#bringing him back whether you like it or not

[girl-lostconnection]

So..forgive me you're the first person I'm ever asking anything on Tumblr (Kinda new and I usually like to describe it like hiding in the corner and just watching everything quietly and leaving likes and I love your work) but I was thinking about your concept with 141 and reader dying and the notebook. Would there ever be a case where the others stumble upon it? Whether Price forgets (somehow) to put it away or someone's in the midst of searching for something and stumbles upon it?

Again, love your work, feel free to ignore this tho

Yeah, I think this type of readers people call “lurkers” which is cool🙂‍↕️you guys are usually the backbone of the audience, I enjoy you tremendously.

And that’s a really good question, anon!

You know what? Why not turn the heat up a little more for this pot with the frogs.

I can imagine Price not exactly forgetting it somewhere but harbouring it so close to himself that people start to notice. This specific notebook is always with him — under his armoured vest and in the front pocket of his shirts, on top of the stack of documents, edge of it peeking out of his pants pocket.

It’s always there when before he didn’t carry it with him. It’s small and simple, technically it shouldn’t rise any questions but Kyle is the first who notices it. Maybe because after your death he’s so sharply attuned to everyone else on the team, it’s practically unhealthy.

Kyle who watches John fumble with the leather bound corners of the little thing and wonders…what’s inside of it? They have been all grieving but your things have been taken by them all and shared fairly.

Simon doesn’t withhold your pictures or books with your annotations. Soap doesn’t say no when Gaz asks for one of the keychains. Kyle himself lets Simon and Johnny take one of your things each. Simon takes the big oversized T-shirt and Soap whisks away one of your hoodies, clutching it hard to himself, knuckles white with tension.

(Kyle will never admit but when he walked in on Johnny in hoodie with your name and rank on the back of it his knees buckled. For a moment a traitorous part of him thought you were there. For a moment he could breathe again)

So Price keeping something of you to himself almost felt unfair. It wasn’t, of course, no, Captain had every right to grieve and mourn in a way that made it easier for him.

But-

But Kyle missed you. Everyday and every morning he’d wake up, realisations hitting him again that you aren’t coming back. You are never coming back.

You disappeared so suddenly you were now everywhere.

The unwashed cup they couldn’t bring themselves to wash, the clothes and trinkets, the books and pictures. The notebooks.

Kyle remembers how you two played games in it, drawing X’s and O’s when debrief would get too long and your brains too sluggish to keep awake without external stimulation.

Kyle remembers you writing in them, so focused you oftentimes wouldn’t notice him getting closer until he’d plop himself down in front of you, pretending to pose. Your favourite model, wasn’t he?

Kyle remembers you smiling at him, eyes flickering to his face for a moment, your gaze so impossibly soft he feels like choking and burying himself next to you.

There is a whole life ahead. Kyle isn’t sure how to live it with a hole in this chest the size of your love.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe. Maybe he is selfish.

Maybe he should have been content with what he has been given. But he wasn’t.

So now he slips the notebook off Price’s desk when the man himself is so wrecked he can’t see straight. John’s drinking got worse after your death. Not yet enough to cause disciplinary action but enough to make them all worried.

Gaz has never seen him like that.

Why were they all lucky enough to meet you but not lucky enough to save you? Would the outcome be different if one of them went with you on that deployment? Could they save you if they knew how it ends?

Could they try?

Kyle’s fingers skim over the pages, your hoodie on him and if he pretends hard enough it almost feels like a hug. It almost feels like his body heat seeping through fabric is yours. Like you were just wearing it.

Like you didn’t leave at all.

Like you are coming back.

Kyle flips through the pages, gurgling wet laughter in his throat when he notices that you have been writing Simon’s jokes down and coming up with your own. (The “just got hospitalised due to peekaboo incident. They put me in ICU” joke almost makes Kyle choke).

Some part of him gets why Price has been guarding this specific journal so hard. Why he wasn’t letting anyone else close to it, because this right here is you.

Everything that’s left of your thoughts and feelings, of your humour and love, of your plans and scribbles.

It’s tangible proof that you were here. You lived, you loved, you thought. You were there and you were a person. Their favourite person. Their beloved one.

Maybe that’s why your small note hits him harder than he could have ever expected. A small resigned “I’m not sure I fit in. I’m not sure I’m not second…or fifth best in this case. Don’t even know if I wanna talk about it. Just plain stupid” splits Kyle’s scull open and leaves him bleeding and aching and shaking.

What…what did you mean “fifth best”? Why would you say that? What- no. Nonononono. No, it’s not fair. It’s not true, it has never been true.

Kyle feels like driving back to the cemetery and wrapping his car around the poll.

Kyle feels like clawing at the ground and sobbing-sobbing-sobbing.

Kyle feels like begging.

