checks he’s ready

Tuesday: *whispering* Stop being a smart ass. Kneel down and use your mouth for better things

Joey: Ma'am yes ma'am

Joey did and when Tuesday was ready he stood back up, whispering to her that this will be good. Tuesday nods and Joey starts. He enjoys woohoo with Tuesday, they’ve been woohoo buddies since he finished high school. She’s got a great body, a creative mind and she’s normally down to get it on whenever. Beyond that she’s aromantic just like him so he never has to worry she’s going to catch feelings. When they’re finished she kisses him on the cheek and takes off while he heads straight to the shower. He knows the watcher hasn’t put any WTD’s in game but he always likes to keep clean. Satisfied he dries off and climbs in bed to sleep, and dream of how many women his new celebrity status could give him access to.

A new day dawns and Devin has time to give the twins baths before she’s needed on set. First up is Alfred.

Alfred: Where’s Mummy

Devin: Mummy is in the pool trying to not be afraid of water any more

Rilian: I want be in water

Devin: You are next caro, but you need to have potty practice

Alfred: I went potty in my diaper *giggles*

Devin: Oh I know

Alfred: *quacks* Duckie happy *splashes*

Devin: Careful, you’ll get Mama’s sunglasses wet

Devin lifts Alfred up and dries him off. Getting him in his day clothes she sends him off while an impatient Rilian pulls at her leg.

Rilian: Mama, Mama, me! Me now

Devin: What should we say? You remember caro

Rilian: PLEASE

Devin: Your wish is my command, one bath coming up

In the kitchen Luna walks in from her swim to see a nervous Joey looking around.

Luna: You alright?

Joey: I’ve had such a busy weekend, I’m sure I’ve forgotten something for work

Luna: I doubt it, you worry to much. Look at me, I thought I was going to drown in our pool but after some solid laps I can now confidently say I was overreacting. Besides, your coworkers will probably be to busy asking about your game to do real work

Joey: Maybe. Hey, apparently it’s exploding over simstagram

Alfred: What splode (explode)

Luna: Morning schnucki. Zio Joey was just saying people like his game

Alfred: Game? Can we play game? Please?

Joey: I suppose since you used your manners… do you want to be… a bird?

Alfred jumps up and down excitedly. Luna laughs as Joey begins lifting him up and down and spinning the toddler around. When he’s got Alfred on his back he pauses.

Joey: Remember, to fly you have to flap. Can you flap

Alfred: *flaps arms* Caw caw! Caw caw!

Luna: Very good bird Alfred

Devin: Remember caro, we try keep the water in the bath

Rilian: Mama, you play pirate today

Devin: Yes I will

Rilian: Pirate get to be in water?

Devin: Not for this film, maybe if we get another one. Would you like to be a pirate

Rilian: Not if no water. I be… mon star! (monster)

Devin: A sea monster? Very scary. Come on, bath is over, we need to do breakfast

Rilian sighs sadly and refuses to leave the bath until all the water has drained out. When he’s dry he lets Devin carry him to the kitchen and gets excited seeing Joey and Alfred playing.

Rilian: Mama I want to play with Zio Joey

Devin: Eat your breakfast, your whole breakfast, then we’ll see

Rilian: Yes Mama

Devin: Have you seen where Lu went

Joey: I think she said she was going to check if that genealogy place has the sample yet

Rilian: Mama can I has milk please

Alfred: Me to please

Devin: Sure, oh wow you two just demolished your breakfasts. You must be growing! Joey will you have some time after work free before dinner

Joey: Probably, why

Devin: No reason, now turn around and left me check the size tag on your jacket

Rilian: Mama I done! Can I play with Zio Joey now please

Devin: Zio Joey will get you out, Mama's just going to wish Mummy luck for her lecture today

Joey gets the twins out of the high chairs Joey entertains them while Devin kisses Luna then has the chance to have breakfast. While Joey spins Rilian around Alfred bobs like a bird to the music and makes quacking noises.

Devin: Rilian piccolo, let Zio Joey get to work

Rilian pulls a face as Joey lowers him carefully to the floor.

Joey: See you all later. Good luck on set sis, knock em dead

Devin: Grazie

Devin: Where are you going

Rilian: Dollhouse Mama

Devin: Be careful playing with it bambinos

Alfred: Yes Mama

Devin: And if you break it come tell me!

While the boys enjoy playing together Devin sets about her chores for the day. She tries to set up a regular maid and gardening service but apparently there’s a small waitlist. A least the daycare is helpful, assuring her they will look after her toddlers while she’s on set.

Final task before she leaves, meal prep. She enjoys making meatballs, remembering when she was young and her ma would teach her how to ball them up. And the many discussions with her pa about getting the balance of the sauce right. She can cook them almost on autopilot now, allowing her a final chance to run lines in her head.

Previous ... Next

[theeggholic]

Welcome to the world of Indian cuisine, which never ceases to fascinate! Authentic Indian Street Food culture is frequently mentioned among the best in the world as one of the most well-liked cuisines. There are numerous curries, rice dishes, meats, vegetables, and bread options, all of which are spiced with a masterfully crafted blend of regional spices.

The Mouthwatering Indian Foods

The range and complexity of Indian food are beyond the scope of this one blog. Numerous traditions exist, and they differ not only from one region to another or even from one town to another, but also from stove to stove. In addition to 29 states, 7 union territories, 12 regions, and 35 delectable cuisines, India has over a dozen different languages. Add caste, ethnicity, religion, and other nations’ food cultures—invited or not—to all these other influences to create a diverse, happy blend of cuisine.

Indian chefs are masters in balancing flavors and are passionate about making delicious food. The process of grocery shopping and cooking enticing, healthful meals takes a lot of time and work. Every cook also has their preferred ingredients and go-to spice blend.

One of the few places on earth where following a vegetarian diet is not difficult is India. In Punjab, great, freshly-made bread is always served alongside dishes that have dramatically different textures, a wide variety of options, exciting spice combinations, and powerful, exquisite flavors.

What Are the Common Ingredients and Flavors in Indian Food?

Indian cuisine frequently uses the following ingredients in addition to the typical spice mixture of chili peppers (dried whole and powdered), garlic, ginger, and allspice:

Cayenne peppers (dried whole and powdered)

Mustard Seed: These are frequently seen in grainy mustard. When they are roasted, their inherent spiciness is subdued, and their flavor is given a nuttier undertone. crucial to Indian cuisine.

Cumin: These tiny seeds have a potent perfume that gives many Indian and Mexican recipes a well-known background tone. A little bit is often enough.

Fennel: Fennel seeds, which pair particularly well with pork, have a stronger anise flavor than the bulbs do.

Cardamom: A versatile spice with a toasty, sweet flavor is cardamom. The pod may be added whole or crushed to release the seeds, which may subsequently be ground if desired.

Cinnamon: Cinnamon, which is the curled bark of a Sri Lankan tree, pairs beautifully with sugar. Additionally, it is frequently used in meaty, savory recipes like Moroccan tagines.

Coriander: These dried top 3 healthiest berries taste sweet and aromatic, unlike the herb from which they are derived. Excellent in handmade burgers with cumin or when poaching fish with alcohol.

Turmeric: a spice that is bright yellow and is made from dried roots. Its distinctive color and earthy, mustard flavor give curry powder its distinctive appearance.

Fenugreek: a celery-like-smelling bitter Mediterranean seed that is used in curry powders. An essential component of handmade ras el hanout is a Moroccan spice blend that also includes cumin, coriander, cinnamon, and cloves.

Chaat masala Garam masala: a blend of special spices, is an excellent indication of regional tastes because it varies significantly depending on where you are.

Ghee: Ghee, an Indian equivalent of clarified butter, is used in numerous Indian cuisines.

What To Order At The Indian Restaurant In Nashville, Tn

The menu at an Indian restaurant could seem a little intimidating. If you don’t know what to order, the variety of foods may have a negative effect on your mood. So that you can make the appropriate choice, below are some of EggHolic’s most popular platters.

Additionally, the staff at this Indian restaurant in Nashville, Tennessee, as well as all of its other locations, is always willing to clarify their offerings to put you at ease. Requests are welcome.

Surti Gotalo

A plate that beams at you! It has a sunny-side-up egg blended with chopped hard-boiled eggs with distinctive house spices. The platter goes well with butter-toasted bread or Rotis.

Paneer Cheese Masala

A delicious delicacy that is “cheesy” for your cheat days! It also has cheese on top of paneer cubes that have been cooked in a ginger-garlic sauce. Add a chilled glass of Chhaas to your order.

Chicken Tangri with Flavored Rice

a dish loaded with protein to boost your vitality! It comes with well-cooked rice and a juicy, succulent chicken leg. Get some cola to round up this feast, don’t forget.

Samosa Chaat

Crispy fried dumplings covered with yogurt, tamarind sauce, tangy-salty spices, and seasoned potatoes and peas. A delight that renews all senses with joy!

Amdavadi Grill Sandwich

The chef stuffs pieces of bread with tomato, cucumber, onion, peppers, and mashed potatoes before toasting them to the perfect level of crunch. A perfect brunch menu.

Why Is Indian Food Receiving Such Great Response Across America?

The EggHolic should be your first choice if you’re looking for a restaurant to visit this weekend. The best platters are offered by this Indian restaurant in Nashville, Tennessee, which also has locations in Chicago, Schaumburg, Irving, Louisville, and other cities. Through their user-friendly website, you can also place an online order or reserve catering services.

Let’s get to the answer: Indian food has become so popular among Americans recently for the reasons listed below.

Growing Popularity of All Things Indian

The appeal of all things Indian in the market has expanded as a result of India’s frequent appearances in the news for good reasons over the ensuing years.

People are prepared to give this region an opportunity to demonstrate its value on an emotional and practical level. Additionally, the backlash against anything Chinese has had an effect. Everyone’s perception of China has changed as a result of the Covid19 outbreak, which has created an opportunity for Indian brands.

For instance, the EggHolic started out as a modest corner kiosk in a mall around five years ago and is now a franchise of multiple restaurants. They not only have locations in the United States, but they also have a branch in Brampton, Canada. One of the US restaurant chains with the quickest growth is this Indian egg chain!

Growing Awareness For Maintaining Good Health

As everyone is aware, Indian cuisine uses a variety of herbs and seeds. It is regarded as one of the world’s healthiest cuisines. People today are concerned with preserving their immune system defenses, which is why they prefer to eat healthily.

Everyone’s diet has changed as a result of Covid19. It helped many people see the advantages of including various healthful components in every meal.

The significance of key nutrients and the recommended daily intake rates were also taught to everyone. When it came to eating exotic cuisines on the weekends, many Americans chose Indian food over Chinese as a result of the health reform effort!

Numerous nutritious dishes, such as Green Boiled Fry, Egg Bhaji, Green Egg Curry, Boiled Kheemo, Green Egg Rice, Paneer Bhurji, Holic Chicken Kabob, Chicken Tangri, Malvani Chicken, Egg Chicken Wrap, and others, are available on the EggHolic menu.

Growing Use Of Authentic Indian Flavors

Last but not least, American Indian restaurants have long used artificial spices in their dishes since the originals were too acidic. Due to the meal’s drastically altered flavor from its original flavor, several people decided against trying it again.

One of the few companies, The EggHolic, takes pleasure in using real Indian spices to prepare their food. Their chefs are competent enough to produce food that tastes great to both Americans and Indians. Serving a Chicken Pulav to an Indian will make it taste truly tangy and trigger memories in his mind while serving it to an American will make it taste just fine and allow them to enjoy Indian food without experiencing any stomach discomfort or emotional outbursts.

Conclusion

We sincerely hope that this post could provide you with the perspective we were going for. Discover more Indian plates by going to the EggHolic website right away. In Nashville, Tennessee, there is an authentic Indian restaurant serving you platters of bliss. Additionally, the restaurant caters, to providing a selection of packages for any kind of event. Celebrate the flavors of India with your loved ones!

[lidathedefiant]

Spod watched her work from the covered chair, wondering at how he’d ever been able to leave her. She moved quickly back and forth across her canvas. Occasionally he’d catch her with her tongue between her lips, deep in thought just as she did when she was drawing, before she darted on to a new part of the canvas.

By the time the sun was getting low, he well understood what she meant when she said she got excited when she painted. He understood how paint had gotten splattered upon the windowpanes. Maeva herself had paint down her arm. It had landed on the tops of her little bare feet as she moved across the dropcloth. She’d even gotten it on the side of her face, he discovered with a chuckle, as she’d gone to move the hair out her eyes.

What had stayed on the canvas was beautiful. She’d painted a scene from their journey through the Northern Reaches and, though incomplete, was already breathtaking.

Maeva was magnificent. The gods had blessed him beyond measure by allowing him to be hers.

In the years that followed, Spod would take much solace in watching Maeva work, whatever her great task may be, whatever form her whims and desires suited. Throughout everything that would come next, through all the heartbreak and triumph, they would always have time like this because, in spite of it all, they would always have each other.

Eventually, as she began to lose the light, her own vibrant energy seemed to lag. Spod cleared his throat, but she was too engrossed in the details to hear him.

Finally, he hesitantly opened his mouth and said her name as best he could. His deep, rich voice, so unfamiliar to her in words, made her pause immediately and come to him. He drew her onto his lap and kissed her.

“I quite love when you use your voice,” she murmured almost shyly.

Spod smiled. His lack of tongue had never bothered her. Why would the strangeness of his voice?

“What do you think?” she asked, looking up at the canvas.

He touched the dried paint on her arm and signed the word for it. He’d never had to use it with her before. He himself barely remembered it.

“Paint?” Maeva confirmed, signing it back to him.

He nodded, pleased. She was always very quick to pick up his words. Then, looking almost impish, he signed, I do not know if there is more paint on you or on the canvas. He drew a square in the air for “canvas”.

Maeva giggled. Then she did something she had never done before. Surprising even herself, she grabbed at Spod’s sides and began to tickle him. His vibrant laugh echoed through the room and out into the corridor.

Across the hall, Sella, in her workroom, heard it. At first she was confused at who it was and then she realized it had to be Spod. She smiled to herself. They deserved such happiness.

[onceuponapirate]

Mina Solis and Garrett Hawke from the The Bleeding Door.

Commissioned by the fantastic @drisrt for @wrathwritesthings incredible fanfic. 

This scene is not from the story but a ‘what if’ Act III moment of just pure goodness. See here for more details on why I commissioned this.

and man Dri you did so well with this: I just keep staring at it like this 

thank you for your patience with me on this one because it was so worth it!! I’d love to commission you again. And miniwrath I hope it’s okay I tagged your writing tumblr (I know you go by different names on ao3, so if you want me to de-tag you I will) but I hope you like it!! thank you for writing such an awesome fic: I know the scene above is more pure fluff than anything else but god I just love the way you write these two when they are together.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: There The Heart Stays Buried, Part VIII

Sequel to Where The Crossroads Meet

Read on AO3

Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x you/reader (cishet female)

Tags/warnings (chapter specific): Yearning, breastfeeding, Pero has a motherhood/fertility kink if you squint, fingering, unprotected PiV sex, Pero wants to be a dad so badly.

Words: 3,690

Summary: In the cold midwinter Pero visits you and your daughter again.

Taglist: @amneris21 @etenax @harriedandharassed @iamskyereads @inkededucatednnerdy @pazizz @rambling-in-purple

The bitter cold grows frost on your eyelashes despite the shawl you have wrapped around your head. The bright midday sun reflects on the white snow, blinding you on your short walk from the cowshed to the cottage. The day is glorious but the chill is not to be played with, neither are the deep drifts of snow that hinder any expeditions beyond the homestead. It is not your first time being stuck where you are, and your pantry and cellar are still stocked, but it is always unnerving to be so utterly cut off from the rest of the world, especially now that you are responsible for a child.

Mariposa is asleep in her shawl nestled against your chest, layers of wool protecting her from the cold. She has grown much during the past few months; a testiment to your rich diet. Thank the heavens that she was born in early autumn when you have been able to keep your strength up and the milk flowing, not early spring when your stocks dwindle to nearly nothing.

The heat from the fireplace greets you when you step into your home, fragranced by firewood, dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling along with rods on which round, flat loaves of bread are strung up through a hole in the middle. You peel off the layers of outer clothes before untying Mariposa’s shawl and putting her down in her basket, which is placed on a bench by the window. The baby needs the sun to prevent the rickets. You need the sun for energy, so you sit down next to the basket with your knitwork, working the needles around the yarn while cooing to the baby.

Winter always brings with it a certain kind of peace. Everything slows down, your chores are cut down to a minimum. You sleep a lot and spend most of the short days cleaving firewood or taking care of the animals: chores that keep you warm. Mariposa follows you where you go although being bundled up is not always to her liking anymore. She is beginning to show an interest in the outside world, a characteristic that, together with her dark brown eyes, clearly comes from Pero.

You think about Pero Tovar a lot. It has been months since he last visited you, slept with you, kissed first you good-bye before brushing his lips to Mariposa’s wispy eyebrows. He never made any promises but you always knew he would be back.

Maybe on a day like today. Your heart skips a beat when a movement outside the window catches your eye. You look up only to see a rabbit jump over the snow. You knock on the window to scare it off, or it will find its way to the apple trees and start gnawing.

Later, when you’re preparing dinner, you get your wish: a heavy knock on the door, Pero on the threshold when you go to open.

You breathe his name and then his lips are on yours, cold and frosty, wet when your hot breaths mingle and melt the frost on his mustache. You shiver from the cold of his clothes and he notices.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, taking a step back. “Let me get these off.”

He sheds his fur coat and the layers until he’s down to his breeches and shirt.

“Where is the baby?” he wants to know, and you take him by the hand and lead him to the Mariposa’s basket by the window. Dark brown eyes gaze up at the two of you and Mariposa stops suckling on her tiny knuckle, instead waving her hand at you.

“She’s happy to see you,” you smile as Pero reaches down to softly touch the baby’s hand. She grabs hold of his big pointer finger and laughs. Pero inhales sharply, eyes shrouded as he stares down at his daughter.

“Is she well?” he asks in a low voice. You nod.

“She’s perfect.”

“She really is.”

Mariposa starts to wave both arms at Pero and slowly, hesitantly, he reaches down and picks her up, cradling her little head in the palm of his hand. Carefully placing her on his arm, he looks down at the sweet little face, and you know that he’s taking note of the same things you always do when you hold you daughter: the puckered little mouth, the pink fat cheeks, the long lashes framing her brown eyes. The tufts of dark hair. The unfathomable miracle of this being a real person, so small and helpless and utterly enchanting. The result of short encounters between two people of completely different worlds. Half you, half him.

The baby is inspecting Pero with wide open, round eyes. Silence is descending over your little cottage along with the dusk, and you leave Pero and Mariposa to put a few more logs on the fire. Your breasts feel strained and you know that she is going to start fussing soon. Without asking if Pero is hungry, you start to lay the table, cook potatoes and carrots. Soon, just as you predicted, Mariposa starts to whimper and Pero looks at you, his features tight with unease.

“What is wrong?”

“She’s just hungry.” You reach for the baby and he hands her over willingly. With practiced moves you sit down, pull the drawstring in front of you dress, and take out a breast to offer Mariposa. Her crying stops when she smells the milk and a moment later, she’s suckling peacefully. You sigh in relief as the pressure eases, and start to direct Pero around the kitchen. He washes while waiting for the potatoes to cook and soon, you’re both eating dinner. When the baby is full, Pero asks to hold her again. He finishes his meal with one hand, the baby on his other arm.