Please, no. Please, come back. Please, let him fix it, let him tell you the truth, let him tell you.

Kyle understands why Price was guarding the journal this fiercely. Kyle is so mad he feels like demolishing John’s office and yelling until his voice is raspy useless thing, vocal cords damaged, headache pounding inside his head and he’s burning from inside out.

Kyle looks at the page, his whole core so hollowed out you could feel an echo if you’d knocked.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do because you are gone.

Because he wants to say “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry, I’d be better if I knew”, he wants to say “come back and scream at me, come back demand attention, come back and hurt me in return just please please come back”.

He wants to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways, he wants to kiss it better, he wants to hold you again, he wants you back, why can’t you come back, why can’t he get you back? He will change, he will do better, he will pay attention, he’s sorry, love, he’s so sorry.

Soap finds him just blankly staring at the page and he doesn’t understand at first, concern sharpening his features like one of the razors he uses for his drawing pencils.

Johnny sinks down next to him, lips pressing to Kyle’s temple, breath panting when Gaz doesn’t respond because he can’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

How do you live knowing you may never change what already happened? How do you keep going knowing your tenderness is decaying six feet underground, that your love is springing with flowers when they should have stayed above the ground and picked them? How do you get over it? How?

Johnny’s eyes skim over the page and Gaz can feel when the realisation sinks in, when the body next to him is getting poured full with raw ache and ice sharp panic.

Johnny asks “Gaz whose journal is that”, Johnny pleads “Mate, talk to me, where did you get it?”, Johnny whimpers “Kyle tell me it’s not theirs, Kyle please, Kyle say something”.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do other than wrap himself around Soap and hold him despite the thrashing, despite the disbelieving laughter that descends into gasping for air and clawing at his back and shoulders.

Kyle doesn’t let him get out and do something stupid, like drive to the cemetery and wrap a car around the poll and curl near your gravestone.

There is an awfully loud gulp and the journal is getting carefully taken off Kyle’s lap, Simon’s fingers long and scarred — things broken too many times to grown back straight and narrow, calloused pads of his fingers catching on the paper of the notebook.

Kyle has to drag him down to them, he has to practically kick the ground from under Ghost’s feet because the man looks like he will get the shovel and get you out of the coffin.

(Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon refused to let them bury you, how he sat with you for days, until the decomposition became evident. Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon placed a phone in your coffin despite knowing that you are not coming back. Kyle doesn’t want to think that Simon was terrified the 4 of them might bury you alive).

Ghost looks like the sky just fell on his head, crashing his spine and grinding down his nerves. Ghost looks like he wants to cry but doesn’t know how.

Ghost looks like how they all feel.

Kyle forces the man into their cuddle pile and forces his hand to wrap around Johnny, because Soap digs his fingers into them like he’s falling-falling-falling. System crashing, bomb ticking, Rome burning down.

Funny how Ghost never understood the phrase “going mad with grief”, always felt like it was a bit of dramatisation. People die every day after all, don’t they? It’s statistically impossible to never lose a single person.

Funny how Soap gets it now perfectly. The shift of tectonic plates in his brain, the rewiring of the whole system, pain so intense he might have ash for heart now.

Funny how it’s not funny at all but Gaz still laughs, face wet when Simon tightens his grip and pulls Kyle in, letting him hide his face.

Taglist: @synthe4u

[yemmuis]

★ choso doesn’t have any self control during sex. he doesn’t know—or doesn’t care—about his limits; he hasn’t even been fucking you for that long, but his control is already slipping. he doesn’t stop when he’s overstimulated, and god forbid he ever take a break before you’ve finished twice. he doesn’t even realize its insane for a man to have such a high sex drive. doesn’t care that he’s “not supposed to finish before his partner”, because why would he wait to finish when he can keep going until he can’t anymore?

“hic—f-fuck,” chosos panting into your ear, his dick twitching as he comes down from his second orgasm of the night. he barely takes the time to pull out, wrap a trembling hand around himself and give a few laborious strokes before he’s thrusting shakily back into you.

he doesn’t know its fucking crazy that he can cum three times and still be hard enough to keep going. or that how fast he can make you cum with just his fingers (five minutes on a bad day) is the most stellar performance you’ve ever had from a man. and maybe your past lovers just weren’t putting in the effort, but choso certainly does.

“can i please keep going?” he whines, his head dropping down to the back of your shoulder as he keeps you bent over the side of your mattress. he doesn’t know how he’s still standing, but he’s leaning onto your back and his legs are trembling. you nod almost absently, face hidden in the blankets and pillows of your bed while choso is barely holding on behind you; his hips twitch, and he finally manages to catch his breath long enough to brace himself on the mattress by your shoulder. “fuck, my legs hurt.” he mutters to himself, giving an experimental thrust before he’s back to his usual pace and bottoming out with every snap of his hips into your ass. “you feel so good. can’t believe i had to wait a week to do this again.” choso hiccups, and he doesn’t even realize he’s crying in the hot, sticky pleasure filling his brain like honey until he feels his tears dripping down onto your shoulder. “jeez, sorry,” he gasps out, pretty moans slipping from his lips every time his hips meet yours. its an empty apology; he can’t bring himself to care about crying when you feel so good and he can hear you moaning underneath him. he can feel yet another orgasm building, heat pooling in his belly and crackling up his spine as he fucks into you.