You watch him from across the table and cannot help but wonder what this is, where it will lead. Is Pero going to stay now, be a father, a farmer? I can never be a farmer, he has told you in the past. Has that changed? You need it not to change. You do not need him here, you are not supposed to need him here. His visits are welcome but that is all.

After the meal, Pero sits with Mariposa in his arms, quietly observing the baby grab hold of his fingers and babble inquisitively. You leave them for a while to check the animals and use the privy. When you return, Pero is leaning back in his chair, relaxed and soft, with Mariposa asleep in his arms. Darkness has descended and you light a few candles.

“Her basket is over by the window,” you tell him in case he wants to put her down. Pero only nods but does not get up. You collect the dishes and start to clean them with water from the big cauldron on the stove. The silence that is so familiar to you is cut by the low hum of Pero’s presence. You can feel it in the base of your spine as you rinse the plates, back turned against him. The scrape of the chair against the wooden floor is almost deafening, his feet falling heavily over the boards when he takes the baby to her basket and tucks her in. The warm dishwater seems to heat up even more when the steps come up to you. Pero’s warm, broad body crowds you against the sink, his hands coming to rest on the edge on either side of you. His breath is on the nape of your neck, then your ear.

“I’ve missed you.”

You wet your lips. “And I have missed you.”

Your breath hitches when he presses up against you, trapping you against the hard cabinet and the stiff outline of his cock. His hands land on your hips from where they start to wander, reclaiming your stomach, breasts, arms. You feel him hold back on his thirst for you, trying to be respectful, maybe waiting for you to reciprocate? But you’re frozen solid where you are, not from fear or indecisiveness but from the sheer joy of being touched by him again. The titillation between your legs starts to soar into an almost painful throb. When Pero starts to gather your skirt in his hands, pulling the fabric up, you take your hands out of the dishwater and help him. His fingers find you and his breath is scorching against your ear when he sighs.

“Woman... so wet for me already.”

You whimper and turn your head back, finding his lips.

“Please,” you whisper before kissing him, raising your hand to rake your fingers through his hair. His tongue slides in between your mouth’s lips as his fingers push through the slick lips of your cunt. Your mouth falls open in a moan that Pero greedily feeds on as his fingers scissor and twist inside of you, finding the angle that will give you the most pleasure. He knows he has discovered it when your back rounds and your lips are torn from his with the little scream that escapes you.

“That’s it, hermosa,” Pero growls against your neck before letting his teeth scrape against it in one toothy kiss after another. His free hand finds one of your breasts, cupping it and pinching the nipple. You feel the front of your chemise turn wet as the milk starts to flow, and for a moment you worry that Pero will find it disturbing but before you can protest, he speaks to you again in a low, heated murmur.

“You are so beautiful when you feed our child, woman. So soft and good. You take of her so well, now let me take care of you...”

Thumb against your sensitive bud, he makes you moan out loud as he pushes you towards your climax. When your moans threaten to get too loud he stifles them by covering your mouth with his hand. Your eyes fall shut when the trembling begins and you clutch Pero’s lower arms, feeling the tight muscles underneath the tawny skin as you hold on to him desperately, your pelvis moving against his hand, his pelvis moving against your bottom, the burning intensifying higher, higher, higher before you plummet through pleasure and become limp in his arms.

Pero supports you while whispering tender things into you ear, things you don’t hear but understand solely from the softness of his voice. When you find your footing, he whisks you off your feet and carries you to the bedchamber. When he puts you down on the neatly made bed you pull him down next to you and scramble to straddle him. You take a moment to gaze at him through the dark, seeing the outlines of his face, his eyes when he blinks. You don’t speak, neither does he, but he cups your cheek and brings you down for a long, heated kiss that reminds you of how much you need him. You undo the buttons at the front of his breeches and pull them down. His cock springs free, thick, veiny, and glistening at the top in search of your cunt. You take a moment to shamelessly stroke him, feeling the heft of his member in your hand before Pero grunts impatiently. You bite your lower lip and smile even though you know he can’t see it, and let go of his cock to pull up your skirts and position yourself. Finding him again, you lead him into you, sinking down on him with a low groan. Pero’s hands are on your thighs, gripping the soft flesh through the fabric of your clothes and when he’s fully sheathed in you he releases the breath he had been holding.

“Ride it, woman.” The words are harsh but his voice has a tender, pleading tone that you cannot resist even if you wanted to. You place your hands on his chest and start to move your hips, your mouth falling open from the intoxicating sensation of fullness. It’s like a madness coming over you as you start chasing the high again, riding him harder and faster, the bed’s creaks and Pero’s huffing breaths mingling with your own rising moans. He palms your breasts through the fabric of your chemise, searching for the drawstring to free them up but not finding it in the dark. He eventually settles for just cupping your breasts through the garment as you ride him to a desperate release that makes you arch your heart to him, baring yourself although neither one of you can see, for which you are now grateful because you are weeping. Tears are running down your cheeks and you don’t know whether they are from joy of being with him again, or sorrow because you know you are going to lose him in the morning.

There is no time to ruminate because Pero is now sitting up, grabbing you by the waist and turning both of you around, slamming you on your back against the threadbare old mattress and groaning against your neck.

“Where do you want me, hermosa?” His voice is tight, like a coiled spring, and you know he’s close from how his whole body is vibrating with his impending release.

You know what he’s asking. If he finishes in you, and you become with child again, he will be all the more connected to you. Mariposa is already the living embodiment of your passion. What would another child mean to the witch and the sell-sword?

“Inside,” you whisper, your voice thick but determined. “As deep as you can, Pero, all the way in.”

He growls at that and lays down over you, hooks one arm around your thigh to lift it up, gaining even deeper access. The other arm goes around your neck, pulling you into his chest so tightly that you can barely breathe. He buries his face against your neck as he pumps into you roughly and you wrap your arms around him, fisting your hands into his shirt as you crane your neck up and back in order to breathe. You’re pinned under him as he fucks his release into you, and you could not be happier when he floods you with his seed, filling you up and staying inside you when his body goes limp on top of you. The wilderness is raw inside you when his chest and stomach are glued to you, and your eyes fill with tears again.

Is this love?

You barely finish the thought before Mariposa lets out a cry that startles Pero into rolling off of you. You sit up, a little dizzy at first before you find your bearings and leave the bed, hasting over to the kitchen and your crying daughter who is flailing her arms.

“There, there, my love,” you coo as you lift her up and hold her against your chest. “Mama is here, there’s no need for that.”

Rocking her gently as you hum a song older than yourself, you manage to stop her crying. The bed creaks and you look up when Pero appears. He has stripped his shirt and tucked himself in, but his breeches are unbuttoned. The candlelight casts long, dark shadows over his naked chest and the strand of hair trailing down from his navel into his pants. The map of scars on his chest is familiar to you but there are a couple of new marks that you want to kiss. You should be scolding yourself for leaving the candles burning: not just a safety risk, candles are also precious. Instead, your heart misses a beat at the sight of Pero half dressed. You feel his seed trickle down the inside of your thigh, bringing a flush to your cheeks.

He comes up to you, bending his neck to kiss Mariposa’s head.

“Is she hungry again?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I think we just... woke her up.”

You see the corners for his mouth tug upwards in an amused, slightly chagrined smile.

“Should have thought about that. It’s just that... it feels so good to be inside you.”

The last words are whispered into your ear before his lips trail over your cheek, pausing at the salty wet on your cheekbones.

“Hermosa?”

“I’m okay,” you assure him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”

“Did I hurt you? I know I wasn’t careful.” His eyes are cast dark, the scar rendering his gaze frightening to anyone but you. A tender kiss on his lips softens his features slightly.

“You did not hurt me. It was good, Pero, you made me feel so good. That’s where the tears come from.”

He wipes your cheeks with his thumbs before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Can we go back to bed...?” he murmurs against your lips. Your smile tells him all he needs to know. He puts more logs on the fire, you blow out the candles except two that you bring with you when you return to the bedchamber with Mariposa. You both undress before hiding under the covers with the baby between the two of you. Mariposa has warmed to being awake and is enjoying the attention of the visitor, laughing her sweet baby laugh when Pero tickles her tummy and kisses her bare little feet. When she soils herself you get up to wash her and when you return, you find Pero stroking himself as he watches you with glassy eyes. You quickly put down Mariposa in her basket and give her a piece of leather that she likes to chew on, before you join Pero in bed and let him ravage you again.

You have to see to the animals after. Bundling up, you leave Pero and Mariposa in the kitchen, and step out. The night is cold but when you look up at the sky, the stars are gone. The bite against your cheeks comes from the wind which has emerged during the evening, and you hurry to the cowshed where you are greeted by your little herd. You feed the chickens and the cows, clean out the pens and put in fresh hay while talking to them. You tell them about Pero’s visit. The animals do not seem to pay you any mind but you know they are listening. Animals are always listening. You scratch the cows’ ears, caress the silky feathers of the chickens and wish them a good night.

It is snowing when you step out. Small, sharp flakes sting your face as you hurry to the cottage. The warmth welcomes you, as do Pero’s dark eyes and Mariposa’s happy gurgle. You feed the baby one more time before rocking her in your arms while singing to her a song that your grandmother sang to you. You even have a faint memory of the words in your mother’s voice, before she passed away.

North of where the crossroads meet

You’ll find a home where the air smells so sweet

There I was born and there did I grow

There I have field, there I have meadow

There I love you with all my heart

There we will never be apart

There on a spring day we were married

There in the winter my heart stays buried.

The baby falls asleep and you put her down for the night and crawl into bed. Pero moves around the kitchen like a shadow, putting out the lights and feeding the fire with more wood before joining you. The darkness is total but so is the warmth of his body, crowded against you as he is in the narrow bed. You’re sleepy but his touch rouses you as he pulls up your nightgown and reaches up between your legs.

After, you lie awake with Pero snoring lightly next to you. Despite being dead tired from the physical pleasure and the long day, you are too excited to sleep.

You are happy, quite ridiculously so. This is more than the satisfaction you feel at a job well done. This is addictive and dangerous, the way you want the rest of your winter to be spent exploring the world of physical pleasure with Pero, taking care of your daughter together, caring for the animals, and sleeping in his arms at night. You don’t want him to leave in the morning, and you’re secretly hoping that you will be snowed in so that he has to stay.

This is not how things are meant to go. But you also remember what you told him when he visited in autumn and begrudgingly told you his shameful secret of cowardice: the two of you are meant to enjoy each other. There is no shame in wanting him, taking pleasure from him, giving him pleasure. And if that pleasure should result in another baby, well... then so be it.

You move your hand over your belly, still slightly rounded from having accomodated Mariposa. None of your foremothers had more than one child, at least not that you know of. Why would you be different?

But you already are different. Pero is different. And you want it to be like this.

When Mariposa cries for her midnight feeding, Pero lies awake with one hand on your thigh as you sit in bed, nursing. You decide to be brave.

“Pero?” you ask quietly.

“Yes, hermosa?”

“Would you stay for a few days?”

He’s quiet for a long while and you regret your foolish question. He cannot be caged, you should have known that.

“I don’t want to crowd you,” he eventually confesses. “You have your own life.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to.”

“There’s not much I can do on a farm.”

“I don’t need your help with anything, I just... like your company.”

You hear the smile in his voice. “I like your company too.”

“The roads will be difficult after the blizzard anyway, Pero. Stay for a few days.”

“I will.”

With Mariposa back in her basket and you tucked into Pero’s side, you finally find rest, your hand resting on his chest, directly over his heart.

[sirowsky]

A Safe Place

So, I have no idea where this came from. None. But it's Pero, and I don't really need reasons to write him.

This is a standalone Pero Tovar one shot, with a female reader but told entirely from Pero's perspective.

Summary: He opens the door one night to find a friend in trouble, and in trying to help, he discovers that she's much more than a friend.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: TW domestic abuse, TW physical abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, no physical description of reader beyond female, happy ending. Word Count: 3250

Author's Masterlist

The two short knocks were so faint that had he not been on his way to lock the front door, he never would’ve heard it. It was well past midnight, and he’d just turned the tv off to go and brush his teeth before bed, so the house was dark and quiet, and still he barely heard it. He switched on the lights in the hall and opened the door. It had been a long day for a lot of reasons, and he was tired, but that all became insignificant when he saw you out there, leaning against the wall, covered in cuts and bruises, and hardly able to stand. You’d been beaten. Badly.

He stepped out and wrapped an arm around your waist, seeing how you flinched when pain shot through you at his touch. He wasn’t the most careful or tender of men, but he tried to soften his grip so as not to cause you any unnecessary discomfort, while he helped you get inside and guided you to his bedroom. You followed without protest, moving slowly and with great difficulty. You didn’t meet his eyes even momentarily, and he wondered why it felt like you were ashamed. Once he’d sat you down on the bed, he went into the adjoining bathroom and got some warm water and towels that he brought back and placed on the nightstand. He tried to be gentle as he wiped the blood off your face to try and see where it was coming from, but some of it had already dried and therefor required more effort. Every time his ministrations made you twitch or wince, he felt more and more like a monster for adding to your pain, but it had to be done. He found three larger cuts on your face and head, none of whom would need stitches, but he was gonna tape them together after he’d checked the rest of you over. Next were your hands, and they were in bad shape. You’d fought, and you’d fought with everything you had, as evident by the badly chafed knuckles. Your hands would need to be bandaged, but at least you seemed to have avoided breaking any bones in them.

“Where else?” he asked while dunking the small towel in the now dark red water.

You gave no response and didn’t move at all, and repeating the question yielded no better result, which made him huff in frustration. He was neither patient nor eloquent, meaning his responses to most situations consisted of grunts, sighs and eyerolls, which was usually enough to convey how disinterested he was in most things. But this time, for the first time, he regretted using such a crude way of communication, because you visibly shrunk at the sound, hunching even further in on yourself and angling your bowed head away from him.

He’d known you for almost ten years, ever since working his first real job, as a bouncer at a bar where you’d been a bartender, and at first, he’d found you childish and spontaneous and way too naive. You’d been the brightest spot of every room you set foot in and the one that everyone wanted to hang out with, simply because you’d radiated fun. You’d basically been his complete opposite, and while he’d never had anything against you, he hadn’t particularly liked you either. That is, until he’d seen you take every ounce of masculinity out of a guy that had made the mistake of putting his hands where they weren’t welcome. Naive, yes, but by no means helpless in either words or actions. He liked that quality in people, all people, not just women, because knowing that they could and would handle themselves meant that he didn’t need to worry about them. And try as he might, when he cared about someone, he worried. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d begun to care about you, since you’d been nothing but an annoyance to him ever since then, but he damn well did. Not that he’d ever admitted it, even to himself. You’d pretty much just decided to befriend him, whether he agreed or not, and that had been how your relationship had worked from then on. You’d show up unannounced at all hours of the day or night, sometimes inviting yourself to crash on his couch after a long night, and sometimes bringing takeout and a movie, just because you were bored and knew that he wouldn’t throw you out. Occasionally, you’d even cook or bake. And it didn’t matter to you that he rarely engaged with your ideas, or even answered you when you prattled on about anything and everything, you just smiled and kept at it, determined to have a good time, no matter the mood of the room. That was who you were at your core: someone that made the most out of every breadcrumb. And more importantly; a free spirit. Someone not meant to be tied down and trapped by commitments and promises. You’d been happy to take home a random guy to enjoy yourself with for a few hours on the weekends, but that was as close as you’d ever gotten to people. Even the friends you’d had were more shallow acquaintances than real relationships, since you’d never allowed anyone to really know you. Well, anyone but Pero. During your forced visits you’d usually talk all the time, and the topics were as varied as insects were plentiful. But sometimes you’d stray into more personal areas, like your family, or dreams, or things you’d gone through in your life. So, in truth, he was probably the one person that knew who you were, behind the scenes, even though he hadn’t asked or wanted to be. Or perhaps because of it. All of this meant that he’d known when you’d met the guy that had changed everything. He’d known it from the first day, because your behaviour had started to change that quickly. He’d never mentioned his observations to you, it wasn’t his place to judge or meddle with your affairs, but he’d noticed, and he hadn’t liked what he’d noticed. The guy had snared you into a relationship you didn’t want, but for some reason didn’t know how to get out of, despite your confidence in yourself. And the result of that had been a slow and painful death of the person you really were, as your soul became increasingly trapped behind the walls of the cage that somehow grew around you. He’d watched it happen, and said nothing, even though he’d wanted to, because in your eyes he’d seen how desperately you’d needed his house to be a sanctuary. A place where that person was still allowed to live and shine, as free as she’d always been. So, he’d let you, knowing that every time you’d left, you’d returned to that cage.

Now that he saw the finger-shaped bruises on your wrists, he regretted his silence. His compliance. Because this was how the guy had trapped you. This was why you hadn’t found the strength to walk away. And a part of him had known it all along, but told himself that it wasn’t his fight, and that unless you asked, he had no right to meddle. But the truth was simply that he hadn’t wanted to get involved. And for no better reason than because that would’ve meant admitting that he cared. Well, too fucking late, pendejo…

“I don’t care what happened, just let me take care of your wounds.” he pleaded, hating how gruff he still sounded.

You wouldn’t meet his eyes, but you took a jagged breath and reached up to pull your long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, grimacing badly with the pain the movements caused you. And as soon as the shirt was off, he knew why. Big black bruises had already formed along your left side, from the hip all the way up to the underside of your bra, and angry red scrapes, most likely from the toe of a boot, adorned the softer flesh of your love-handle. White-hot rage filled his blood at the sight, and he had to clench his jaws down tight, to silence the string of curses that spilled from his lips. But he couldn’t halt the anger.

“I’ll kill him.” he spat between his teeth.

You flinched, but more likely at the hard and cold tone of his voice, than the words he’d said, so he tried to speak softer, although with limited success.

“You need a hospital, scans, medica-…”

“No.” you cut him off, but your voice was weak and fragile, even with such a small word.

“You could have internal bleeding, broken ribs, damaged organs.” he pressed, but you just shook your head.

“He doesn’t know… about you. I’m safe here.”

That would imply that you weren’t safe at a hospital, and when he considered the fact that this man had forced you to marry him, and would likely have a story prepared, explaining your injuries, it wasn’t unthinkable that he could get his hands on you, even around medical professionals. You were scared, and you’d come to him to feel safe, which for some reason eased the rage and made a different kind of warmth spread through him.

“Okay. Let me get some bandages.” he offered, and you nodded once.