“oh—my.” his speech is slurred, stuttering, and his dick is twitching with every mean thrust that rearranges your insides. he’s already so close and he’s barely been at it for five minutes—what round is this? neither of you can remember. he doesn’t remember how many times he’s orgasmed anymore, but he’s fairly certain you’ve already finished at least once or twice, right? you’re still shaking with the aftermath of something, whether thats his grueling pace or climax, he doesn’t know.

“baby,” choso pants out, his free hand settling on your waist and squeezing. “you ‘member how many times y’ve cum t’night…?” his words are barely legible, and he can’t really hear if you respond or not…the best course of action is just to keep going until he’s sure you’ve finished, he guesses. theres heat coiling in your belly, making every thrust feel like fireworks behind your eyes as you stutter out a ‘no’. everything is aching and throbbing and he’s fairly certain he can’t feel his fingers anymore, but that doesn’t really matter as long as he can make you cum. he fumbles for a moment with his trembling hands, trying to keep up the pace of his thrusts that are quickly turning shaky and erratic.

“ch-cho,” you choke on his name, fingers clawing at the sheets as he presses lingering kisses over your shoulder blades. any way to distract himself from his orgasm looming too close for his liking. he pauses to readjust his hands, his breathing labored against your back as he gives a particularly good thrust that rummages into your insides. “‘m i supposed to stop?” choso mumbles, kissing the round of your shoulder as one of his trembling hands grabs your hip firmly. you don’t quite process what he said, barely conscious after how many orgasms he’s easily pulled from you, and the umpteenth one burning at the base of your spine. choso sighs as though he’s being told to do a chore, his forehead landing against the nape of your neck as he angles his hips perfectly into yours and his dick twitches. was that him cumming? he doesn’t know—he’s been overstimulated for at least an hour now, but that doesn’t matter. what matters to choso is feeling your pussy fluttering around him, and listening to the choked moans spilling from your lips as he urges yet another climax from you. your vision goes white, and with one last thrust against your g-spot, your orgasm crashes over you in a honeyed wave as choso squeezes your hips and kisses down your back.

he pulls out sluggishly once you finish trembling, trailing kisses down your spine again while his cum is practically oozing out of you. “are you—hey.” choso huffs, his mouth open against your back as he gently smacks your hip. “i gotta stop.” he stumbles over the syllables, closing his eyes and pretty brows furrowing. “sorry…gimme a sec.” he whines. you can feel him reluctantly clamber off of you, hauling your limp body up against his chest as he flops onto his back on your bed. you shift slightly, trying to get comfortable and ignore the deep aching in your thighs and the way your body trembles against his.

choso grumbles softly, making a small sound as he dragged his fingers through your hair and peered lazily down at you. he scrubs at his eyes, still red-rimmed and dilated from tears and sex.

“hey.”

“…what?”

“…i wanna go again.”

tags :: @gojoscinnamonroll @beanietopia @webism @valicalliali

a/n :: hii thank you for reading ! ive had this in my drafts for soo long and i just now finished it 😛 more choso to come i fink

[mymoonisgrey]

mr. steal your girl

❤︎ ໋𓈒 in which satoru’s plans to steal you away from your girlfriend work, after a while.

warnings. 18+, smut, cunnilingus, p in v, satoru’s a smart manipulator, ooc, reader is bi and had a girlfriend, polygamy. based on this ask.

wc. 4.3k

A throuple. A polyamorous relationship. Not once in your life had you ever imagined yourself in one.

You’ve been with your girlfriend for a while now, and she’s wonderful—steady, kind, patient. You’ll admit that.

But a part of you has always yearned for something else. The kind of love that feels all-consuming. A man’s presence—protective, overwhelming, the low timbre of his voice settling deep in your bones, large, calloused hands engulfing yours, that brand of devotion you only ever see in movies.

Then Gojo Satoru waltzes into your life and tilts your world off its axis.

He’s thrilling, all spark and adrenaline. Just being near him sends a rush through your veins. Those striking blue eyes pull you in, make your head spin before you can even think.

It starts as a friendship.

You meet him at a bar, introduced through a mutual friend—Shoko Ieiri, who, for the record, is the human embodiment of lesbian energy. At first, you hang out in a group, once or twice. Then, somehow, it becomes a daily thing. Eventually, you’re comfortable enough to start meeting up with him alone.

“Trust me, you should really try the taro-flavored one,” he says, sliding the boba ice cream toward you with an easy smile. “I’m a sugar expert. And sugar varies, y’know?”

You hug your torso, lips quirking. “I know it tastes good. My girlfriend likes it.”

Satoru stills. The word hangs between you, and for a fraction of a second, his smile falters—so subtly you almost miss it.

Then, his expression smooths out, his interest sharpening into something even keener.

“Girlfriend?” he repeats, slow, as if tasting the word.

You nod, oblivious to the calculations running through his mind. “Mhm! I’ll bring her next time. You can meet her.”

A million possibilities unfold in his head, different ways this could go, all of them leading to the same outcome. Because he wants you—pronto.

His fingers graze the ends of your hair, his smile going languid, lazy.

“That,” he murmurs, tilting his head, “would be interesting.”

You didn’t think much about that interaction with Satoru at the time.

When you finally brought your girlfriend out to meet your friend, the connection between the three of you was instant—undeniable. Before you knew it, you had become a trio.

Satoru was always around, whether at your place or taking you both out. He spoiled you endlessly, never hesitating to drop money on gifts, meals, or spontaneous trips. He was the perfect masculine presence—charming, dependable, larger than life. Neither of you questioned it. Not at first.

You had no idea there was a motive behind it. Neither did she.

Then, one night, he brought it up.

“You know,” he starts, casual, almost offhanded. “We could just—make this a thing.”

You blink.

“Huh?” you mutter, sitting cross-legged, leaning back on your arms. Beside you, your girlfriend’s brows knit together.

Satoru swallows—an act, you realize later. He stares at both of you with a glassy, hopeful gaze, playing it up just enough to seem sincere but not too eager.

“I like you both,” he says. “So, if you’d like… I mean, I won’t take it personally if you say no—”

“Yes.”

The word leaves your lips before you can think, your back straightening as you nod.

Your girlfriend turns to you, eyes wide. But when you meet her gaze—soft, certain—she understands.

“…Yes,” she echoes.

Satoru smiles, slow and knowing. Then he stands smoothly, gathering you both into his arms—his grip just a little tighter around you.

It was a slow burn—he did think your girlfriend was cute, but you? You were everything. He could already picture it: kids, a settled life with you, lounging together in his clan’s estate. You, as his madam.

But he was patient. He took his sweet time, gradually pulling you further away from her without making it too obvious. It started small—sitting with you more often than she did, attending to every little need you had, hanging on to your every word. Then, the gifts.

“What’s all this?” you laugh softly, staring at the orange boxes with their fancy ribbons, the velvet-lined cases. You’d never been gifted something so luxurious before.

“They’re yours, honey.” He smiles, genuine, his heart pounding beneath his chest. “I picked everything based on… what you like.”

Your heart soars, your lips curling into a smile as you hug him tightly. “I love you. Thank you.”

Satoru exhales through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut in a rare moment of vulnerability. “Mmm, I love you more,” he murmurs, his voice thick with devotion. He feels your eyes drift around, searching for something else.

His brow furrows. “I got her something too, don’t worry. It’s in her bedroom. When she’s back, I’ll give it to her.”

You nod, your smile warm, though your gaze lingers on the gifts in your lap. Part of you wonders—does she get the same? You assume she does. After all, Satoru’s generous.

He is, but only because he knows exactly what he’s doing. The gift for her? A simple diamond tennis necklace—barely a dent in his pocket. Not that it matters. This is all part of the plan.

It’s been going on for months—slowly, almost imperceptibly, Satoru has worked his way into your life, taking more of your attention, making you feel more at home with him than with your girlfriend. At first, it was subtle—the way he’d help you with everything, anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. But now, you’re beginning to notice the gap widening, the emotional distance growing between you and her.

Your girlfriend is becoming… strange.

She picks fights over the smallest things now—dirty dishes left in the sink, the couch cushion being out of place, your clothes tossed on the floor. It’s like every moment is an argument waiting to happen. Her moods shift at the drop of a hat. “I’m not in the mood,” she sighs. “I don’t feel like it today.” Even her complaints about Satoru—small, unimportant things—start to irritate you.

Satoru, on the other hand, never complains. He’s there when you need him, always helpful, always attentive. He’s not the one causing problems, and he never starts a fight. Everything he does seems to smooth over the tension.

But today… Today something shifts. Satoru’s patience snaps.

You’re out running errands, leaving Satoru and your girlfriend alone in the house. When you return, you find Satoru cornering her in the hallway. His face is expressionless, but there’s an undeniable hardness in his eyes.

“Honey,” Satoru says, his voice smooth, but with an edge that cuts through the air. His gaze never wavers from hers. “We need to talk.”

Your girlfriend glares at him, exhausted. “What now?” Her tone is laced with resentment.