He noted that you still hadn’t looked at him, and that sense of shame still hung over your head somehow, which he just couldn’t understand. But for now, his focus was on making you feel better. When he came back to the bedroom after having retrieved his first aid kit from the kitchen, you’d slumped down on your side on the bed, with your feet still on the floor. He lifted them up to make you more comfortable, and you didn’t react to the movement at all, so he kept a close eye on your breathing while he worked, just in case you weren’t merely sleeping. Even though your pulse was strong, and everything seemed stabile, he was much too anxious to have a hope of sleeping that night. So, he dragged a more comfortable armchair from the living room into the bedroom, that he could sit in to watch over you while you slept. But before he settled in, he dug up the duffel bag from the bottom of his closet. He hadn’t used the blades inside of it in the ten years since he’d cleaned up his act, but he still trained with them, and kept them sharp and ready. He’d never imagined that you would be the reason he might have to resort to that kind of violence again, but he would gladly do it to keep you safe. For all the annoyance you’d made him suffer over the years, you’d never once been unkind or deliberately selfish or unthinking. Not to anyone, even your bastard husband. He took his seat by your side, and after a few moments, reached over and wrapped one finger around your pinkie. Just so he’d know if you stirred, in case he dozed off. He looked at your hand, all red even where there wasn’t any visible damage to your skin, and he thought about how hard you must’ve fought, and it brought a small smile to his face, just barely enough to twitch at the corners of his mouth. But it felt bigger than that. Because that kind of spirit was how he was used to seeing you, that was the person he knew you to be.

The morning came without anyone having banged on his door in the night, reinforcing your statement that your husband really didn’t know that Pero’s house was where you’d spent most of your free time, even after getting married. He wondered how you’d managed that? How had you been able to carve out entire days or nights away from him, for over three years? Abusive men were controlling assholes, they generally kept their victims on a tight leash, but somehow, you’d figured out a way to keep a little corner of freedom, no matter what your lesser half had done. It was admirable, and perhaps the only reason you were in his bed right now. Without that little speck of freedom, you probably would’ve succumbed to your husband’s control completely. Allowed him to dictate every thought and emotion. But perhaps only because you’d had a slice of something better, reminding you that life wasn’t supposed to be lived in chains, you’d been able to hold on to yourself, until you’d found your breaking point, and used it to get away. He wondered how much you’d managed to hurt the guy in return, given the state of your hands. He hoped that the answer was: a lot.

You regained some energy over the course of that day, even though the bruises only looked worse, and your pain was still not lessened. The improvement seemed to be more of mind and spirit, than body. He cooked for you and helped you move around, and you were strong enough to tease him about his culinary skills, which was a good sign. But any time he tried to ask you about what had happened, you shut down and stopped talking all together. He wanted to know so that he could decide what he was gonna do about the situation, and with his general lack of patience, it was twice as maddening to be forced to wait, when he had no clue what your husband was doing to find you. By the end of the day, you asked him to stay with you after he’d tucked you into bed, and he couldn’t refuse you. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d slept next to each other. Sometimes when you’d stayed the night, he’d found you curled up on one side of his bed in the morning, having snuck in at some point during the night, and he’d always woken you and told you to get your own bed. Your response to that had always been to suggest shared custody of his bed, since it was the comfiest one you knew of, and in more recent years had graduated to you simply reminding him of that shared custody, even though he’d never actually agreed to it. But now, he wondered if maybe it had just felt safe to you, even before you’d met your husband. A calm port in an otherwise perpetually storming sea.

There was no moon to be seen that night, nor stars to bear witness to his vengeance. It wasn’t his to take, not really, and he’d left you alone even though he knew that you needed him there. But his blood still boiled at the mere thought of the man, and there would be no peace until the bastard was gone for good. He knew which house it was, even though he’d never been there before. He knew where the hidden key was, even though he’d never used it before. Through your eyes he’d seen every inch of your home, and it seemed as familiar to him as you did, when he stalked through the bottom floor, making no sound at all. One step of the stairs creaked, and he skipped it without even needing to count them. The master bedroom was on the far end of the upstairs hall, to the right, past the nursery that he’d made you decorate in the hopes that it would make you yearn for a child as much as he did. No doubt only for appearances, as a man like him would take enormous offence at the suggestion that he wasn’t fertile, or man enough, to father a child. The bedroom door always stood open a few inches, so the bastard would hear it if you moved through the house at night. He snuck inside and found the guy sleeping on his side, the duvet down by his waist and his arm on top of it. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so the bruises you’d left on him were on full display in the light coming from the small lamp on his bedside table. Pero took a moment to admire your handiwork, some of it bad enough that large medical patches hid them, and he smiled in earnest. Because this meant that you’d already won. You’d already beaten him, in mind, body and soul. Meaning all he had to do was finish the job, so that you would never have to.

It would take another two days until you finally told him what had happened. He’d understood your shame then, as your kind heart had been made to endure terrible things for you to save yourself. Forced to reduce yourself to the most basic of instincts, ignoring all forms of humanity and decency and respect, in order to free yourself of a monster. You’d managed to stop your inner beast before delivering the killing strike, though, of which he was grateful. Both because it meant that your soul was still intact, but also because it had allowed him to exact his own revenge as well. It would take another few days before he told you about that, though. And only because the news reported about your husband’s disappearance, asking for tips concerning the whereabouts of his wife. You were shocked at first, but not appalled or disgusted, and after just a few minutes, you thanked him for his actions. He assured you that the body couldn’t be found, and that no blame could ever be laid at your feet, and you left it at that for the time being.

You never married again, but you did have a baby, a few years later after finally finding someone that you trusted to treat you right. He’d always been there, but you’d always thought that he was out of your reach, and he couldn’t say for certain that he hadn’t been. If you’d wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him to you for that first kiss, back when you were still just the friend he never invited, he wasn’t sure that he would’ve kissed you back. But he did that day. He kissed you with all the passion he possessed, tugged at you, begged you to come closer even when your entire body was pressed against his. He kissed you all night, everywhere that you would let him, and in those kisses, he learned what it was to love someone. How it felt. How it hurt and comforted all at once, how it burned and soothed and then started all over again, every single minute.

You gave him the rest of your life, and he took it proudly, all the way to your shared grave, many wonderful years later. In his final minutes in this life, having grown old and grey, he thought about the events that had unfolded back then, and he wondered if he’d given you enough. If the years you’d had with him had been good enough to balance those awful ones. To outweigh them, even. He looked at your face, still so soft despite the wrinkles, and still warm despite your soul having departed in the night. And you looked so peaceful, almost happy, even in death, that he had to have done something right. And that was enough. He’d gotten to be the one that made you happy. And now, he was the one that got to go with you to the next adventure.

--THE END--

Thank you for reading and enjoy the rest of your day/night! (Again, I've copied the DMT taglist, with a few additions. Please let me know if you don't wish to be on this list, because I will use it again.)

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @elegantduckturtle @lovefreylove @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @talesfromtheguild @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @startrekkingaroundasgard @thisshipwillsail316 @ellie-darling @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @nakhudanyx @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @andiesturgss @deadhumourist @spideysimpossiblegirl @pedrostories @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @nolanell @bison-writes @dornish-queen @shsoba05 @myfavpedrothings

[sapphosthoughtsandwritings]

if it’s not too much to ask please please please could you write more avengers x teen!reader? I adore the one with fear of the dark and was wondering if you could do something similar? Like either the avengers comforting the reader or just something with lots of hugs and cuddles? Thank you!! <3

Stage Fright - Avengers x anxious!teen!Reader

Summary: When your presentation for class goes terribly wrong, your team mates come to rescue you and take you home.

Warnings: depictions of anxiety, panic attack, a few cuss words

Type: angst, ends with fluff

Word Count: ~2.5k

A/N: MY FIRST REQUEST, very exciting!! I am so so glad you liked my work, and I hope you enjoy this one as well!! <3 I also have quite a few more ideas for teen!Reader fics, so this definitely won't be the last piece like this!

(Y/l/n) = your last name

(f/d) = favorite drink

You’d been dreading this day for weeks now. Clutching the straps of your backpack, you let out a deep sigh, walking up to the doors of your school. You didn’t like school to begin with, but the building seemed much more intimidating today. Making your way through the halls, you were grateful that you got to school early, you hated pushing through crowds of people.

“Hey, hey (Y/n)!”, a voice called from down the hall. You recognized it almost immediately. “Hi Peter, what’s up?”. You were happy to see him, maybe talking out your nervousness would help. “Oh, you know, just the same old stuff. Sure am tired though”. “Well, if you don’t sleep then you will be tired”. “Like you’re one to talk (Y/l/n)”. You only rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue at him, evoking a chuckle from him. “How about you? How are you doing?”. “Ugh, not great. I have to present that project today. Not particularly looking forward to it”, you huffed, looking down to the ground as your anxiety increased at the thought of presenting alone. “Hey, I’m sure you’ll do great. Most people don’t pay attention to presentations anyways”, he assured you. You popped your knuckles, still feeling just as nervous. You knew he was right, but that didn’t stop the fear surging through you. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want to do it. Maybe if I wait long enough, there won’t be any class time left for me to present”, that was your hope, and your only plan to get out of this without panicking in front of the whole class. “Maybe, well regardless, I hope it goes well”, he offered you a sincere smile. “Yeah, I hope so too”. “Well, I should probably head to class, see you at lunch!”. “Right back at ya, Parker”, you waved gently to him as he disappeared down a hallway.

You made your way to your first class, deciding to read a bit before class started. Nothing you did eased the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind though. Your first two classes were easy enough, but it was hard to focus, your mind racing with intrusive thoughts. ‘What if my voice gives out? What happens if I start crying in front of everyone? God, the whole school will hear about it. Everyone will stare at me, whisper about me every time I pass by them. I can’t do this, I just can’t’. By your third class, you’d bitten your nails down to blood, your lips suffering the same fate, cracked and split open. You almost considered skipping, but you’d worked hard on this project, you couldn’t let that go to waste. So, taking your seat in the back of the class, you tried breathing techniques, anything to help calm your senses. Your leg bounced so much, you swore the floor would give out under your foot.

The teacher turned out the lights, letting people present their projects voluntarily. You calmed the tiniest bit. If someone randomly kept volunteering to present, the class time was sure to run out before you even got the chance to stand up. Throughout the class, you were on edge, chanting silent prayers in your head. You weren’t very fortunate though, as everyone presented quickly, making it apparent that you were going to have to present no matter what. “Alright, who hasn’t gone up yet?”, your teacher called out, looking at her grading sheet. ‘Oh my god, please don’t see my name. Please tell me I don’t exist. Let me just disappear. I can’t do this’. “Oh! (Y/n) still hasn’t presented, come on over and I’ll pull up your project”, your teacher chirped.

Your heart pounded painfully hard in your chest, slowly standing up on jelly legs, keeping your gaze down as you walked to the whiteboard. You couldn’t possibly do this. You were going to die. Every mission you’d ever gone on seemed so miniscule in this moment, as you looked out to your peers. It was too dark to see most of their faces, which only made your situation worse. Your teacher pulled up the project on the projector, gesturing to you to start presenting, as she clicked her pen, ready to write down every mistake you made.

Letting out a jittery breath, you clasped your sweaty hands together and began talking. You were shaking so badly, it was like an earthquake had erupted inside of your body. You could feel the tears threatening to spill past your eyes, leaving a hard pain in your throat. Your chest hurt, and your breathing was becoming more erratic. But you had to finish, you had to get this over with. Just as you were on one of the last slides, a voice called from somewhere in the class, “Hey, pipsqueak! Speak up, would ya? We can’t hear you back here!”. The comment elicited a few snickers, which your teacher hushed quietly, but the damage was already done. The room was suddenly shrinking around you, as your chest tightened even further. You bit your lip, trying your best to compose yourself, attempting to push down your anxiety, but it only pushed back up more violently. “(Y/n)? You still have a few slides left”, your teacher said, but you didn’t hear her. Instead, your fight or flight instincts took over, and you raced out of the classroom, tears now breaking free, streaming down your face. You headed to the nearest bathroom, locking yourself in a stall, your whole world crumbling beneath you.

Leaning against the door, you slid down, breath caught in your throat, fighting to get out, but to no avail. Instinctively, you brought your knees up to your chest, clutching at the seams of your pants, letting out choked sobs and broken coughs. There was only one thing you could think of that might help you, and that was your teammates. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, continuing to shake violently, as you clicked the emergency contacts, thumb pressed to the first person, which just so happened to be Bucky. You lifted the phone to your ear, barely hearing the ring, despite your call volume being all the way up.

Bucky saw your name pop up on his phone, panic surging through him. You never called, it made you too anxious. He answered instantly, “(Y/n)? (Y/n), sweetheart, are you okay?”. His sudden panic mixed with your name caused both Steve and Sam to stand by him, all of them mentally preparing for an emergency. You wanted to reply, but all that came out was a squeak, as your fist collided with the tiled floor, your oxygen levels becoming more scarce by the second. Bucky put his phone on speaker, letting all three of them talk to you. “(Y/n), doll, you gotta breathe okay? Through your nose, count on your fingers”, Bucky stated, trying to keep his voice steady for you. “Yep, deep breaths (Y/n), you’ve got this. You’re gonna be okay”, Steve reassured you. After about 10 minutes of the three of them gently coaxing you out of your panic attack, you calmed slightly, leaving you crying quietly.

“We’re almost back at the compound, we’ll come and pick you up in about 20 minutes, okay?”, Steve said, giving no room for protests, although at this point you weren’t going to object. You wanted to go home. “Okay, I guess I should get back to class then”, you murmured, realizing that you’d probably been gone for over 15 minutes now. It was weird no one came to look for you, but you weren’t complaining. “If you aren’t ready to go back kid, that’s fine. We can stay on the call as long as you need”, Sam mentioned, his voice sounded beyond concerned. You had a bad habit of not taking care of yourself, especially in times of crisis. “No, I’ll be fine, gotta go back to get my stuff anyways”, you were dreading going back. The whole class would be focused on you for sure, not to mention the faux sympathy from your teacher, something that would surely cause another flood of tears. You just wanted to go unnoticed, for everyone to ignore your presence. “Alright, if you’re sure”. “I’m sure, I’ll see you guys soon”, you weren’t sure, but you had to convince them, you knew too well that they’d cause a scene at the school if things got worse. “Okay, stay safe sweetheart, we’ll be there as soon as possible”, Steve stated, before Bucky reluctantly hung up the phone.

Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up, groaning slightly as you forced your stiff body to move. You stepped out of the stall, silently thanking the universe for not letting anyone walk in during your breakdown. You looked to one of the mirrors, finding a disheveled figure staring back at you. You grabbed a paper towel, dampening it in the sink, and gently washing the dried tears off your face. You fixed your clothing and washed your hands, before making the godawful trip back to class. There was only 5 minutes left for the class, but that was more than enough time for shit to go wrong. You stood outside the door for a minute, taking a moment to compose yourself.

Turning the handle slowly, you eased your way past the door, the lights now on. Just as you expected, all eyes turned on you, but most turned away quickly, looking back to their friend or their phone. That lifted your nervousness a bit, as you started to head back to your desk, but your teacher had other plans, as she cleared her throat, motioning for you to go and talk to her. You cussed quietly to yourself, could this day get any worse? You dragged your feet over to her desk, biting your now scabbed lip. “So, your project was very good, therefore, I’m going to give you a 90, but I have to dock 10 points for your presentation”, she spoke quietly and sternly. Your face grew hot with her words, tears swelling in your eyes again. She was taking points off for something that you couldn’t control? It pissed you off to say the least. You only looked away from her desk, nodding slightly, knowing better than to open your mouth. “Alright then, you can go and pack up your things”. You walked quickly back to your desk, putting the few things you had taken out back into your backpack, before the bell rang for lunch. Dashing out of the class, you headed straight for the front of the school, more than ready for the day to be over. You’d email your 4th period teacher later on what work you missed out on. On your way, you made sure to text Peter, letting him know everything that happened, and that you wouldn’t be there for lunch.

You only had to wait for a few minutes, as Sam walked through the doors, spotting you quickly and walking over to you. “You alright kid?”. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, jus’ want this day to be done already”. He nodded, following you to the front office, signing everything to excuse you for the day. He kept a close eye on you the whole time, a protective hand placed on your shoulder. Stepping out of the building, he led you to the car where Bucky and Steve awaited. You got into the back seat, Sam sitting in the seat next to you.

“Hey doll, you feeling alright?”, Bucky quizzed, angling his body to look at you. “Yeah, ‘m glad you guys offered to pick me up though. Don’t really think I could’ve lasted another class”, you fidgeted with your hands, you knew your nerves wouldn’t calm for a while, but at least it was manageable now. “We’re always here for you, kid, no matter what”, Sam assured you, patting your shoulder softly. “Mhm, you can always come to us, even if we’re on a mission. Our job can always wait, your well being is more important than anything”, Steve added, looking briefly to you in the rearview mirror. “Thank you for that, you guys are the best”, you smiled bashfully. “No need to thank us, jus’ doing what’s right”, Bucky stated. “So, whatcha feel like doing when we get back?”, Sam asked. You thought for a moment, doing anything social sounded horrible at the moment, and the weighted blanket in your room was calling your name. “How ‘bout a pizza and movie night?”, you inquired, knowing they’d all like the idea, hell the whole team would probably join in. “Sounds good to me”, Steve mused, he always liked time for the team to bond. “Me too”. “Me as well, I’m starving dude”, Sam quipped, causing all of you to chuckle.

It didn’t take long to get back to the tower, all of you heading inside, you going to your room to set your stuff down and to change into something more comfy. After changing, you grabbed your weighted blanket, wrapping it around you, heading back down to the common room. Word must’ve spread fast, cause the whole team was gathered there, everyone sitting in a designated spot, except for Tony, who was currently ordering pizza over the phone. “Hey, there they are, rough day at school?”, Natasha asked, giving you a warm smile. “Yeah, not the greatest”, you huffed out a small laugh. “Well, in that case, you get to choose the first movie draga”, Pietro looked up at you from his spot on the floor. You hummed in response, before placing your decision on one of your favorite comfort movies. Clint started to look it up on the various streaming services, finding it almost instantly. “This one, right?”. You nodded happily, making your way over to sit between Steve and Wanda. “Hey, kiddo, you want a drink? And I’m guessing you want some extra garlic breadsticks too, right?”, Tony asked, holding his phone away from his mouth slightly. “Uhh, I’ll have a (f/d), and duh, of course I want garlic breadsticks”. “Yeah, what type of question is that?”, Pietro chimed in. Tony scoffed at him, rolling his eyes, but continued placing the order.

Wanda opened her arms next to you, allowing you to curl into her side as her arms wrapped softly around you. You stretched your legs out, Steve placed them on his lap, gently rubbing his thumb over your calf. Your nerves were finally winding down, as Clint pressed play on the movie. Wanda kept an arm wrapped around your back, her other hand resting gently on the side of your head, making sure to keep you close. The pizza arrived shortly after the movie had started, and you grabbed as much food as you wanted. You deserved it after the day you had. After the first movie finished, and the team voted on a new movie to watch, you felt yourself begin to drift off. You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect setting, comfort and warmth surrounding you. You didn’t make it far into the second movie before you fell asleep, listening to the sound of Wanda’s heart beating, the events from earlier that day flooding away, leaving you to sleep peacefully, knowing that you were safe and sound.

[underluci]

here’s part 2 for the younger ones lol :))) can’t believe the first one took off with 200+ notes holy shit and wtf this turned out SO LONG I— (but then again it’s self-indulgent LMAO)

tags/warnings: very berry self-indulgent flavor, written on a whim and at like 4 am or so, all fluff! lots 'o kisses, lil bit of spoilers from lesson 16+ on belphie’s part

THE YOUNGER BROTHERS and MC FALLING ASLEEP WHILE IN THE MIDDLE OF DOING (SCHOOL)WORK

SATAN who is just so excited to tell you about the new compilation of cat videos that he just saw on DevilTube, and in the light of his bane of existence that is Lucifer and being prohibited from getting a furry friend himself, he runs straight towards your room hoping to share his other source of happiness aside from books to none other than you.