“You’ve been really fucking hard on her lately,” Satoru continues, his voice deceptively gentle. He crosses his arms over his chest, his posture almost predatory. “What’s going on with you?”

“Hard on her?” she scoffs, her eyes flashing with anger. “Oh, so now you’re playing the ‘knight in shining armor,’ huh? Tell me, why does everything have to revolve around you two, huh?”

Satoru’s lips curl into a tight, almost amused smile. He leans in, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

She laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “You’re always together. It’s like I’m invisible! It’s like I wasn’t even your girlfriend too— she was my girlfriend first! why are you just… swooping in like im not here?!” Her voice cracks with frustration, but her hands ball into fists at her sides.

Satoru tilts his head, his expression cool and controlled. “You’re being irrational,” he says, his tone deceptively soft. “Maybe if you treated her better, she wouldn’t feel like she has to pull away from you.”

Her eyes widen, disbelief flashing across her face. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Satoru doesn’t flinch. His gaze hardens. “I said maybe you should stop acting like a bitch towards her,” he states with calm finality.

Her face pales, and for a moment, she looks like she might explode. “Excuse me?” she whispers, barely holding back her fury. “You think you can talk to me like that? You think you can just come in here, into our relationship, and tell me how I should act?”

Satoru’s smile remains unchanged. “I’m not telling you what to do, but you’re making things difficult for her. You’re pushing her away, and it’s your fault.”

“You have an ulterior motive, don’t you?” she spits, glaring at him. “You’ve been plotting this from the start. You want her all to yourself.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Is that what you think? Really?” He takes a step closer to her, his presence overwhelming. “You’re the one who’s been making it hard for her, not me. But if you’re too blind to see that, then that’s your problem.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “I think you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Satoru’s smile widens. “Maybe I have.” His eyes flick to the door, a silent invitation for her to leave, to walk away. “But you know what? That’s your choice.” He doesn’t wait for her to respond before he turns, walking away like he’s won.

Your girlfriend stands there, her body trembling with anger and frustration. She breathes heavily, looking at the door, before storming out without another word.

You return home, bags in hand, and freeze at the sight of your girlfriend standing outside. Her expression is clouded, her shoulders hunched, and she looks as though she’s just been torn apart.

“Hey… Are you okay?” you ask softly, approaching her, your voice filled with concern.

Her eyes flash with irritation. “Are you seriously asking me that?” she spits, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really don’t see it, do you? You’ve been so wrapped up in him, in Satoru, that you haven’t even noticed me. I’m right here, but you don’t care. You don’t even fucking care anymore.”

Your heart sinks, confusion and frustration rising. “That’s not true. I’ve been trying—”

“No! Don’t give me that!” she snaps, her voice raw with emotion. “You’ve been all about him. He’s always there, always helping, always doing for you. What about me? What the fuck do I get?”

Your eyes widen as the weight of her words settles in. “That’s not fair. You know how much I care about you.”

“Do I? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it,” she sneers, taking a step back. “It’s like you’ve forgotten everything. Like I’m just the other option, the one who gets pushed aside because you want him. You think I don’t see that?”

“Don’t talk like that,” you say, your voice wavering, emotions thick in your throat. “I’m not choosing anyone. I never wanted this to happen.”

“No, you didn’t,” she mocks. “But it’s happening anyway. Because you don’t see it. You don’t see me anymore.”

Tears spring to your eyes, but you blink them away, fighting back the lump in your throat. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Well, you are.” Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. “You’ve already hurt me.”

Before you can respond, she spins on her heel and storms away, leaving you standing there, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily on your chest.

Inside, Satoru watches from the window, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he watches the scene unfold.

You rush inside, groceries in your arms, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and emotion. The door slams shut behind you with a soft thud, but the weight in your chest feels heavier than anything you’ve ever carried. You fight to keep the tears at bay, but they burn at the edges of your vision.

Before you even reach the kitchen, Satoru is there—appearing as though he was waiting just for you. His hands are quick, steady, and gentle as he takes the groceries from your hands, setting them down on the foyer table with a careful precision. His eyes meet yours, searching for the storm brewing in them.

You don’t even have a chance to respond before his arms are around you, pulling you into his warmth.

“My heart, come here.” His voice is a soothing whisper, an easy contrast to the fury that still bubbles beneath your skin.

You crumble against him, the dam breaking, and sobs rack your body uncontrollably. It’s as if all the frustration, all the pain, all the love you’ve been withholding explodes at once. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, a steady presence, even as your body trembles with the weight of everything that’s happened.

“She’s being fucking unfair!” you choke out between ragged breaths, the words barely making it past the tightness in your throat.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. His hand brushes through your hair, slow and gentle, as though each stroke is meant to calm the storm inside you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his own breath steady and warm against your skin.

“I know.” His voice is soft, tender in a way that makes your heart twist. “She’s not seeing it, baby. She doesn’t see how much you’re doing, how much you care.” He holds you tighter, his grip firm yet comforting. “But I do.”

You pull back just slightly, enough to look up at him. His eyes are sharp, a mixture of understanding and something darker, something protective. He wipes away the remnants of your tears with his thumb, his gaze never leaving your face.

“She’s pushing me away, Satoru. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to make her understand,” you whisper, voice raw, the weight of it all crashing down on you again.

His smile is small, but it holds a certain promise in it—a promise that makes your chest tighten and your heart race. “Don’t worry about that. Let me handle it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words get stuck. There’s something in the way he says it, something confident and unwavering. His hand moves down your back, his fingers brushing against your spine in a way that sends a ripple of warmth through your body.

“I’ll fix this, okay?” he murmurs, eyes darkening just slightly. “She’s not going to ruin what we’ve built. Not when we’re this close. You and me… we’re untouchable.”

You want to say something, to question him, but the sincerity in his voice and the way he holds you makes it hard to think of anything but him, anything but this—the safety, the comfort, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything could be okay again.

The thought makes you dizzy. And in the quiet of his embrace, you let yourself be swept away by the weight of his devotion.

The three of you sit on the bed, the TV playing in the background, but the quiet tension in the room thickens with every passing second. Satoru’s arm is wrapped around you, pulling you closer, while your girlfriend watches, her hand inching toward his thigh.

Satoru notices first, his eyes flicking to her before he shifts slightly, pulling you into him even more. “You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. His touch is steady, reassuring, as if to say it’s always been you, not her.

Your girlfriend hesitates, her fingers brushing his chest, but Satoru doesn’t react. Instead, his lips find your neck, kissing you softly, purposefully ignoring her advances. Her frustration is palpable, but she pushes forward, her fingers finding their way to his lap. She leans in to kiss him.

Satoru pulls away slightly, the edge in his voice sharp as he grabs her wrist. “Not yet,” he warns, his gaze unwavering. His attention shifts back to you, his lips capturing yours in a possessive kiss. Your hands tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, to drown in him.

Your girlfriend, still sitting beside you, looks lost. She reaches again, trying to touch him, but Satoru doesn’t let her. With one hand still on you, his other gently pushes her back. “I said no,” he repeats, his voice dark with an authority that leaves no room for doubt.

You moan as Satoru’s hand slides between your legs, slipping under your clothes to find you already wet for him. He takes his time, teasing you, while your girlfriend stares, her breath catching in frustration.

The more Satoru touches you, the more your body responds. His fingers slide inside, slow at first, but he picks up the pace, bringing you to the edge. You can barely keep your composure, his lips never leaving your skin, his movements relentless.

And then, without warning, your girlfriend’s gaze shifts—no longer hungry with desire, but with a mixture of confusion and jealousy. Satoru’s full attention is on you, and he isn’t even looking at her. She’s no longer part of this equation.

As Satoru picks up speed, his breath ragged in your ear, you come apart under his touch, body trembling, desperate for more. He pushes deeper, claiming you fully, making it clear that you belong to him.

The room falls silent except for the sound of your breathless moans and Satoru’s steady pace. Your girlfriend sits motionless, helplessly watching as the last pieces of her place in this dynamic crumble.

Satoru wastes no time, maneuvering you onto your back on the bed. His hands are rough, skilled, as he strips you of your clothes with an urgency that matches the fire in his eyes. He kisses his way down your body, his lips burning trails on your skin as he works his way lower, lower, lower.

“Look at these fuckin’ tits,” he growls, his voice low and thick with desire as he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily. The sensation makes you gasp, your body arching up involuntarily. You can feel his knee pressing against your cunt, the heat of him seeping into you, sending electric shocks of anticipation through your veins.

Your girlfriend, watching from the edge of the bed, stays silent, her eyes narrowed, hands clenched into fists. She’s hot and bothered, her body reacting despite the anger twisting in her chest. She’s fed up with the whole situation—tired of being the afterthought. She hates the way Satoru devours you, but she can’t tear her eyes away.

“Ng—Satoru…” you moan softly, your breath hitching as his mouth works its magic, sucking your nipple until it’s slick and swollen. His lips leave your skin with a soft, wet pop as he shifts his attention lower, his knee pressing harder against you, reminding you of how he owns every inch of your body.

He lifts your legs, spreading them wide as he moves between them, his eyes dark with intent. “Fuck,” you yelp as he finally lowers his mouth to your cunt, his lips and tongue finding your clit with practiced ease. His tongue flicks at your sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking it into his mouth as he hums with approval, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

“Pussy’s all mine,” he mutters into your heat, his voice muffled as his tongue works relentlessly. You can barely process the words as your hips begin to squirm under the relentless pressure, his grip locking you in place. Your feet flail, trying to gain some sort of control, but Satoru has you right where he wants you—completely at his mercy.