On the way there, he passes by the common room, and to his surprise, he finds you there instead all passed out, notebooks and hard-bound books still pried open and the crisp sound of the pages all rattling along with the crackling sound of the fire flaming from the fireplace.

But back to more important matters.

Never would he have thought that he would witness you like this—all sprawled out on the sofa and hair all swerved across the black leather of the sofa like a lion’s mane, with hands all dainty and curled up into a ball like those of a cat. There's a feeling of serenity and peace that simmers within him while he listens to how steady you're breathing is and watches your chest rise and fall as you inhale and exhale.

Satan just couldn't help but fixate his gaze on you, putting his DDD back into his pocket before plopping down on the adjacent seat. The ends of his fingers then gently trail the smooth edges and planes of the open book you were reading. He huffs as he closes his eyes, "Knowledge is power..."

If there’s something that Satan gives utmost value to, it’s definitely the pursuit of knowledge. Nothing is more important than being relentless in the pursuit and thirst for knowledge, for it feeds and empowers the mind. It is his way of navigating the world that he lives on and beyond.

And to see you all here drowned in the mixed scent of burning wood from the fireplace and the pages of each book that you’re reading that has spanned millenia only makes him feel more proud for you, albeit the darkening bags in your eyes.

He pauses for a while, stopping his ministrations while letting his words sink in, sighing as he smiles afterwards, "You've been working hard, haven't you?"

Once he lets go of the book, he softly swathes the strands of hair that curtains your face, tucking them at the back of your ear as he presses his lips on your forehead. He keeps his lips planted for a few more seconds, relishing the feel of your skin against his lips as well as the feel of your breath tenderly tickling against his skin before letting go.

"Keep up the great work!"

ASMODEUS who is literally the epitome of self-care and self-love (which to be fair, is an understatement), so during the entirety of the week when you were too busy and stressed with your current workload, he makes a tremendous effort to suggest a couple of skincare and bath products that he swears by, going even as far as inviting you to bathe and get pampered with him, although he was only met with Lucifer’s stern words of “Keep it to yourself, Asmo” as well as Mammon’s usual dose of “OH NO YOU DON’T!” in return.

Good lord, dealing with Mammon and his relentless need to declare him as your ‘first’ to basically everyone can be really taxing.

By the end of the week, he is more than thrilled to barge into your room and finally have you all for himself, "Y/N! we can finally relax together—", but all he witnesses is you dozing off on the table, arms all splayed, hair all messy, and the unmistakable stain of drool which in his opinion could even easily rival Belphie's.

Normally, he is often irked by the sight of saliva and the disgusting stain that it leaves when it dries as well as the sheer horror of bed hair all tousled and messed up beyond recognition, but in the inner, darker corners of his heart, he knows deep down that you will always be the exception.

His brow furrows into a frown, his lips following suit downward when he watches the pained expression contorting out of your face as he could only watch you twist and turn in different angles desperately trying to find a comfortable sleeping position, to no avail, “Oh dear”.

Stepping out of his comfort zone, he goes along and slides his slender fingers across your scalp, eventually sweeping and combing all the strands of your once disheveled hair into one clean direction. Once he lays down your hair onto one of your shoulders, he starts methodically kneading on your nape and back with his impeccable fingers. He starts slow and small, but once his fingers got the hang of it, he starts increasing the pressure on his fingers.

“Does it feel good?“

He casually asks you while he continues thumbing and pressing down on your tense spots as if you would be able to reply, and once he presses on that spot between your neck and shoulders, a sigh of satisfaction comes out of your delectable lips.

“Mmmh mmmh,“ he hums, taking it as an absolute yes, if your body slowly becoming putty in his hands were any sign.

And while that feedback was in some ways unexpected, it is the only thing he needs to know that you’re relieved.

"Let's spend some quality time together this time, okay?", he muses with the click of his tongue, pressing one final massage before subtly removing the precious black scarf loosely wrapped around his shoulders. He then goes on to wrap it around you, and as his eyes lay upon you wearing his scarf, there’s a feeling of possessiveness and reassurance in him that yes, you’re going to be okay in his care.

He then goes out of your room, not before casting one final gaze to your direction, and goes straight into his room, pulling every last nail polish, shower gel, perfume, and every necessity known to mankind and all realms that are in his possession.

He’s gonna make sure that tomorrow is a day of relaxation for you.

And this time, he will make sure that he gets to you before his brothers do.

BEELZEBUB who is often found awake even in the middle of the night, mainly because it’s that perfect sliver of time where he can have the contents of the fridge all for himself to be able to sate his hunger.

And so he opens the refrigerator and pulls out different food one by one, going as far as eating Mammon’s labeled custard with almost no remorse after the incident that ruined the adjacent walls of your bedroom that led to you sleeping in his room for a couple while.

Even when he didn’t like what Mammon did at that time, he sees a silver lining in the way things progressed because 

Which reminds him.

You and him were supposed to have another scheduled night with him in your room, which means more food and more opportunity to spend time with you. In a minute or less, his hands and arms are full of every snack he could pull out of the fridge and the cupboards and wasted no time walking his way to your room.

Knowing that his brothers have also evidently shown their affection towards you, he can only hope that this time, he can have you all for himself. 

Of course there’s giddiness that blooms inside his heart and brings warmth to his body when he opens the door to your room sans any of his brothers, not even Mammon who would usually be around you trying to push other potential competition aka his brothers out of the way, or even Belphie who has now developed a routine of asking you out to sleep with him in his or your bed.

The only thing is, you’re fast asleep.

On the cold floor.

If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have seen and have most likely stepped on and broke all the stationery and parchment papers that clustered all around you like the beautiful constellations in the sky. 

Nevertheless, he kneels down to gently sweep away the clutter of pens and papers surrounding you before locking his arms under your body to lift you out from the floor like a lover in distress. But while carrying you is a piece of cake, which he owes to working out, navigating his way to your bed was another story if it weren’t for the remaining piles of paperwork and references stacked up in his path, and the last thing that he wants is to create a mess that will only stress you further when you wake up.

His brain’s all muddled and conflicted, not until your head shifts and lays down on his sturdy shoulders. As if it weren’t enough, your hands began tugging at the hem of his jacket, further pulling his attention towards you.

“Y/N!“

“Beel...“ he hears you mumble dreamily while he watches the tips of your fingers cling his chest that elicits a flustered reaction out of him, and it’s so cute that even in your sleep, he is still there somewhere occupying a space in the deep subconscious of your mind.

A content smile grazes his lips, releasing a sigh out of his chest before he nibbles his lips right on top of your head. And once he finally lays you on your bed did he knew and realized that he would want to do this for you again.

BELPHEGOR whose #1 favorite activity ever since everything that happened was to snuggle next to you in bed. He uses it to his advantage to make sure that even in slumber, he can still make up for the time lost as a result of being isolated from you and his brothers. Plus, he gets to hold you in his arms real-time and in the flesh and it kills two birds with one stone since it also help keep his body warm, especially during the brisky cold Devildom nights.

So the moment he catches you all sprawled on your bed, tangled in the sheets, and books just straight up cluttered by the foot of your bed, he wastes no time entangling his arms and legs on your body, latching on them as he takes no regard on the books falling and thudding on the floor as a result.

“Mmmh,“ he coos as his eyelids become heavy and drowsy, arms latching themselves onto your waist as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your tousled hair in the process.

Who cares about studying, anyways? Not to mention just how exhausted you are from everything, if your heavy breathing and the dark circles around your eyes are any indication.

He admits that dealing with him and his brothers alone is a tough job, not to mention that all of them are well-known and are powerful demons, and yet you managed to do so like a walk in the park except it’s literally hell. Not to mention that you survived living with them under one roof for an entire year.

And last but not the least, he always feels so loved and cared for every time you oblige and indulge his requests of sleeping with you either on his bed or yours, his mind immediately thinking of how your fingers feel against his back when you try to massage him and the feel of your legs and his legs getting tangled together as you both sleep the night away.

And now it’s finally time to return the favor and the tender loving care that you always gave him even when forgiving him for what he did to you was something that he believed he didn’t deserved.

He releases a deep exhale, nostrils basking in your natural scent and the scent of fresh bedding as a giddy giggle goes out of his chest out of happiness for just being able to live and sleep another night with you like this.

He adjusts for a little bit, making sure that you’re comfortable and fit into him like a puzzle. It’s finally time to cut yourself some slack, he reverberates in the back of his sleep-muddled brain as he tightens his hold on your waist and does small, slow circling rubs on your lower back..

You deserve a good rest, and there’s no other place perfect for that other than his arms.

☆ ELDEST THREE ☆ ‘UNDATEABLES’ ☆ MAIN MASTERLIST ☆

[wrong-way-sir]

Your boyfriend Shuuji Hanma isn't a man of comforting words and tends to come off as cold or uncaring but when it matters most you can always count on him to calm your worries no matter how trivial the subject might seem.

Requested by: @dabisfireflower

CW: GN Y/N, Aged!Up Hanma, Possible Tokyo Revenger spoilers, Light Angst, Curse Words, a little bit of an argument, Hanma isn't good with words, Mentions of Smoking, Fluff, and little to no proofreading! ♡

1.9k Words

1:50 P.M.

Your eyes stared at the analog clock that hung over the TV in your apartment living room. The feeling hadn't come back to your fingers, you felt like you had pin-needles digging into your thighs, and the only feeling present was the tingling of your face. Your fingers twisted the end of your hair as anxiety ran through you while you waited for the handles of the clock to reach 2:30 P.M.

You had to leave at 2:30 P.M. to arrive at the salon at 3 o'clock. Your body refused to remove itself from the couch until then. To be honest you don't know if you would even be able to walk with how your anxiety was treating you. Why did you even make the damn appointment? You thought to yourself as you pulled on the end of your hair hard enough to ache slightly and pull you out of the spiral of thoughts.

As trivial as it sounded the thought of chopping off your hair at the salon filled you with dread. You had spent so many years growing it out but to your dismay it hadn't had been for the better. You had realized only a few days ago while trying to dye it with box dye how bad your hair's state was, all the dye, the heat, the different products had left you hair beyond repair.

Scheduling a haircut hadn't been your original idea. It had been your boyfriend's. He had thrown it out nonchalantly and the moment it left his lips your heart picked up its pace. Shuuji didn't know about this anxiety, nor would he care about it if you told him so you had done as he suggested and scheduled a haircut.

"I'm coming in, it's Shuuji."

Your head shot to the door of your apartment where Shuuji was kicking off his shoes as he fumbled with his jacket. A half smoked cigarette hung from his lips, unlit. A deep breath escaped you and your hand that had been twisting the dead ends of your hair dropped to your thighs.

"Hey Princess," Shuuji smiled as he made his way towards you on the couch. You watched as he removed unlit stick from his mouth and he leaned down to place a kiss to your forehead before he fell onto the couch next to you, "You miss me? Of course you did." He giggled as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.

A smiled placed itself on your features at the soft kiss coming from your boyfriend. It had relieved a small tension you had in your shoulders as Shuuji sat next to you. You were more than happy to see him. He would help you get your mind off your hair for the next 30 minutes.

"Shuuji get your feet off the table!" You protested as you smacked his thigh. He rolled his eyes as he removed his feet and placed them back on the carpet, "Why are you here? I thought you were busy today with Kisaki and the rest?" You asked as you sunk back into your old couch as Shuuji shrugged.

"Like I give a shit about those guys," Shuuji said and you sighed, "Only guy I even remotely care for is Kisaki and even then he's a bit much. Plus he said he had someone else to fuck Toman's plans up, gave me the day off, so I thought I would come see my baby."

You shook your head in disbelief, you knew your boyfriend was involved with the gang life but you hadn't minded it all that much as long as he didn't show up with a bullet wound on your door step or in a body bag. Although you had to admit, him working for that weirdo Kisaki made you uncomfortable but for Shuuji you shook it off.

"Well, thank Kisaki for me next time. Now you can get my mind off things until I leave." You smiled and he hummed in agreement before his features turned into confusion with a head tilt.

"Eh? Where are you going, work?" He asked and you rolled your eyes, of course your boyfriend hadn't remembered about your hair appointment even when you had to repeat yourself for a week straight. Sometimes you wondered if Shuuji ever thought of anything besides his own plans.

"Shuuji, I told you so many times, I'm getting my hair cut today."

"Oh yeah, I forgot... Why do you need to get your mind off of that it's just a stupid haircut." Shuuji said as he stretched out more on your couch, his head falling back onto the back of it.

You pursed your lips into a tight line as you looked over at your boyfriend relaxing. Your eyes fell to your fingers as they picked at your cuticles from the anxiety growing again at the way Shuuji had blown off your feelings.

"It's not just a stupid haircut, Shuuji..." You mumbled and you felt his gaze turn to you, "I've grown it out for so long... I'm chopping of so much of it, I'm scared."

Your eyes looked back over to Shuuji who looked back with a unfazed expression. His eyes traveled to your hair and he gave a hum as his head fell back once again and you gave a defeated sigh.

"You need it though, you hair's all frizzy and dead.... Looks like shit anyways who cares if you chop it off?" He chuckled and you whipped your head towards him with a look of disbelief and annoyance on your face.

"I do, Shuuji!" You said almost a little too loudly. It caused him to flinch as his head shot up to connect eyes with you, a mumbled apology left your lips as you turned to the coffee table in front of you that your boyfriend had previously put his feet on. "What if short hair looks ugly on me or what if it takes too long to grow back? I'll be stuck looking like an idiot. Not to mention I've never been to the hairdresser I scheduled with and I'm also terrified you're not gonna like it so yeah, I care, okay?"

Silence fell and your eyes didn't leave your clenched fists. Worry started to set in again as you two sat next to each other. You already felt idiotic for being so nervous and the fact you had gotten so defensive with your boyfriend of your dried and damaged hair only added to the internal humiliation.

You could feel your boyfriend's gaze on the side of your face as you stared at your hands. Another apology was bubbling up in your throat but as you went to turn to him you saw his tattooed hand take yours. Shuuji rested his chin on your shoulder as he grasped your hand. His shallow breath tickled your face.

"Shuuji-"

"It's just a haircut, babe." Shuuji said softly and you sighed for the umpteenth time while letting out a panicked chuff, "You'll figure a way to look good with it no matter how short. Hey, and if it really does look that bad then I'll just shave my head that way we can both be ugly. We'll be that hot ugly couple."

A laugh replaced the bubble in your throat as you imagined your boyfriend bald. Shuuji chuckled with you as his chin continued to rest on your shoulder. The laughter grew with each image that popped into your mind and you boyfriend laughed with you because he had made you. Soon enough you were both giggling like children on your couch with the anxiety you once had gone.

A few more chuckles escaped you and you let your free hand swipe under your eye as you felt them watering. You cleared your throat and shook your head, your tangled hair falling in your face. You paused as you felt Shuuji's fingers take the hair and put it behind you ear. You turned to him to see a wide smile on his face and leaned into his hand as it cupped your face. His eyes scanned your features and he let out a sigh as he dropped his hand.

"Nah, I couldn't do that. Then I really would be the ugly one in the relationship." He laughed as he fell back to the couch and let out at grunt when your free hand collided with his side.

"Shut up, you're not ugly, you always look good." You mumbled and dropped your chin into your propped up hand.

"So do you! I don't know why you're so nervous, it's just hair it grows back but if you're really that nervous about it... I can go with you, keep your stylist in line make sure they know if they fuck up I'll be waiting for them outside."

A laugh left you once again as you shook your head fondly at your boyfriend's threat. You smiled at his offer and your felt yourself relax at the thought of Shuuji be near you during the haircut. You honestly didn't think you would be able to do it alone.

"Really, you'll go with me?" You asked as you hoped he hadn't been joking like he always did.

Shuuji gave a nod and let his eyes glance at the clock that hung over the TV. He gave a sigh and pushed himself up, yanking his hand from your in the process. You frowned at the loss of warmth and looked up just as he bent down to place a kiss to your lips.

"Alright baby, let's go, I brought my bike." Shuuji said as walked away from your sitting form and to the door to slip his jacket and boots back on.

Your eyes glanced at the clock once again to see how much time had passed. You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at the clock that was telling you it was time to leave and get this whole ordeal over with. You pushed your hair back as if you were also pushing you anxiousness to the back of your head before you turned to your boyfriend who was slipping on his gang jacket.

A smile returned to your face as you watched him. You were thankful to have him in your life for little things like this. Despite his personality and the way he spoke you knew your boyfriend cared just as much as you did. You also knew he would try to fix anything for you and make you laugh even if the threat of violence was followed. You loved him for that, you loved that he cared for you the way you did for him.

"Shuuji," You called to him and he looked over you as he finished putting on his jacket with a soft hum. "Thank you, I love you."

"Who wouldn't love me, I'm great." He gave you a devious smirk along with an arch of his eyebrow as he puffed out his jacket collar and you rolled your eyes as you reached back to grab a pillow from the couch to through it at him. To your dismay he caught it and chuckled, "Kidding, you know I love you baby. Now come on, I like it when you hold on to me while we ride."

You watched as your boyfriend jangled his motorcycle key and you shook your head with a laugh as you pushed yourself from the couch to follow him out the door.

[bookishofalder]

Rainy Days

Spencer x Reader

Request: @starwithoutdarkness - Hey! I heard you were looking for requests! Maybe Spencer Reid x reader fake dating fluff? Combined with Request: @paulaern  - Hello!  What about Spencer Reid x reader when they realizes they love each other? Like reader makes something for Spencer and he thinks like "I can't deny anymore, I'm completely and hopeless in love with her" or something like that  (G!neutral if you want)

A/N: Thank you so much for sending in requests! Hope this makes you smile!

Warnings: Swearing, moderate BAU violence, creepy men, fluffiest fluff, intense headache description. Set randomly post prison Reid but Hotch is still there because he should have been! WC-2,488

Spencer was staring at the geo-profile he had been working on all day, very glad to be inside. The weather in Seattle had stayed consistently rainy for the two days the BAU team had been in town assisting in catching a killer, who had been committing serial robberies/murders with no apparent rhyme or reason. And while Spencer didn’t mind the rain, he did mind loud, busy cities. Combined, they usually led to a headache that would take a day or two to recover.

The door to the conference room he was working alone in burst open and slammed shut so suddenly he nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to see-

You.

Spencer hated it when you appeared without warning, catching him entirely off guard and presenting the risk that you would notice the visible effort it took for him to compose himself around you.

While he’d noticed how beautiful and hilarious and empathetic you were the moment you joined the team, he’d fallen in love with you when you had your first case with them. Spencer had begun to ramble about the specifics of casinos, and how ‘beating the house’ was nearly impossible, when the rest of the team had tuned out. A temporary member, Agent Seaver, had sneered ‘I’m sorry I asked.” Effectively shutting him up. But then you had turned in your seat next to him and, after shooting Seaver a look had asked him to continue. And though he didn’t have that much more to say, and it wasn’t all that interesting, you listened to every single word and thanked him.