“Sat—Satoru—” you pant, your body trembling, feeling the tension coil tighter in your stomach. His tongue is relentless, his mouth working you down to the bone, and you’re losing yourself to him.

“Down, kitty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing despite the intensity of his actions. “Let me eat.” His words send a shiver down your spine, the commanding tone making your heart race even faster.

Your hands dig into the sheets, fingers curling tightly as his mouth continues to devour you. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck of his lips, drives you closer to the edge, and all you can do is surrender to the pleasure. His grip on your hips tightens, ensuring you stay locked in place, and you feel your body trembling, the first waves of your orgasm crashing over you.

As you’re lost in the pleasure, you catch a glimpse of your girlfriend—her expression a mixture of frustration and arousal, her eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. The tension in the room shifts, the air thick with everything unspoken. But Satoru’s focus is entirely on you, making it clear who truly holds his attention.

You’re pulled back from the edge, gasping for breath as Satoru pulls away, his lips glistening, his eyes wild with hunger. He looks up at you, his face smug but tender, a twisted combination of possessiveness and affection. “Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with satisfaction.

Your girlfriend, still sitting on the edge of the bed, watches, her chest heaving with a mix of frustration and desire. But she says nothing, the distance between the three of you growing ever wider.

Satoru’s movements slow for a moment as he looks down at you, his dark eyes gleaming with possessiveness and hunger. His thumb traces your bottom lip, tugging it gently as a lazy smile spreads across his face.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful when you’re helpless like this,” he mutters, his voice dark and gravelly. “Can’t get enough of that sweet little pussy of yours.” He groans, his hips rolling slightly, teasing you just enough to make your body twitch. “You’re all mine, baby. No one else gets to feel this.”

You whimper beneath him, your hands fisting the sheets as his words make your core tighten with need. Satoru lowers himself, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks again, his voice dripping with desire.

“Say it,” he commands, his breath hot against your skin. “Say you’re mine. Tell me you love how I fuck you like this.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe out, your voice a mix of desperation and pleasure. “I love it, Satoru—fuck, I love how you make me feel.”

He chuckles low in his throat, a wicked grin curling on his lips. “Good girl,” he purrs. “So fucking perfect for me. No one’s ever gonna make you feel like I do, not even your girlfriend. You’re mine, and you know it, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, feeling him fill you completely. His words sink deep into your mind, pushing you further into the haze of pleasure. “Yes, Satoru… only you…”

“Damn right,” he growls, his thrusts growing faster, more brutal. “I’m the one who makes you come apart, not her. Every single inch of you belongs to me now. You’ll never be able to leave me after this, baby.”

His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in as he pulls you against him with each powerful thrust. He watches you with rapt attention, his eyes devouring you as you squirm beneath him, your body moving in rhythm with his. He groans, the sound deep and throaty as he leans down to kiss you again, hungry and demanding.

“You wanna come again, huh?” Satoru whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “You can’t get enough of me, can you? I know you’re close… you’re so fucking tight around me. You love how deep I fuck you, don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please, Satoru, I need you… need more.”

His eyes flash with satisfaction. “I’ll give you more, baby. I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

He picks up the pace, slamming into you relentlessly, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. “Tell me how badly you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you raw.”

“I want it so bad,” you moan, your body trembling as you feel your orgasm build. “I want you to make me yours, Satoru. I want everything.”

With that, he groans, his thrusts growing even more intense as he drives into you harder, faster, pushing you into a state of pure bliss. “That’s it, baby,” he growls, “Come for me. Let me feel how fucking tight you are around me.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your body spasming as you scream his name. Satoru follows close behind, his grip on you tightening as he fucks you through your orgasm, his own release flooding you as he grits his teeth in satisfaction.

You feel yourself being gently lifted, your body weightless in his strong, warm arms, and you’re dizzy from the overwhelming sensations of pleasure. Satoru moves you up the bed effortlessly, his chest pressed to yours as he cradles you in his embrace. His lips brush your temple, soft and tender, as he whispers, “Let’s stay like this for a while. I’ll clean you up and feed you in a bit, my love.”

You nod, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you, your body still humming from the intensity of everything. The soft comfort of his touch is like a balm for your overstimulated body, and you lean into him, closing your eyes for a brief moment.

But then, your gaze shifts, and you look around the room, your mind catching up with the reality of the situation.

“Where’s—”

“Gone.” Satoru whispers, his voice low and soothing as his lips press against your neck. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer. You can feel his steady breath against your skin, and for a moment, everything feels impossibly right.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you hug him tighter, the full weight of his words sinking in. Gone. It’s just you and him now.