It had been years since that had happened, your friendship had blossomed into best friends, something Spencer cherished immensely. This was partly why he shoved his feelings down. The relationship did not need to change for Spencer to remain happy; as long as he got to spend time with you at work, or watch movies and make tent forts in his living room. And visit his mom (who adored you and always gave you book recommendations that you would be sure to read the moment you could), or go to comic conventions and museums...yes, as long as he could always do those things with you, he was happy.

No need to risk changing a perfect thing.

Now though, you were shutting the door and giving him your most panicked look, wide-eyed, with your hair damp from the rain you no doubt had run through to get inside, accounting for your breathlessness. If it weren’t for the worry that had sprung up inside of him upon seeing your expression, he would have fixated on how beautiful you looked at that moment.

“Spencer, you’re my boyfriend.” You whisper yelled at him, quickly stepping closer and setting your bag down on the conference table.

“Wha-“ He began, but you cut him off frantically.

“I’ll explain-just, oh fuck-“

Spencer stood frozen to the spot as the door reopened and one of the senior detectives sauntered in, a friendly smile somewhat overshadowed by the almost predatorial glint in his eyes. You awkwardly stepped closer to Spencer, raising a hand in hello.

“Agent (Y/L/N), great to see you’re back, I was hoping to catch you before the end of the day!” He said merrily, placing two hands on the back of the nearest chair. Something about the way his hands gripped the chair made Spencer feel...on edge.

You gave the fakest little giggle Spencer had ever heard from you, “Oh, nice to see you too Detective! Just had to catch up with Agent Reid here...”

When his eyes moved from you to assess Spencer briefly, he felt a protective force rear up, instincts entirely at alert. Without hesitating, he casually draped an arm over your shoulder, brushing some hair back as he did, and replied, “And you promised we could get some coffee from the Starbucks down the road, hon.”

He enjoyed the way your cheeks flushed and noticed the pulse in your neck pick up. You glanced up at him, trying to look coy but he knew you too well and could see you were partly surprised, and also trying not to laugh.

“Um, of course, I nearly forgot, babe, let’s go in about 5-unless, did you need something specific, Detective?” She broke off to glance back at the now scowling man, who gave an annoyed jerk of his head before stomping back out of the room.

Once the door banged closed behind him, you let out the biggest sigh of relief, raising a hand to your face in dismay.

Spencer hadn’t removed his arm yet, “I’m assuming I just helped you avoid being asked out, but why-?”

“Uhg, Spencer, I’ve already turned him down TWICE since we’ve arrived! He’s literally the kind of dude who doesn’t take no for an answer unless another man has some fucking misogynistic claim over the woman!” You exclaimed, before moving to stand right in front of Spencer and lean just your head to his chest, staring down at the floor, “I hate everything.”

Spencer laughed, patting your back softly, but internally making note that he wouldn’t be letting you go anywhere alone for the rest of this case-that detective gave him the creeps. And while you were beyond capable of protecting yourself, he just knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything if he thought you could be hurt.

“Well, just so we’re clear I would never want to be called ‘babe’ in a relationship.” He joked and the desired effect was his immediate reward when you lifted your head and giggled-your genuine, beautiful little giggle-and then grinned.

“Spencer, you called me ‘hon’ like we were 70.”

Spencer considered a moment, “We could be, you’ll be Gladys and I’ll be-“

“Winston!” You supplied eagerly, and he frowned at you, trying not to laugh.

“Winston?”

“It’s really very dignified, the kind of name where people call you ‘sir’.” You replied cheekily, and while Spencer grinned, a part of him felt a swoop of pleasure when your lips formed the word ‘sir’.

He decided very quickly that he liked the idea of you calling him that. And then, just as swiftly dismissed that train of thought and chastised himself.

As you both stood together and laughed, the door swung open and Hotch and the team followed him in, all in various stages of the results of exposure to the rain, looking equally grim. Spencer and you abruptly stopped when you saw their expressions and launched back into work mode seamlessly.

———

Two days later, the team was closing in on the unsub and everyone was on high alert. Taking the profile and applying it to the geo-profile he had been working on, Spencer had narrowed down this grubby old apartment that sat above a nightclub as the most likely spot the unsub was staying at. Of course, they were arriving at night which meant the club was busy and loud, people lined up out the doors waiting for their chance to enter, pay too much for a drink and grind their bodies against strangers.

Spencer’s headache from the unforgiving rain was thrumming now with the music that seemed entirely unencumbered by the walls of the stairwell, the team slowly climbing. It was bad enough that his eyes narrowed somewhat, but he didn’t lose focus.

You were behind him, watching his six as Hotch and Morgan approached the door ahead and prepared to breach. Spencer slipped a hand behind his back and, on cue, you’re pinky wrapped with his. A brief promise to each other, ‘I’ve got you.’.

They had anticipated violence and heavy arms, so when their announcement was met with silence and the door was kicked open, the tactical response was to secure positions and carefully proceed. Agents and SWAT members lined the building and were, at that moment, securing the club below to ensure the unsub couldn’t flee into a room full of potential hostages.

Spencer and you were the third pair to enter, quickly moving ahead of the others to secure more rooms, eyes peeled for movement. The floor was covered in litter and random spots of dirt and dried substances. It smelled like body odour and axe body spray-which immediately went to Spencer’s headache and caused it to throb in protest.

“Freeze!”

You had shouted right as Spencer noticed the movement from a back room down the hall, as the unsub leaned out and, not abiding by the command, opened fire. Spencer grabbed you and swung you both behind the wall of the kitchen, out of the line of fire while he shouted the unsubs location.

You recovered quickly, dropping to the ground and leaning out to return fire as Hotch and Morgan ran across to the living room to join the battle. It only took a few moments after that before Morgan managed to get a shot to the suspect's shoulder and he fell with a cry of anguish.

You popped up from the ground, watching as Prentiss and Rossi moved forward to secure the man, and barked into your radio for medics to come in.

Spencer, meanwhile, was reeling. When the shots in the room had all joined together in a cacophony, sound and noise piercing his skull, it had converted to pain and panic in his skull, overwhelming him. He had used his own body to shield yours when he pulled you with him into the wall, and the caution he took with you meant he hadn’t caught himself carefully enough, his head bouncing lightly off of the stone wall.

Which, on a normal day would have simply been annoying. But today, with a headache so severe he was beginning to get spots in his vision, it was detrimental. The scene was secure, so he allowed his eyes to shut, a meagre reprieve but at least it was something, at least he didn’t have to see the beams from the flashlights or the pulsing of the neon signs outside of the windows...

“Winston, take my hand.” Your voice was so, so soft. Spencer let his mouth open slightly, a small rush of air all he managed, trying to say ‘I can’t-it hurts, make it stop’ but you grasped his hand tightly and pulled and he followed, his other hand reaching and grabbing that back of your vest, he let you lead him.

He knew from the reduced foot traffic of agents and crime scene workers that you were taking the rear exit, a stairwell that was narrower than the main. He peeked through his lashes to take the stairs, and then suddenly, the cool night air hit him and the door was closing behind you both.

You kept walking with purpose, leading Spencer further away from the loud building. The rain spattered his face but with each step the noise reduced and after a short walk it became relatively quiet.

“Sit.” You murmured, halting. Spencer opened his eyes and saw that you had led him to the farthest spot in the parking lot from the building, where trees lined the lot along a community park that was probably utilized by vagrants and drug dealers more than families. But there was a bench, and you were waiting for him to take a seat. You had pulled out a compact, expandable emergency rain shield from one of the pockets on your FBI utility belt and tossed it on the bench, protecting you both from soaking your underwear.

Spencer sat, setting his elbows on his legs and leaning forward with his hands pressed to his face. He took deep, steadying breaths as you joined him, your hand on the back of his neck. At first, he thought you were just resting it there because his FBI vest would have prevented him from feeling your hand on his back, however, a moment later it was joined by your other hand and a very cold object.

Resisting the urge to pull away, he gasped at the contact, “What-?”

“On-the-go cold compress, Doctor.” You explained, leaving it in place and then rummaging again. Spencer wanted to look but the compress, combined with the quiet, was already doing wonders. He continued to take deep breaths.

“When you’re ready, try this.” You said softly, pressing something to his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw a mini flask that had his name written on the side.

He turned his head slowly so as not to move the compress and met your eyes, which were assessing him with concern. “(Y/N), when did we start drinking on the job?”

You giggled quietly, “It’s just water mixed with this like, vitamin powder that’s supposed to be good for rehydrating you quickly. I did some research on how to help headaches like yours on the go, just in case, and I made this ‘Spencer’ care bag.” You rambled a little when he didn’t reply.

Spencer looked back at the flask and opened it, quickly downing the contents. It tasted pretty fruity and he realized he was thirsty, this taking the edge off.

“Is it okay?” You asked. Spencer raised his head and met your eyes, searching them.

He was overwhelmed, the headache already fading, in its place an intensely warm feeling building inside of him as he considered the time and effort you had taken to care for him. He hadn’t asked you, or hinted, you had just taken it on to find a way to help him and you were right there when he needed you the most.

You had always been there when he needed you. When he had been shot protecting Blake, when he struggled to care for his mother, when he had gone to prison, when he was freed, you were there.

The words tumbled out, unable to be contained a second longer.

“I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Your mouth opened and closed in surprise, taken entirely off guard. Though he worried what you would say, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt having finally said it out loud. He watched patiently as your mind processed his confession, holding his breath.

“I-Spencer,” And then suddenly your lips were pressing into his and the pain from his headache ceased entirely. Spencer was consumed by the feel of you against him, of your hands holding his face and the hum of content you gave when he returned your passion, dropping his flask and sliding his hands up your neck, gripping tenderly.

After what could have been hours, weeks, or years, you both broke apart, pulling back just enough to make eye contact without your eyes crossing. Neither of you let go, your breath puffing out in wisps in the cold night air.

“I love you too,” You breathed, “I could grow old with you, Winston.”

Spencer laughed, relief and happiness swooping through him at your words, “Gladys, I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.”

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

You grinned back at Spencer, and then he kissed you again.

[captain-barnes-writes]

Mafioso

Summary: Mob boss Bucky Barnes enjoys his vacation in Colombia in more ways than one.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Latina

Warning: Language, mafia, maybe a little dark?, age gap, daddy kink (or should I say papi kink😏), unprotected sex. Smutttttt—18+

[one-shot with possibility of a second part...]

NOT PROOFREAD.

Word Count: 5.9k

The thick air under the Colombian night sky had made James Buchanan Barnes break out into a slight sweat. Trickles of perspiration stuck to his forehead and his perfectly combed hair was starting to falter under the South American hot breeze. There was something in the air that night, the air so warm it even made someone like him, someone of his stature, want to wear a pair of shorts and a tank top. He’d pushed aside those thoughts though and opted for a dark ensemble that for the first time in a long time didn’t include a suit. He put the choice on the weather, but knew it was a mere excuse to a much needed laxed relaxation--his muscular frame donned a fitted midnight blue polo and expensive black chinos. A pure gold chain with a thick round pendant hung from his neck. Despite the somewhat more relaxed clothing choice, it still spoke greatly for the person he was, for the power he bore in his hands. He was away from New York, away from his many enemies, yet despite that he couldn’t let his guard down even while in a beautiful place like Medellin, Colombia.

He was a mafioso. Leader of a renowned and feared mafia, James, or as many of his closest confidants called him Bucky, was powerful beyond measure. One of the most remarkable features of the feared man was the way his dark profession didn’t at all really relate to the way he looked. With sharp blue eyes and dull clementine lips, Bucky stood over six feet tall and oftentimes used his honeyed voice to get his way. It was a shrill contrast to the person he truly was with his enemies, or those he was not familiar with, a booming menace with toneless manners and gestures. A darkened soul.

More often than not, he would not be recognized or even thought to be a huge asset of organized crime. He was too handsome, too respectful and was a masked businessman to the public but a true bandit underneath. The way he looked and the way dressed so professionally and gallantly with perfectly tailored dark expensive suits and shiny black leather shoes was his greatest disguise. Unbeknownst to whoever that he carried a sharp blade and fully loaded gun with him at all times.

The work was tiresome, physically and emotionally draining. For a man who was so often toneless in the way he spoke of death, in the way he so often wished it and caused it on others, and emotionless with tragedies, he was still a person beneath all the darkness—all the guns and all the violence. Upon a tormenting year filled with too much bloodshed, he’d decided to take some much needed time for himself in a place where there’d been similar violence and crime to that which he was partially responsible for back in the states, but still felt like a secluded place away from absolutely everything. With his turf being monitored by those he trusted most, to some extent he felt free.

For Bucky, Colombia had felt like an excellent choice upon making it and planning the trip to the t a few weeks prior. It’d taken so long to arrange in order to leave things in place and to choose those who were best skilled for the arduous job that was keeping order to such an unbalanced thing that was the mafia. He’d lied about his whereabouts to many, not wanting to compromise everything he’d worked so hard for.

Now Bucky was in the city of Medellin—rich in culture, food and most importantly filled with women. It had barely been his first day and he’d already eyed far too many beautiful women with their dark features and alluring accents. It was nighttime, past 9 pm and he’d just taken a seat under an umbrella-ladden table with a few of his many bodyguards. They were brooding and menacing figures in dark attire. They were simply doing their job, but Bucky wished they’d take it down a notch especially in a bar where nobody knew who he was and what he stood for. Though he couldn’t say that to them because letting his guard down meant showing weakness and he couldn’t have that. Not now, not ever.

The vibrant graffiti art on the rustic building the restaurant and bar was situated at went so well with the multicolor knitted flag garland that stretched from one side to the other. The twinkling yellow lights illuminating the beautiful scene before him; people dancing, foreign and natives of the land. Hands joined at the hip, on the shoulders, bodies moving one way to the other and faces etched with a liberating kind of happiness. It was a fresh spectacle he hadn’t witnessed in far too long.

The country that had birthed magical realism and the rhythm and sound of cumbia was lit with shining bulbs and people whose bliss was of no comparison and it was slightly, just slightly, rubbing off on him when he found himself with a small smile. The people dancing before him were in their own little world as the unfamiliar music emanated moves from them that he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And then there was her. A gleaming light of a woman with tan skin that glowed underneath the superficial lighting. Her face seemed to be in such a deep concentration that didn’t seem to emanate from stress or from taking on a hard task, but at the simple task of dancing.  

She was the epitome of magic in his eyes—a Colombian who bore beauty so devastating it had dried his mouth. The tan skin, dark flowing tresses that reached her lower back and dusky inviting eyes. A charmeuse emerald green dress with a blood orange floral print design clung effortlessly to her body and much to his pleasure, the frill hem of the dress ended just above the middle of her smooth thighs. The radiant energy that emanated from her was more than Bucky could even imagine; she was more than he could even have imagined. Not that he had before. Compared to all the women he’d encountered during the last few hours he’d been on the foreign soil she took all the medals with her. She took absolutely everything and he wasn’t even near her, hadn’t even touched her, or felt the delicate skin of her neck or even felt the glossy lips that he felt desperate to take a hold of.

Her hips were shaking side to side, tips of her toes translating the music that she so deeply felt. Her bones were burning with the sound of her native music, the sound of Cumbia. Se me perdió la Cadenita’s tune playing in the background as the movements of her hips followed every beat far too perfectly.

She was dancing alone unlike the many people that surrounded the large dancefloor who had their partners. Many times, She found herself in this bar in the famous little plaza of Medellin. Frequented by locals and non-locals alike, it was always a party. The ambiance was a delicacy, the drinks were great and the music never missed.

Today, for the first time ever, she found herself arriving at the bar alone due to her friend ditching her for last-minute plans with her boyfriend. She understood, but still wanted to come out on her own for a much needed distraction because work had been hectic and her personal life was even worse. Drinks and a good sweat-inducing dance always did the trick. Just this time she’d have to dance with herself.

Or maybe not.

Y/N felt heavy cerulean eyes burning holes on her back. She’d peeked once or twice and was well aware of the handsome, well-dressed man sitting amongst a group of menacing looking men whom she could tell were most likely white. He was too, and while she wasn’t particularly attracted to white men, he was something else. Had a little kick, a little spice and how did she even know that? She didn’t, but the man was in Colombia so she’d deduced that he had good taste so far. Blue eyes, she’d noticed, short dark tendrils neatly combed and a trimmed beard. It wasn’t until she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts that her eyes lost sight of the alluring man and a flick of disappointment shot through her.

With a scoff, all her movements had come to a halt and she made her way to the bar area to get herself yet another drink. She’d had two so far and already felt the alcohol contents doing their godforsaken job, alleviating the stress from her shoulders,soothing her wracking brain and letting her have a form of tranquil fun. She wasn’t the best drinker and knew that two more drinks and she’d probably have blurry vision and slurred speech. Consumed in her own thoughts, she suddenly heard the bartender ask what she wished to order.

“Un mojito de aguardiente.” She responded.

“Yo tambien.” Me too. A voice chimed next to her. Strong and laced with a very thick accent that had almost made the words incoherent to any ear. It was the polo-clad man who’d been gawking at her from his table just a mere few minutes ago and now he was standing right next to her. He was so close, the skin of their arms were brushing against each other; she thought of how he felt so warm.

“Good choice.” She commented, eyes trailing up to meet his. An abyssal of blazing blue with a glint of mischief and many things she could not make of stared back at her. The crinkles at the end of his eyes came to shape as he offered her a small nod and smile. He was slightly taken aback at the way the English words slipped past the plumpness of her lips, slightly thick but still more than understandable. Far better than his Spanish.

“We both ordered the same thing so I think we both have great taste.” Bucky with all his influence and overwhelming power was overcome with a yearning for the woman beside him and felt as if he’d become prey to her. But he knew far too well that despite the confidence she so easily oozed and the way she had him almost salivating, she was the victim here. It would never be him.

When the bartender came back with both drinks, Bucky had immediately placed a one hundred dollar bill on his hand, paying for both drinks despite her protest, and told him to keep the change. The man’s face beamed and proceeded to thank him profusely to which he waved him off with nonchalance because to him a bill of such value was simple pocket change.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, really.” The woman pleaded, thick brows furrowed as she fumbled to get money from her purse. Bucky was amused as he placed his hand on her arm trying to stop her movements and at the sudden touch, her head snapped to look at him. It was then when her lips were agape with wide brown eyes that he thought she looked so young, and concluded that she was most likely in her early 20s. He became even more curious, pining to know little details about her.

“It was nothing. Just tell me your name, that’ll be enough.”

It was nothing.  At this, she became a little nervous. She couldn’t deny he was really easy on the eyes, even that was an understatement, he was as handsome as men came. With the crisp and costly clothes he wore along with the heavy gold chain that adorned his chest and not to mention the fact that he had just carelessly spent 100 dollars on two drinks that couldn’t have cost more than twenty. And the burly men clad in black who stood at the far back of the large bar just staring at them, at him, not letting him out of their sight as if their lives depended on the very man himself. It warned her that he was a man of money and even the way he carried himself spoke of the probable immense power he held.

With a voice that faltered, accent heavy she responded with her name.

“Y/N.” He tried it, weighed it on his tongue and savored it because it complemented her so well. Said it loud so she could hear him and she did, becoming just a tad flustered as she opened her mouth and closed it again. No sound coming out.

“Such a pretty name, darling.” His honeyed voice caused a flutter in her stomach, but she put it on the alcohol and not at the way the nickname sounded too good coming from him. She felt flushed, and at the sensation that her face had become hot she placed her drink down and put her cooled hands on her cheeks. It was embarrassing that she’d become such a mess in front of him and to try to distract him from this she asked for his name too.

“Bucky.” He replied.

“Never heard of that name before...maybe just because I’m from here, um but is it short for something?”

Just like she had paused earlier when he asked for her name, he became slightly agitated too. He took a large sip of the drink, the aguardiente was a tad powerful but the anise accents mixed with lemon and mint were comforting and gave way to a refreshing taste. He turned his face to look at her after a few seconds, having mulled over the meek possibility of the girl recognizing him, elbows propped on the wooden bar counter.

“It’s just a nickname.” He finally succumbed to the way her doe eyes waited for an answer, but he’d lied to her face. It was actually short for Buchanan. Instead he would give her his first name, a simple name. He wished so ardently that she’d be moaning it in no time.

“My name is James.”

“Oh.” Was all that came from the beauty beside him as she sipped her drink. She didn’t seem to hiss at the alcohol and he deduced that she probably drank it quite often.

“How old are you?” Bucky enquired after she’d grown silent, seemingly too interested in the drink that was more than halfway gone. She’d had such confidence earlier on the dance floor, with hips that weaved and swung to the rhythm of the music and her face expression had been so jaunty. Carefree and relaxed. Now in his presence she seemed quite shy. He wondered why she’d taken on this form now, he didn’t think of himself as being too pushy. At least not now because there was no need, she was compliant enough. He only showed that harsh edge when necessary.

“22.” She uttered. He’d been right, she was in her early 20s. God, she was so young and he was already pushing 40. The age should’ve had him walking away, but he wasn’t at the thought of being between her pretty thighs savoring her, tasting her. He wanted to teach her a few things only men his age knew. Taking one last sip of her drink before placing it on the counter. Her waves cascading down to her lower back slightly moved as she yet again twisted to gaze up at him with burnt sienna eyes. She was sensual without even meaning to and he felt his pants tightening.

She adjusted her feet, feeling a slight ache at standing with the bronze pumps and placed a hand on her hip. The plunging neckline of the dress was enticing him. Smooth skin peeking at the bright material that complemented her far too well as if it was made just for her. He himself had just finished his drink as well, placed it on the counter and moved to adjust his pants. The pressure was becoming uncomfortable. He’d moved his gaze away from her to look at his surroundings, a mere habit of his. It was then that her eyes trailed to his hands and that the sleek black object caught her eyes. She stared intently, feeling herself more agitated, and the black metal gleamed as if to alarm her. She let out a small gasp and averted her eyes to look anywhere else, but him

She was panicking at being in such close proximity to a deadly weapon. It was normal to carry a gun and sometimes it did seem as a necessity to ward off danger, but it didn’t ease the discomfort Y/N felt. She placed a hand on her chest while placing the other on the counter and taking a deep breath. She was having an internal battle, one side was chastising her for judging Bucky for the simple act of carrying a gun while the other side was pleading with her to get away.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispered so softly in her ear suddenly. Hot breath fanning on her side of her face and goosebumps arising on her skin. She stuttered, not even coming up with a coherent thing to say. His hand found its way to hers, gripping it, and bringing it up to place his lips on it. His eyes ablaze that she felt them burning holes on her forcing her to yet again meet them.

“Come on, darling.” He hummed, waiting for a response. Her hand was still entwined with his but now he was just holding it at his side, not letting go. His other hand had fallen to the waistline of his dark chinos, the sleek object coming to view. Her breath hitched and she felt as if she was speechless. Had he done that on purpose? To show her that he had the upper hand and that she had no choice but to say yes.

In the most twisted way the one thing she was holding onto was the deep rasp and slowness of his voice and the mere invitation to leave with him had allowed a current of heat creep to her stomach, a pooling sensation in between her legs. She yet again put it on the alcohol because had she been completely sober she would’ve escaped already.

She blinked at him, words continuing to fail her. Bucky was growing impatient at the girl before him who seemed to be fighting with herself. He knew she’d seen the pistol hidden inside the waistband of his pants, but he didn’t even want to hurt her. Not like that anyway.

“It’s a gun, just for protection. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He defended.

She remained quiet and at the sound of no response, he let go of her hand and took hold of her face with both his hands. Gripping it, he brought his lips to hers in a forceful kiss. Her lips tasted like lemon and alcohol, so warm and soft he already felt addicted. She didn’t respond at first, her dainty hands coming up to grab the bottom of his arms to try to let go but it was no use because Bucky was far stronger. When his teeth lightly took hold of her bottom lip, she inadvertently let out a small moan. It was her first reaction and it had him wanting more. Groaning, he pulled away. Eyes filled with so much lust he thought it would seep out of him.

“Shit, come on.” His head turned to his men, signaling them it was time to go. She was going to come with him, she had to. He wanted her to grip the sheets of his bed tonight, bury her head in his pillows and moan his name. He gripped her hand again, dragging the girl through the exit of the bar. She wasn’t fighting, just struggling behind him with her bronze pumps.

In seconds, she was inside a sleek car with the engine revving and Bucky cruising through the Medellin streets. From her quietness, posture and the way her dainty hands fiddled on her lap Bucky deduced that she either didn’t do this often or at all.

In a haze, Y/N wondered what he did for a living. He had an expensive rental, donned tailored clothing of fine quality and had bodyguards for protection. They were trailing behind him in different cars, one in front and one at the back. With one hand on the steering wheel, Bucky rubbed soft circles on her thigh with the other . Her skin was smooth and it dawned on him than in no less than 5 minutes he’d get to have the woman next to him at his disposal. Completely naked and at his mercy. At the thought, he hardened.

“Touch me.” He commanded, voice laced with a yearning need it felt as if it was eating him alive.

“What?” Y/N sputtered, brown eyes growing wide. She wasn’t inexperienced, but this was a man far older than she’d ever been with. He seemed to be nearing his 40s with his fluffy locks already showing signs of graying. And she was still slightly scared that on the other side of his hip was a gun.

“Stop thinking about it. I said it’s not to hurt you.” He sounded slightly peeved, voice sounding a bit rough. He’d caught her eyeing his hip where his gun was. She nodded while taking a deep breath. She knew perfectly well what he wanted, her hands on him. With shaky hands, she began to unzip his pants and though he had groaned at the small action he stopped her with his hand.

“Just through the pants, baby. We’re almost at the hotel.” She blinked, pressing her hands to the prominent bulge on his black chinos. She began palming him through the thick fabric, feeling the ridges of his erection and she shameless bit her lip at the feel, at how big he felt. Through long lashes, she ogled at the man before her. Ruggedly handsome beyond words with a strong build she knew she’d be left aching. Even though she still felt remnants of uncertainty, she mostly felt a deep gust of excitement building within her.

Bucky’s mouth was watering at the actions of the young girl beside him, her small hand touching him in the most sensual way. And it felt like a huge step forward with her hands on him, but he also felt her lingering gaze. It prompted him to remove his hand from her thigh and accelerate on the roads he was not even familiar with but the need to get to his hotel was one of his top priorities. It was silent for the most part besides a few jagged groans that emanated from his chest at the way she was still touching him. It almost pained him to not be buried inside her yet. God, he just knew she'd be tight and sweet.

When they did arrive at the towering hotel building, he’d leaned over and wrapped her up in a sweltering kiss before he had her hand in his hand waltzing through the lobby and into the elevator. The tension was thick and he’d managed to get his hands on her waist pulling her closer to him. He knew better than to try anything on the elevator especially not with his bodyguards in tow.

With his key card already in hand, once in front of his suite, he hastily swiped it and dragged her inside. With a sigh of relief he pushed her against the door, shutting it. In a change of roles, she was the one grabbing at the collar of his polo and pulling him in her to crash their lips together. It was sexy in the nastiest way possible--mouths engulfing each other, him biting her lips, sucking on them and her fitting her tongue inside his mouth. It was sloppy and brought a wave of satisfaction, it just wasn’t enough.

With greedy hands he groped her ass, massaging the roundness through the soft charmeuse material of her dress before he lifted it up through her body forcing them to pull away in order to fully remove the dress. Once it had come off, he threw it in a heap on the floor and savored the girl in front of him. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed and her hair already in disarray she looked just about ready to take him. He could have just come at the sight of her with the pretty white lace set she sported. So tiny it barely covered anything.

“Look at you baby. You look so pretty, ready to take me huh?” He’d lifted her into his arms ushering her to wrap her tanned legs around him while his hands held the fullness of her bottom. She hated that he was fully dressed. She wanted to feel him against her, wanted to see the toned muscles of his torso and touch the bulge she’d had her hands just a few minutes prior, just this time without the thick material of his chinos.

She nodded at his question as a small yes fled from her lips when he brought their lips together again in another needy kiss. This time, he maneuvered through the large hotel room and finally dropped her on his bed. He’d stayed on his feet, removing his shirt and revealing his taut and strong chest.

“You look so good, Bucky” She hadn’t meant for her English to sound so thick, not only laced with a deep onset of lust but with complete delight at the sight of him. She blushed at the way she’d sounded, but he loved it. Loved the way his name fell from her swollen lips.

With a bite of his lip, he watched as her expression went from that of need to one filled with fear as he removed the gun from the waistband of his pants. The dark metal in his hand the only thing her eyes were focused on. He was amused at the innocence she carried. Even in a country like Colombia where crime and death rates were one of the highest back in the day because of people like him, she’d managed to keep that angelic essence. He admired her refusal to let go of it.

“I told you this is only for protection, baby. The only thing that’s gonna hurt you is this dick.” He was half joking, gun still gripped in his hand he walked around the side of the bed to place it on the white nightstand. It seemed as if even that wasn’t enough for her so with a roll of his deep blue eyes, he decided it was best he placed it inside the nightstand drawer. Sure, he had better access and more maneuver to reach for it if it was on top, but he wanted to fuck her so bad and wanted her to enjoy it not have a gun be the reason she couldn’t get wet over him.

She swallowed, a little more calm as she saw the weapon safely stored inside the drawer and offered him a timid smile. He chuckled at her newfound expression and felt the same yearning bubble up again. Desperate to feel her skin on him, he unbuckled his pants in a haste and threw them carelessly on the floor. If he wasn’t so damn hard to the point it pained him, he would’ve had her remove the pants with her small hands. Another time, he thought.

He climbed on top of her, expectant doe eyes staring back at him when his face prodded down at her. She reached her soft hands to touch his face and used it to pull his face towards hers. Lips meeting in a desperate kiss as if starved of human touch; so eager, so needy. His hands didn’t waste time exploring her body. They wanted to be everywhere at once, her breasts, her thighs and the sweet place between her thighs. For the time being, he’d stopped at the swell of her breasts, pushing down the thin lace cups and rubbing her perky brown nipples slowly. Fingers trailing on the smoothness of her areolas had turned to kneading. His lips had parted from hers and trailed down to the sensitive skin of her neck and made sure to take the skin between his lips. Sucking and biting at the skin until blood had risen leaving behind  deep purple marks that looked rather painful. She was a withering mess underneath him, soft little moans falling from her swollen lips and thighs widening.

She was so compliant especially when he’d patted her thigh and she’d opened up to him without a single word. His fingers had grasped at the thin lace material of her panties too roughly and it had ripped. Y/N yelped and he didn’t know what to make of her face expression whether it was anger or disappointment that had shown, but he promised her he’d buy her more. Expensive lace just for his pretty girl.

Without waiting for a response, 2 fingers had slowly delved into her cunt. Long fingers forming a slow and torturous rhythm that had her wanting more. If this was his way of making her talk then he was on right track as her little whines grew the more he kept the same pace

“Faster.” Y/N pleaded, hands grasping at the sheets below her. He felt himself gloat as her soft voice egged him on, finally voicing out her needs. He’d given in, fingers pumping in and out of her in briskness all while loving the little sinful moans that she gave out. Within seconds, his tongue had taken place of his fingers licking a long patch of her pretty pussy before he brought them back inside her. Her cunt was soaking wet with her juices and she was so damn sweet. His tongue was swirling against her clit, a move that had her body shuddering in the process. His fingers continued their pace inside her while his tongue drew long licks on her little petal, sucking and swirling that within seconds she’d gripped his hair tightly and came without warning. She’d come right on his fingers, room filling with the sound of her cries. When he withdrew his fingers, glistening and sticky with her unbelievably sweet nectar, he licked a long stripe against her before coming up for air. He looked wildly erotic—hair unruly and mouth wet with the fruits of her orgasm.

When Bucky climbed his way back on top of her, she was breathing so hard her chest was heaving up and down, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, meanwhile her eyes were fluttering in the aftermath of her orgasm.

“Open your mouth.” Bucky ordered, voice laced with desire as he stared at the mess of a girl. Her brown eyes fluttered open again and with a bite of her lip, she opened her lips wide for him. Almost immediately his fingers were inside her mouth. He wanted her to taste herself, to taste how delicious she was.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. You like it? Like the way you taste?” God, he sounded so sexy. She hadn’t expected him to be such a talker, but he was making her skin tingle with just the sound of his voice and with the things he spewed out during their sinful acts. She moaned with his fingers in her mouth and gave a slight shake of her head to let him know that yes, she tasted damn sweet but that she was sure he tasted even better. At this thought, she grabbed hold of his arm and pushed his fingers out. Taking charge for the first time that night, she pushed him on his back. His olive skin meeting the black silk of his sheets.

Mischievous burnt sienna eyes peered up at him as she removed his boxers causing the thick bulge to spring out. He was so big and thick in her hands, and she thought of how much discomfort the stretch would be just taking him.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, dainty hand wrapping around the thick shaft moving up and down. He was groaning above, husky and loud. It drove her hand to move faster against him, a line of precum already seeping from the swollen head. It was so enticing seeing the milky substance leaking from him that her head bowed and lips wrapped around the very tip. Tongue swirling against the tiny hole before she sucked it savoring the salty taste of him. She began to bob her head down the thickness of his cock, unable to take him all but making sure what she couldn’t take her hand would. He was just so damn big, she wanted to take him all but when he hit the back of her throat her eyes had watered and her throat hadn’t allowed more to fit in. But he seemed satisfied as his hand tangled itself in hair, urging her to keep the same momentum. Her red lips sucking him , coating him in her saliva. Almost too soon, he’d pulled her off him and pushed her on top of him. Swollen lips meeting in the middle, fervent and needy. She tasted like him but he didn’t care.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft again, pumping him once more before she lined up to her entrance. She pushed herself down slowly, taking him inside her warmth. It was an uncomfortable stretch, the dull ache clear on her face as she grimaced. She took her time, barely moving for a good few seconds before she felt his hands on her hips. Kneading the soft skin there, almost as if pleading for her to move. With the tips of her feet on both sides of him, she began a slow up and down movement. He watched as her pussy devoured his dick, disappearing inside her.

Her breathy moans, shaky feet and slow movements were driving him wild. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed. Bucky’s hips had began bucking up, fucking into her desperate to feel more of her tightness. It wasn’t long before he’d taken the reigns again and her body was shaking above him, helplessly taking the deep thrusts.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl. Your tight pussy can take this dick right, baby girl?”

“Si papi.” Bucky’s ears had perked up at the naughty words. She’d called him daddy in Spanish and it had his dick twitching inside her. He could just cum at the sound of that word.

“Shit, call me that again baby girl.” He pleaded, breathing loud as his thrusts continued to piston inside her before he came to a momentary pause. He pushed her body backwards, her back hitting the silk sheets with a small thud. He lined himself at her wet pussy and drove forward again, feeling her tightness engulf him.

“Fuck me papi. Fuck me hard.” She was driving him wild with her velvety voice and the vice grip her cunt had him in. He began with full rough thrusts, the sound of skin slapping filling the large hotel room. Her breasts were bouncing before him, gaining the attention of his lips and his mouth wrapped around her nipple before he gazed at her neck. Ladened with purple marks from his mouth, he wrapped his large hand around it. He’d taken her aback, eyes rolling as her breathing was slightly restricted. He was still fucking her to the brink of insanity and with the added pressure on her neck, she felt the familiar heat building within her stomach, balling up in a crazed manner. He pushed himself inside her with need, wanting her to break apart in front of him so he could follow suit with his own pent up orgasm.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming.” She yelped, voice hoarse with his grip on her neck. She was spasming underneath, tears rolling down her reddened cheeks as she felt the wave of ecstasy shake through her. Her cunt had tightened around his dick, still moving inside her, but the constriction had unexpectedly gotten him to the edge too. He felt himself come with hot spurts inside her, a loud groan slipping past his lips. His stomach shuddered, heaving heavily. He felt as if she’d milked him of all he had.

She grimaced when he pushed himself from her and collapsed beside her. She was spent, sore limbs and a terrible ache between her thighs she knew she’d be spending the night. There was no way she’d make it home without falling asleep. She turned to look at him, and he did too , sharing drained smiles. Noticing her eyes fluttering close, he pecked her lips softly, a stark difference from the roughness of their previous acts.

“I’ll take you to buy new panties tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said, before she succumbed to sleep.

oooooof, this took me hours to write but I felt so inspired. I watched the devil all the time and I, Tonya again (the mustache really does it for me honestly, he’s so hot)  and I was like lemme just write a mob bucky one-shot. 

Any tips or comments, lemme know. Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. can someone please tell me they’re as disgustingly obsessed with Lee Bodecker as I am, I’m literally burning inside. The little pouch and the PEPSI CUP. OMFGGGGG

[avversiera-writes]

touch your heart [senju tobirama/you] - prologue + chapter 1

Summary: Hashirama might go down as the worst matchmaker in history, but he thinks he might be on to something. Tobirama sees through his brother's schemes and is determined not to fall for it. Or fall for you.

Word Count: 5k-ish

A/N: Yoooo sorry for taking this long to post it LMAOOO anyways, this work is available on AO3 with 12 chapters in, so if you want to read away! 

also dedicating this post to @senju-sekhmet you’re the best, and happy belated XD 

AO3 LINK FOR TOUCH YOUR HEART

LINK FOR THE REST OF THE SERIES 

[PROLOGUE]

Thank you. 

Those two words are what Tobirama’s mother seemed to tell his father all the time. She looked grateful saying it too. Too grateful to the point that she is cooped up in the Senju compound all the time, with nowhere to go. Tobirama was a smart kid–too smart for his own good–and he saw that the last place she wants to be was here, with family and raising children in this godforsaken war zone. 

 His mother said that was how she met his father, and how she fell in love with him, by the words of gratefulness, but Tobirama is a smart kid. He knew nothing of love, but he could tell that his mother did not love his father. She mistook feelings of gratitude as feelings of love.  

His mother has a cold face, but she was gentle and fierce and was a great story-teller. She told stories of the great mountains and rivers that she has seen before everything fell into disarray. His mother loved art, books, and knowledge. She always encouraged Tobirama and his brothers to pursue their own curiosities beyond war.  

Tobirama always took that to heart. Sure, his body and his mind are well-suited for battle but his interests lie elsewhere. He loves to explore, to discover, to observe and to experiment to prove something foreign to him. He loves to break down something to its smallest detail and build it back up to make something new. He wants to create. 

Thank you. 

Those were two words that were too much for his mother to bear all her life. It weighed on her. It chained her down. 

Thank you. 

Those were her last words to Tobirama. 

Thank you, for being my son, for letting me be your mother. 

Those were two words that stuck to him like a curse. They were binding, until the bitter end. 

.

.

.

[PART ONE, CHAPTER ONE]

The first time Tobirama sees you, he immediately forms the opinion that you are too loud. Loud, in a sense that everything that passes by you, has to pay attention to you. Loud, in a sense that, when you speak, everyone has to hang by your every word. You are too loud, and he immediately concludes that you will not last long in a battle because you seem like an easy target. It is not like him to make fast conclusions without further observation, but you are just so loud that he wants to immediately shut down his senses.

So loud in fact, that even among the crowd, Tobirama cannot help but look your way and be wary of your presence. 

Contrary to what he thinks, you are not that much of a blabbermouth nor a person who speaks aimlessly, but he does not know you yet. He has not even had a chance to look you straight in the face. 

Today, he finds you standing by an umbrella stand, where a dozen colorful and detailed parasols are opened as a display to passerbys. You are in your casual kimono, and because it is spring, there are lovely pink cherry blossoms etched on your left sleeve, spreading towards your chest. Your obi cinches your waist and holds your sword by your side, so that it is easy to rest your hand on top of the hilt. Your hair is held back from your face with a simple hairpiece, and a festival fox mask hangs on the side of your head.

Tobirama stares, not having anything else to look at. 

Hashirama and Madara are also walking around, greeting the citizens of Konoha, and holding children up in the air. Hashirama’s young sons follow closely behind, playfully roughhousing each other and anyone who happens to get in their way. 

Hashirama notices his brother, glaring at a distant point and decides to step in lest Tobirama accidentally offends someone. He knows that his brother does not mean to glower at times. It’s just his eyes are a bit sensitive to the sun. 

At least, that is the reason, most of the time.

Tobirama immediately looks away from you, but Hashirama already saw who he was looking at. He gives Tobirama a curious smile. 

“What?” Tobirama deadpans. 

“You should go talk to her,” Hashirama suggests. “You seem interested.”

Tobirama folds his arms. “No.” 

Hashirama opens his mouth to add another thing, but Tobirama beats him to it. 

“Brother, I said no,” Tobirama affirms, and that was that. 

 Hashirama sighs, and pouts a little. “She’s nice!” 

Tobirama fakes a cough, making sure to spit out the words idiot clearly, and he crosses his arms. “You think everyone is nice.”

“Well, innocent until proven guilty, as they say!” 

Tobirama glances back at you, and finds that he can easily track you. 

 “With all due respect, elder brother, that is a very naive statement coming from you.” 

Tobirama has heard of you and he stops himself from telling Hashirama that, and instead lets him point out that you were one of the newly ranked jounins and that you specialize in kenjutsu. You also have been spending your free time teaching some of the older genins the basics of close range fighting and defense. 

 As the Hokage, Hashirama is more than happy to get to know those who are rising to the ranks and especially those who are gifted. It means that their Academy is working, even though it hasn’t been very long since it was established. You were one of those people from a clan who are already shinobi, but had to be evaluated in order to determine your rank and the Shodaime Hokage saw how skillful you are, despite not being the most powerful user of ninjutsu. He wants Konoha to have dependable teachers who will pass on useful skills and knowledge to whoever wants to learn. 

You start to walk away from the umbrella stand, when suddenly a bunch of kids and teenagers rush towards you. Tobirama sees some young students in the group that he had picked himself. Hiruzen stands out among the rest, loud and rambunctious, while Danzo follows closely behind like a shadow, but as obtrusive.

“Sensei! You should join the sparring competition later! They have bokkens, you’re good with bokkens!” 

You laugh, and try to back out before the others start to make your decision. “I think I will pass!” 

“Aww, no!” 

Tobirama watches the commotion, and then you look towards him. He freezes, as you smile at him and continue to wave him forward. Tobirama glares, because you are still waving at him but he does not know you so obviously he is not going to wave back, but suddenly Madara passes by him and Tobirama almost feels embarrassed. 

  Almost. He checks himself.

The wave was not meant for him.  

He glimpses Madara give a small wave, and this makes him pause.

 Madara waves? Tobirama almost scoffs at this, but he must keep his public appearance. 

You smile warmly, and introduce Madara to the younger children who were starting to cower a little because of his serious and glum expression. Tobirama watches as you slip your arm through Madara’s arm like you have done it many times. Tobirama’s students look at each other, but they do not harbor any bad sentiments toward the Uchiha clan leader. Some of them even crack a smile at the younger children’s reactions. Madara can be a little intimidating at first, if you do not know him.

 Then, you say something to the kids, earning a laugh from them and a small, tight-lipped smile from Madara.

Tobirama notices that the edges of Madara’s eyes have softened, something he only does around Hashirama.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get introduced to her? She is a very warm person,” Hashirama asks. “She’s also very smart and I think you’d benefit from her insights.” 

Tobirama watches her say her goodbyes and pat a few children’s heads, and walk away. “I’m fine.”

 Hashirama looks at Tobirama, doubt painted across his face, but he lets it go. 

 For now. 

//

You stand in front of the Hokage, waiting for him to speak. You have been called early in the morning to meet with him, and you have been there for a few minutes, standing awkwardly. You are not sure whether to start some small talk since the Shodaime is busy peering over a few scrolls. Usually, whenever you see him, the Hokage is pretty chatty and offers a lot of kind words. He also seems to talk a lot about his younger brother to you, bragging about him and his accomplishments, and underwhelmingly explaining his personality, which you find strange. 

It makes you think that there’s something off about Tobirama. 

The door behind you opens and you step to the side to make a wide berth for the incoming person, even though there is enough room for at least a few more people to stand there. Tobirama walks in, his face sporting deep eyebags, but his eyes are hard and alert. You look him over, and your eyes go to his rough hands, where there are dried ink stains on his pale skin. His veins protrude out, blue and green rivers criss-crossing over his hands and up his arms. You see hints of faded scars on his skin, but in this light, his pale skin makes up for the blemishes.

“Brother,” Tobirama greets, although it sounds more like he is about to scold his elder brother. 

 Hashirama smiles and he motions for you to step closer. 

You do, and you feel Tobirama’s eyes track you. You immediately look up and you catch his gaze, which makes him look away. 

“I have a task for the two of you,” Hashirama casually brings up. He looks strangely cheerful. Like he has a step by step plan that went exactly as he wanted. 

You look at the Hokage, all ears. And curious as to why he is acting this way. 

“It has come to my attention that while we are training the next generation to be good shinobis, I do not think that we have a proper and standard curriculum,” Hashirama begins. 

Tobirama’s head snaps upright at this. “Brother, what do you mean?” 

He sounds almost angry, and well, if you were the creator of the education system in the village you built and someone had found flaws in it, you would be too. 

“I think that there should be specific learning materials for each year before graduating to a genin, and so on,” Hashirama elaborates some more. “The two of you are to come up with these materials, and I want you to include other aspects that are not just related to being a shinobi. I want the next generation to not only be bred for war, but to have dispositions in other areas.” 

Hashirama stands up and he places his palms on his desk. “Tobirama, you know this. You want to expand our village, I think this is a good step to make that happen.”

 Tobirama looks at his brother with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He is not an idiot. He knows this is some set up, otherwise, why would his brother call you earlier than him? Why would his brother need you for this? These are the types of things he can accomplish on his own, so why are you here?

 “I understand. Then, I think it is time for that to happen. We are at peace, after all.” 

You slowly raise your hand. You notice that Tobirama does not even glance at you, and you want to laugh. You have heard a few things about Senju Tobirama from his own brother, and while it does not surprise you that he has a prickly attitude, it is another thing to see it upfront. It does not intimidate you, rather, it makes you want to see more of his reactions. He reminds you of the shy children that you have met in the Academy. 

You just need to push the right buttons.

“If I may, Lord Hokage,” you start. 

 Hashirama nods for you to continue. 

“With all due respect, what qualifications did I have to help Lord Tobirama with this new project?” 

You swear you saw Tobirama’s eye twitch from the way you said his title. You hide your smirk by biting the side of your cheek.

Hashirama lets out a small chuckle, in which he earns a glare from his younger brother. 

“I have heard about your dedication in teaching the children when you have the time, and since you insisted that you do not want to be a jounin sensei yet, like my brother is, I think it is a good idea for you to keep your head busy. Besides, I have heard you are quite the quick learner. You will find that my brother here is a very good teacher and can offer guidance well, if you can look past his mean demeanor.” 

Tobirama opens his mouth to snap at his brother, but instead, takes a breath and holds his tongue.

Hashirama gathers up some documents from the corner of his desk. “You two can start tomorrow. I would love to have this done by the end of summer, just as the new school year is upon us.” 

 “Brother, stop being ridiculous. That is in three months,” Tobirama interjects. “I think I’m going to need time to plan.” 

 Hashirama glances at his brother. “Well, luckily for you, someone is here to help you. I have faith in you.” 

“Too much, perhaps,” Tobirama dryly says, not even bothering to hide that he does not like this.  

“And you, as well,” Hashirama says to you with a cheerful smile.

 “Lord Hokage, with all due respect, am I going to get paid enough for this? I am practically jobless, I have a living to make,” you inquire with a smile. “Besides, you may also have to compensate for putting me up with your dear brother.”

In the corner of your eye, Tobirama crosses his arms. 

 Hashirama laughs heartily, and he gives Tobirama a grin. “I like her!” He nods. “You will surely be thanked for your services.” 

He extends the pile of documents towards you and you step forward to accept them. You thank the Hokage with doubt, half-serious about the salary, but you decide to not push it today and you give him a smile. Then, you also smile at Tobirama.

 “I will see you tomorrow then,” you tell him. 

Tobirama carefully gazes at you, and then he nods. He turns to his brother with a determined look on his face. Or an angry look. You are honestly not sure. 

“The Hokage mansion’s library,” Tobirama grounds out curtly. “9 am. Sharp.”

You look at him, wondering what type of bad day he is having to be this abrupt, or if this is how he really is. You understand that he and his brother have been at war for all of their life, so maybe this is how he has turned out.

“I will see you.” You bow quickly and walk out of there, ready to dive into the materials the Hokage gave you. 

//

Madara aims a punch towards your way, but you quickly dodge it and block it with the palm of your hand, and you follow through by sending his movement forward by using his momentum and landing a charged punch to his lower ribs, just where his liver will be. 

Madara chuckles and he flips himself away from you. 

“Brutal,” Madara comments breezily. “That can actually kill someone, but fortunately I’m not just anyone.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah well, give me an A for effort.”

Madara falters and his eyes narrow at you. He knows as well as you do that you are slacking and there is a lot on your mind. “Is this about what Hashirama told you earlier?”

You meet his eyes and let out a sigh. “Wow, word travels fast.”

Madara starts to walk towards you and he gathers his hair to one side. “That was not fair of him. If you want, I can talk to him about that.” 

You watch Madara’s face, and a cloud passes overhead. You are almost tempted to say yes and cling to the wings that Madara has put you under to shelter you, but you are not that woman anymore. You are not a quitter. Besides, you need to have a purpose to pour your efforts in. If not, then what else could be in store for you? 

“It’s not like the Hokage asked me to cut off my hand, I will be fine, Madara,” you finally answer. “Really.”

Madara folds his arms and he presses his lips together. “If you ever need me to go beat him up then say the word.”

You cannot help the chuckle that escapes your mouth. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. There will be no need of beating.” You pause and a smirk forms on your face as an idea takes form in your mind. “However, you can help me get to know Tobirama.”

Madara scowls, knowing that you are pushing his buttons. “No, you are on your own,” he grits out. 

The air around your friend changes, and suddenly all the silliness in your demeanor fades away. Your eyes narrow warily, as his face darkens at you with disapproval. You know that he still holds a grudge on Tobirama, and it really is quite low of you to mention him so casually. 

 Madara narrows his eyes at you and shakes his head. "You have some guts." 

You point your chin towards him naughtily. "Everyone's fair game." You break out into a smile, even if Madara can decide right then and there to end your life. "You just can't take it."

Madara used to always intimidate you, and he furthered that feeling at times by showing you his sharingan, because you know, you know , what he is capable of doing with those eyes, but he never really did anything to you. It was more of the idea of what he can do to you, at any given time. 

 Madara stays silent for a few more moments. Then, he attempts to soften his voice. “What do you want to know?” 

You raise an eyebrow at this. “Uchiha Madara is finally giving in?” 

 Madara rolls his eyes and he lets out a small, tight-lipped smile. "Just this once, but you are paying for lunch.” 

 You gasp, taking offense at this. “You do know I am broke, right?” 

“Who’s fault was it for not taking my offer to live in the Uchiha compound?” Madara matches his footsteps with yours as the two of you head towards the village. 

“First of all, I am not an Uchiha, your people will oust me the moment I step foot, and second, I want to make a living for myself.” 

Madara rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you’re all alone.”

 “Aren’t you?” You retort without thought.

 Madara falls into silence. “You know someday, you will get in trouble with that mouth of yours.” 

“You just can’t handle me.” 

 “The offer still stands,” Madara mutters, and he glances at you. “And it’s safe there. I will make sure no one even says a bad word about you. If you are with me, they won’t even look at you.” 

“That sounds like a lonely life, and you know that I have been mostly caged in my childhood.” You sigh and you bump your shoulder against his arm. “I appreciate everything you have done for me, but I have nothing, Madara. It’s time I do something for myself and invest in something bigger than me. I need that.” 

//

The Hokage mansion is huge inside, and since you do not visit this place often, you are not sure where the said library is. It could just be any room in here. Or, there is no such thing as the library in the Hokage mansion and Tobirama just said that because he wants to avoid you and send you on a goosechase away from him. You know that he is not thrilled to be put up on this project with you, based on his expressions yesterday, but you are kind of determined to change his mind now. 

 Besides, you are fun and cool, something he can take notes on as he seems prudish. 

  You sigh as you decide to just wait for Tobirama outside, instead of wandering inside the mansion. There are still some parts being built, and you do not want to cause any trouble to the workers there. 

You are quite early, hoping to beat Tobirama to the punch to solidify yourself in his good graces and show him that you are serious about this. However, due to your punctuality, the waiting time is becoming ridiculously long. Sometimes you are not big on the whole waiting patiently thing.

You sigh, and aimlessly walk around the whole building. 

  You hear people starting to mile about to start their day, and you hear children laughing and talking loudly among themselves, which brings a smile to your lips. You decide to stay near the entrance of the mansion so Tobirama will not have any trouble looking for you. 

Lost in your thoughts, you brandish your blade from its scabbard and you start to draw stick figures on the soil, and you add little details such as trees, kunais and shurikens. 

You are not sure how much Tobirama knows about you, but you have heard many things about him, mostly from his brother, both good and bad. You know that he is a great warrior and one of the most brilliant minds that his generation has seen. He is responsible for the complex system of the very village you reside in, and the Hokage’s trusted advisor, even more than Uchiha Madara, who you know is very close to Hashirama. You also know that he is a great sensei, according to his students, which you have no doubt about since he is very intelligent. 

Personality wise, he remains a mystery to you. Mostly because Hashirama glosses over that when talking about him. All you know is that Tobirama can be difficult at times, but you figure that it is how one should act when you are at the forefront of leading this village.

However, you are not in the least intimidated, even if he is a little older and has experienced more in life. Now that you are going to be working with him more, you are curious as to what the famed Senju Tobirama is really all about. 

“I hope I did not keep you waiting,” Tobirama’s rough voice interrupts the quiet that you have immersed yourself in. 

  You perk up, and put your sword back with a loud click. He glances down at the ground, where you have made silly stick figures of shinobis fighting. You attempt to erase them with your foot. 

“Not at all!” You lie, but Tobirama sees through that and he narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

His serious face does not change, and instead you think he grew even more serious. He nods and gestures towards the mansion. He clutches the books and the scrolls he has close to his body.

 “Shall we?” 

You follow Tobirama towards the entrance, trying to keep up with his long strides, though he seems to be speeding up on purpose. Finally, he unlocks the library doors and opens them wide. The two of you step in, and you cannot help but feel underwhelmed at the great reveal of the Hokage mansion’s library. 

It is bare, with a lone wooden table and three chairs situated next to the windows. 

 To the side are empty bookshelves, with the exception of one shelf, which is almost halfway filled. 

“This is a sorry library,” you comment under your breath. 

 Tobirama walks up to the table and puts down the materials he has been carrying. 

  “We are going to fill it, starting today,” Tobirama says. “And for the rest of the year.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “How? Write and publish our own books?” 

  Tobirama glances up at you, without irony. “Yes.”  

You feign a smile.  “Oh,” you deadpan. He does seem like the type of person to do that.

“We are also going to visit every clan in the village and ask if we could transcribe some of their writings,” Tobirama continues. “We can make our references through that, integrate their history and make a comprehensive one for Konoha. We also need to learn some of their jutsus and study them, among other things.” 

  You nod, understanding what he means. “Alright, where do we start? And how do we rewrite the Academy curriculum part?” 

“Well first, I will have to set a few rules,” Tobirama drones on, looking at you pointedly.  

You walk towards him so that you are standing on the other side of the table. “Alright, shoot,” you say. 

“I have written the deadlines of the parts that you will do. You must give them to me, on time ,” Tobirama sternly says, slipping one of the scrolls forward. “I have a vague plan of what the curriculum can look like, but you will also have the chance to express your ideas.” 

  You take the scroll and open it gingerly, and you look at the back to back due dates. 

“You must not talk to me aimlessly, unless it is about this project or if you need any clarification on the tasks you have to do,” Tobirama continues. “When we are working, I expect you to only work.”

You nod, thinking that these are easy, reasonable rules. 

  “You must be punctual.” 

  You are way too punctual, so you know that you are going to follow this rule perfectly. 

“Do not eat near me.” 

  At this, you almost roll your eyes, but you hold yourself back. 

  “Do not touch my things, unless I give them to you. I hope that you can call my title with respect,” Tobirama drones on and on, mostly about the little things he is apparently very particular about. “You will also be training with me and my students, and I expect you to always be on top of your game.” 

“Yes, of course.” You blink at all his so-called rules, and fight the urge to roll your eyes. It’s like he already has the impression that you won’t be as dedicated to your job as he is. 

  But you are dedicated. 

However, you cannot help but talk back. He probably made a rule for that, but it goes unheard by you. 

Tobirama nods. “Very well.” 

  “Did you stay up all night making this up?” You ask, unable to help yourself garner some reaction from him. 

Tobirama’s stare is stormy, and his eyes narrow strictly. “It is common sense that you abide by such unsaid rules.”

  “But you just, well forgive me, enumerated them. If they are common sense, then you would not have to re-tell it.” 

Tobirama lets out a stream of breath from his nose that sounds a tad bit impatient, and he rolls his eyes. 

  You smile, feeling a little triumphant at getting a reaction from him. He catches your expression and he schools his face to become serious once more.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, and you wait for Tobirama to speak. 

  “I heard you teach at the Academy at times,” Tobirama suddenly brings up. “When did you start?” 

  Your eyes narrow slightly at this. Tobirama built the Academy, so he must be aware of the things happening there. “Almost a year ago.” 

  Tobirama taps a finger on the books that he set down. “And you teach when?” 

“Wednesdays and Fridays,” you reply. 

Tobirama nods. “I will be coming with you.” 

You pause at this. “Wait, why?” 

Tobirama looks at you as if it’s obvious. “To size up what the kids need to learn, observe which materials are appropriate for age groups until they graduate as genin, and so forth.”  

Of course, that makes sense. 

Tobirama pulls out the chair and he slides into it. “Then, let us begin. We have many things to research and read up on.” 

You look at him as he opens the books, and distributes some of them to you. 

  “Will you get around to telling me what your plan is, or are you just going to let me guess?” You ask as you flip to the first page of one of the books that he handed to you.

You slide on the chair across from him, taking care to move to the side so that you are giving him his space. 

“Silence, when I am working,” Tobirama states without looking up from what he is reading. “Do not talk to me aimlessly. You will get a chance to ask me questions later, I suggest you start listing them down.”

  “Alright, alright,” you mumble. 

You read the first paragraph of the book, already taking note of the main idea. After a few pages, however, you glance up at your book and to Tobirama, who has not moved an inch except to turn a page. You observe his pristine expression, your eyes going down the slope of his strong nose, his high cheekbones, and his lips that form into a pout, and then to the markings on his face and chin.

  He’s handsome, you’ll give him that. 

His eyes never waver, unlike you, and from this, you can tell that he always pours all his focus and efforts when he does something. 

“Work,” Tobirama reminds you. “And look at the due dates so you can think about how you can strategize your time.” 

You snap up and pretend to go back to your reading, but you glance at him one last time. Something about him piques your curiosity, and it makes you want to push his buttons just to see what the famed Senju Tobirama is all about. 

 You cannot help but let out a tiny smile and you raise the book to hide your face. 

Well, if he already has some sort of prejudice towards you, you might as well play that to your advantage. 

You smirk to yourself, finally looking forward to the time the two of you will spend together. 

.

.

.

[CHAPTER TWO >>>]

[sanders-sides-fic]

A hole of your shape in my heart

So… My brain went to war with me today. So I wrote some Anxceit-centred angst to cope. Consider yourself warned, this will hurt. I do hope you'll enjoy it regardless, though.

Trigger warnings: implied depression, mentions of panic attacks, self harm, fainting, memory loss

If I forgot a trigger or there is something you would like to be added to that list, please go ahead and tell me. You can do so anonymously as well.

It wasn't that bad at the beginning. A bit of a cold shiver, running down his spine. Ice that seemed to settle in his lounges. A dull ache. Nothing serious, really. He knew that it wasn't good to ignore it, he knew that from the start. And yet he couldn't help it.

They were happy. That was all that mattered to him then. Remus and Janus were happy. That was more important than a bit uncomfortableness. He was used to having panic attacks, mental breakdowns and the sudden urge to cry anyways. This didn't make such a big difference.

Except that it did.

You see, Remus was born without a soulmate. He just didn't have one. Janus, on the other hand, had an accident when he was younger. There was a nasty scar on the left side of his face, which he had covered up with a tattoo of a snake later. Ever since that accident, he'd been soul-blind. Colourblind for soulmates. He did have a soulmate, he just couldn't feel the bond anymore. Oh, it was still there, alright. He could feel that much. But he just couldn't tell anything beyond that. So he'd given up on finding that soulmate.

That's how Remus and Janus had gotten together in the first place. And that was wonderful. It was great. They made such a nice pair. They were happy and in love and sweet and… And it had come as a blow to the face to Virgil.

The three of them had been friends for years. When they'd become teens, Virgil had finally realised what the bond had been telling him all the time. The pretty sparkles around Janus, the glitter in the air that portrayed his emotion in colours, the warmth around his heart that reminded him of Janus. Janus could only feel that warmth. He wondered what it felt like to him. What he felt like to him. Because Janus was Virgil's soulmate.

Virgil had been a bit happy and a bit sad about that. Happy because he liked Janus and he knew him and that was fine. Sad because Janus couldn't tell that they were soulmates.

And that was why he kept telling himself that he'd tell Janus. For sure. But somehow he always ducked out the last moment. Something always happened. Just little things, but things that were bad enough to make him retreat into his shell.

He should have known. When Janus said he would give up on searching for a soulmate he couldn't even tell apart from the rest of the world, he should have known. And yet he hadn't expected Janus to start dating people. Janus was his soulmate, his. He didn't even consider the possibility that he might see other people. How very stupid of him.

He had almost told Janus that day. They were eighteen then, and he had bought a yellow nasturtium, Janus's favorite flower. It was inside a black pot that he'd made himself. He'd always liked to do pottery, it calmed him down. This was the best one he made so far, he thought.

He also wrote down what he wanted to say. How much Janus meant to him, how badly he wanted to be with him, that they were soulmates, that he didn't even mind that Janus couldn't tell and that he was sorry he hadn't said anything before. That it was okay if Janus needed time because this was so sudden, but that he hoped he'd give Virgil a chance anyways. Virgil had used his favorite paper. It was a bit fancy, but not over the top. And it smelled like Lavender, which always calmed him down. He'd wasted quite a bit of this paper because he kept starting over, but that was worth it. Janus was worth it.

But Janus had already told him that he wasn't waiting for his soulmate anymore. And when Janus arrived at his apartment that day, it was with his hand in Remus's.

"He asked me out earlier. I can't believe I said yes, the way he did it was terrible, really." But Janus had smiled, and Remus had laughed, and Virgil had been late.

He knew Remus wasn't to blame, and neither was Janus. They were happy right now. Remus hadn't been happy or confident when it came to the topic of love in forever. Janus had suffered because he'd always been so, so scared of his soulmate rejecting him for not being able to tell. And now they were happy and it was without him.

It hurt. A lot. But he didn't want to ruin their happiness. It was only his fault. He was to blame, for hesitating. For not wanting to ruin their friendship. For being selfish.

So he secretly took the letter and hid it in the bottom of his desk drawer. And he wished them the best.

After that, they started to drift away. Remus and Janus had a lot of date nights. And Virgil drifted away from them because he couldn't stand seeing them. It hurt too much, was all. Whenever Janus would smile at him, whenever Janus laughed, whenever Remus sighed and told him about a cute thing Janus had done, whenever they shared a milkshake, whenever they were so there, so with each other.

Whenever Janus insisted Virgil come as well, saying he missed him. Because Virgil knew, he knew that was because Janus could still feel the soulmate bond. But Janus didn't know, and Janus didn't see him that way, and that was just cruel. Why did fate do this to him? Why did it hate him so much?

After a while, when Virgil couldn't take it anymore, he begun to initiate fights. Janus was too much of a liar, he was too anxious to trust him. Remus was creepy and gross, he couldn't understand why he would say something like that. In the end, he became more and more of an asshole to the two of them. Their days were either spent apart or fighting, and Virgil would cry himself to sleep, pain and cold emptiness gnawing away at his soul.

After a while, he had pushed them so far away that he barely saw them at all anymore. And by then he was so used to it that he could just pretend everything was fine during the day. Sure, he couldn't bare to take off his hoody even in scalding hot summer. Sure, his panic attacks got worse and more frequent. Sure, he had started to wear black eyeshadow purely to hide the bags under his eyes. Sure, he woke up to dried tears on his face every single day. But it was fine. He was fine. He could take this, if it meant that the two most important people in his life were happy.

Patton, the soulmate of Remus's brother, had somehow ended up noticing how he was alone all the time now. And he'd adopted him into their friend group.

Roman and Remus were on bad terms with each other, so he barely knew them. It was kind of a fresh start, even if it was a rocky one. Remy and Roman were the least accepting of him. Roman because "A, he is the type of person Remus would hang out with. And, B, he hurt Remus with his sudden bullshit. Believe me, if you knew the things I learned through my brother…" and Remy just because he didn't want to breath the same air as him. Apparently.

Remy didn't hang out with the group if Virgil was with them. They meet up without him, which was a solution everyone was fine with. Besides, Remy had always liked to suddenly disappear and appear according to his mood. At least that was what his soulmate, Logan, said.

Roman, on the other hand, couldn't stay away that much. After all it was Patton who stuck to Virgil like friendly glue made out of puns, and Patton was Roman's soulmate. Both of them were extremely clingy too, apparently. So the two of them exchanged sarcastic comments and rude nicknames, but they didn't outright hate each other. At least Virgil didn't hate Roman.

Logan was nice to talk to. Almost as good at debates as Janus. They didn't have debates about philosophy, though. Those were reserved for Janus, and it felt like betraying him to have such a debate with someone else. They soon got to a point where hanging out was almost enjoyable, where they kind of liked each other.

And then, suddenly, it got a lot worse. A lot worse. So bad, Virgil couldn't get up in the morning. He couldn't eat anything, couldn't stop crying, could barely breath. About four panic attacks and one night of terrible, terrible loneliness later, Roman, Logan and Patton showed up at his door.

He couldn't help himself. He was so lonely, and he felt so worthless, and Patton was the only one who really wanted him around anyways. So he shrugged their concerns off, taking a sip from his hot coffee - the only acceptable hot beverage in August - and saying: "Well, I just… assumed you didn't want me around. I mean, you don't like me much anyways, so."

Patton had gasped in offence and horror, and Virgil couldn't help but smile at that, though the hole in his chest was still too much to bare and he couldn't look at them. "Yeah, yeah. Except you, Pat."

He'd been wrong. Logan drew up an entire chart to prove how much he contributed to their friend group and how much he provided. Even Roman told him that he was wanted, needed even. It was nice and wholesome, and to his surprise, it made him feel so much better. For just a moment, the hole inside his chest wasn't as icy and cold.

They ended up watching Disney that evening, with a bowl of popcorn and too much comments to actually concentrate on the movie. Later at night, Virgil even confessed that he knew his soulmate. A sore subject he didn't want to touch normally. They asked him why he was single, of course, whether it didn't work out between the two of them, whether that was even possible. And Virgil had shrugged. "I wouldn't know. We never tried, he already has someone." Then he'd chuckled. "I guess that was why I was such an asshole to Re and Jan when they got together, too. Kinda made me feel jealous and… lonely. Don't tell them, though. They don't even know that I already met my soulmate."

Janus would have been proud of him, for how well he had managed to lie to his new friends. Well, not lie directly. But a lie of omission, right?

There were many days like this after that. Days where everything got too much. His new friends understood that he sometimes had bad days. Patton would sent him videos of cute dogs and cats when he let them know he was out of order for that day. Roman would send him memes and Logan would tell him fun facts. It was precious of them, and it made Virgil feel a lot less lonely. The cold was still there, layered around the soulmate bond, the hole was just as gaping as always, but he didn't feel as lonely. And that was good enough.

Other days he could almost pretend that things were fine. He would be around his new friends for as long as his little, introverted heart allowed him. Then he'd listen to music, get stuff done, worry about dead lines and the world instead of Remus, or Janus and his absence in Virgil's life. Sometimes he would read, too. Or do pottery. He didn't do pots anymore though. Or flowers. Just art or tableware.

He didn't even mean to do it the first time. Really, it was an accident. He was just tired, and he did the dishes and then he accidentally cut himself with a knife. But as the blood trickled down his finger, the pain outside kind of overwhelmed the pain inside. So he sat down and watched his finger bleed. Because his hand was wet, it looked like more blood than it actually was.

He thought about that moment often after that, whenever the pain got too much to bare and he could barely hang on. And he did try to fight it, really, he did. But in the end, it was too tempting. Just a few cuts at a time, at first. Somewhere where no one would notice. With the hoody, that wasn't even that hard, actually. He always put on gauze, too, to make sure it didn't get infected.

It got a bit more when he heard from Roman that Janus and Remus had broken up. Apparently Janus felt weird dating Remus. They suspected that it was because Remus wasn't his soulmate - because Janus was Virgil's, his, he was supposed to date him and he wanted to yell it at Janus already, telling him the truth, finally holding him and kissing him and filling this Janus's formed hole in his heart - and Remus fully understood it. Things were a bit awkward between the two of them, but they would keep being friends.

And it got even more worse when Patton was Patton and decided to use this opportunity to get Virgil to make up with the two of them. It was nice of him, but the thing was that Janus was still Virgil's soulmate and didn't know about it.

He and Janus didn't get along too well. He made up with Remus way faster. And Roman didn't like Janus too much either, but once again Patton insisted on adopting the man into their friend group and Roman was too clingy to avoid him. But Janus made it, in the end. Of course Janus made it. He was dazzling and charismatic like that.

Only Virgil couldn't help keeping his defences up. If he let them down, he would tell him the truth. And he couldn't do that, not now, not until he made everything okay again. But he couldn't do that, not without letting his defences down and that just killed him on the inside.

And then he had a bad day. But he wanted to see Janus, so he got up and met up with the others. It helped. Seeing Janus there helped. Hearing him and Patton talking about Kant, watching him smile at Logan and joke around with both Remus and Roman… It helped. And yet it made him so much more aware of what he was missing.

Remus and Roman drove home together. Logan was supposed to meet Remy, so he had excused himself earlier. Patton worked in the café they'd been in, and his shift started after their meeting. So that left Virgil and Janus to walk out together.

Janus smelled like coconut, and his lips were a little chapped. Early winter, he always got chapped lips this time of year. The light made his skin glow, and from this angle with the way the light hit them his left eye looked a lot more golden than brown, unlike the right one.

It hurt. He wanted to grab Janus's hand, he wanted to kiss those lips, he wanted to hug him and never let him go, he wanted to grab him and hold him close until the smell of coconut would transfer to himself as well. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted so bad.

But how was he supposed to do any of it? How was he supposed to tell him?

In the end, he decided to just get it over with. Like a bandaid, just ripping it off. Straight out with it. But just when he was about to, had already taken a breath and opened his mouth…

"I missed you." Janus's melodic voice sounded way too sad. Virgil didn't like it. "Why did you just leave us behind, Virge? I missed you, but… You were acting so strange. You still are. Are you mad because I never texted you?"

He didn't say anything. Couldn't, even though he wanted to.

"If that's it, then I'm sorry. But, Virge, I… I did miss you. And you acting so cold to me really sucks. You're getting along fine with Remus now, so why not me?" He stopped and looked Virgil in the eyes, looking like he was searching for something. What, Virgil didn't know. But he didn't find it, judging by the way he averted his eyes. And that hurt, too. Everything hurt. He just wanted to go now. "I thought we were friends."

"No. I don't think we ever were supposed to be friends." Virgil took a deep breath. Now. He had to tell him now. Bandaid, remember? Just tell him. Virgil opened his mouth, looking at Janus.

Right. Just out with it. "The truth is we're soulmates. I'm sorry I never told you, I was scared. But I love you, Janus." Right. That was all he had to say. Just three sentences. Go on, do it. Please, just get them out already. It's been years now. You've known since you were sixteen, you've known for four years now. He deserves to know, too.

In the end, he shook his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I…" couldn't say it again. He ignored the tears gathering in his eyes as he turned away from Janus's hurt look. "I'm not feeling that good."

And he ran. He ran away, like he always did. God, he was such a coward. And for what?

At home, he pulled out the letter from last year. Then, he screamed. He couldn't take it anymore, he just screamed and sobbed. And he knew that it wasn't fair, that he'd done this to himself, but he was in so much pain. He just couldn't take it.

But he'd done this to himself. By hesitating, by not giving the letter, by ruining what little relationship he had with his soulmate, by pushing him away, by lying, by not saying what he wanted to. And what for? A fleeting happiness, a failed relationship, a churning ball of fear in his stomach?

Virgil didn't mean for it to get that bad. He meant to stop earlier. He didn't mean for the wounds to be that deep either. But they did, and he didn't, and he only really realised when he got dizzy at standing up. Oh. Oh, that was a lot of blood. And he was still bleeding. Damnit, he needed help. But who would…? Who could…

He grabbed his phone and called the first number in his contacts. It was Remus's voice that picked up after the second ring. "Hey, Rem. It's me." He winced at how weak his voice sounded. "I, uh… I did something stupid. And I know I've been an asshole, but I really, really need your help."

"Janus said you didn't feel so good." Remus sounded genuinely worried. And was that Janus's voice in the background? It was, wasn't it? Tears sprung to his eyes again.

"Yeah. Hey, tell him I'm sorry for me? I wanted to say something, but I didn't again, and… yeah." He couldn't understand the response he got. Blinking, he tried to stay awake. Falling asleep was bad, right? Oh, right. Remus. "Listen, Remus, I… Did something stupid. There's a lot of blood. I think I need to go to the hospital."

"Blood? The hospital? Virgil what did you do?!"

He flinched at the panicked voice. That didn't suit Remus at all. Wait, wasn't that Janus? Had Remus put him on speaker? Well, it didn't matter, really. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He said instead. And then: "I'm scared."

"Okay. Okay, shit. We're almost there. It's alright, we're almost- Take a left, Re, that's faster. We're almost there, okay Virge?"

"Okay." He hesitated, lump in his throat. He thought he could feel tears running down his face, but he was a bit too out of it to be sure. "Thank you."

They kept their word. He could hear Janus's shocked cry and Remus's cussing before the darkness took over.

❖

When he woke up, he was in a white room. Around him, he could see a bunch of people. One with dirty blonde hair and freckles, holding hands with a brunette with glasses. Next to them sat a man with similar glasses and black hair. On the other side was a man much like the first, but with one strand dyed silver and the rest chestnut brown. And another man, who stole the breath right out of his lunges.

Long, golden hair, tied up to a bun, pale skin, warm eyes somewhere between gold and brown, and a snake tattoo on his left cheek. He wore black, with yellow and gold accessories, and he was absolutely stunning. Around him there were weird fireworks, almost like glitter. Did the others see that, too? It was blue, and something inside him told him that that was worry. The same part clenched around his heart, demanding to make the worry go away.

But… "Who are you?"

They all gasped, looking at him. "Virgil?! Oh my god, you're awake." That was the voice of the man with the dyed hair. What was his name? He couldn't quite remember.

"I don't… Who are you? Where am I? Do I know you? I think I know you, but…" He trailed off, regretting having said anything when hurt crossed the stunning man's face. "Sorry."

"Oh, no, you don't… I'm sorry. I should've noticed you were hurting." He sighed, putting on an obviously fake smile as he grabbed his - Virgil's? His name was Virgil, had the man said, right? - hand. "We are your friends, Virgil. That's Logan, Patton, Roman, and Remus. And I am Janus." Janus. Yeah, Virgil though, that fit him. But somehow, Janus looked like he was steeling himself for something. He took a deep breath, smiling more, tears in those wonderful eyes. "I'm you soulmate."

"My soulmate?"

Janus nodded, clutching a purple piece of paper in his hand. "Yes. It's a bit complicated, but, I am. We're soulmates."

Virgil nodded, looking around. There were a lot of people around him. And they all looked so happy to see him awake. His friends and his soulmate, huh? Virgil looked back to Janus. "There's a lot of people here."

"Do you want us to go, kiddo?" That was Patton who'd said that, right? He sounded sad at the idea, and Virgil didn't like it much either. So he shook his head.

"No. I was just thinking, there's a lot of people caring about me."

He got a few sad smiles in return. "Of course, Virge. We all love you very much. And don't you dare to forget that again, you hear?" Janus clenched Virgil's hand in his and put it to his forehead, almost desperately. "Don't you ever dare forget that I love you. You idiot."

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