“Finally,” he breathes, his voice soft but full of satisfaction.

for the anon that requested this, i hope its up to your liking and expectations. :) tried my best. pls let me know what you think through the inbox 🤍

© All Rights Reserved mymoonisgrey

[sab0dssey]

NewlyDad!Simon who is completely lost in panic and joy. When he first found out you were pregnant, right after he returned from a mission, it hit him like a wave. He was over the moon, but also overwhelmed. Simon had never been a man with many words; he was always terse, practical, and to the point. But this news? It was different. The moment he learned, his entire world shifted. His usually steady hands trembled as he looked at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and awe.

For a moment, he just stared, not knowing what to say, his mind racing. Then, before either of you could react, he pulled you into him—his arms wrapping around you so tightly, it was as if he never wanted to let go. His head buried itself in your neck, as though it was the only place he could find any grounding. It was so quiet between you both, just the sound of his breaths and the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

He stayed like that for what felt like eternity, unwilling to move. You could feel the warmth of his tears against your skin, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t make a sound. He knew you could feel the silent sobs, the emotion he didn’t want to let out in front of you, but he also knew you understood. He didn’t want you to see him like this—vulnerable and unsure. Not yet. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to let go, not even for a second.

NewlyDad!Simon never lets you do anything on your own. Never. You’re reaching for the remote, and it’s just a foot away? Don’t bother standing up—he’s already got it. You’re thinking about cooking? Forget it. He won’t let you. He’ll either cook for you himself or order your favorite meal—just so you don’t have to lift a finger.

NewlyDad!Simon is like a clingy little puppy—he just can’t keep his hands to himself. At home, he’s glued to you, constantly cuddling, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket. Outside, his hands always find their way to you—resting on your baby bump, the small of your back, or your waist. He just can’t help it.

Even when you’re relaxing in the tub, basking in the candlelit warmth, Simon refuses to let you have a moment alone. He pulls up a chair beside the tub, work files in hand, pretending to focus—but his hands betray him. One moment, they’re on your bump, the next, tracing lazy circles over your shoulder. He’s not letting go anytime soon. Not now, not ever

NewlyDad!Simon who loves to talk with his baby. His hands, large and gentle, find their way to your growing belly with a tenderness that surprises even him.

Every chance he gets, whether it’s in the quiet moments of the day or just before sleep, his hand rests there, as if the touch itself is a promise. He caresses your belly, his fingers lightly tracing the curve, his palm pressed against you like he’s trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside. It’s almost as though he can feel every tiny movement, even when it’s just a flutter.

He talks to the baby—quiet, low words that are almost a whisper, but they carry so much weight. His voice softens every time he speaks, and it’s a tone you’ve never heard before, one filled with a raw love that only a father could express. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his fingers rubbing slow circles against your skin, “can’t wait to see you, to hold you in my arms.” His eyes never leave your belly, his expression a mixture of awe and tenderness.

When he thinks you’re not looking, his lips brush against the top of your stomach, a soft kiss meant only for the baby. “I’ll protect you,” he says quietly, the words meant for both of you but carrying an unspoken promise to the child. “Daddy’s gonna make sure you’re safe, always.”

His hand stays there, lingering, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels through the simple act of touching. Sometimes, he talks to the baby about what he hopes for their future—what he dreams they’ll be, but more often, it’s about how much he already loves them. How proud he is.

No matter where you are, he finds the time to remind you both of that, as if the baby can hear every word, every heartbeat, every promise. And each time he touches your belly, he’s not just caressing you—he’s speaking directly to the child, forming a bond that’s already so deep.

NewlyDad!Simon who had never been one for big gatherings or being the center of attention, but tonight, he was doing it—for you, and for the baby.

His teammates had insisted, as had your friends, that you both needed to get out. A little normalcy, they said. A dinner with the people who supported him through everything. But Simon? He was already on high alert the moment you stepped out the door. His hand was constantly on your back, gently guiding you, his eyes scanning the room, always aware of your every movement.

The restaurant was bustling, a little louder than usual, but Simon barely seemed to notice the chatter around him. His attention was split between you and the people he trusted—his team. His arm would sometimes drift to your waist, his fingers brushing against your bump, as if to reassure himself that everything was okay. He didn’t let you stray far, always within arm’s reach, his protective nature wrapped around you like a shield.

At the table, he was engaged, nodding along to conversations, but his focus was never fully on the group. When someone leaned in a little too close, his eyes would flicker to them, silently warning them to keep their distance. When Soap tried to crack a joke about fatherhood, Simon’s lips twitched upward in a brief smile, but the moment the laughter died down, his hand found its way to your stomach, his thumb brushing over it lightly.

He’d occasionally glance over at you, catching your eye, as if asking silently if you were okay, if you needed anything. He knew you could take care of yourself, but tonight? Tonight, he wasn’t letting his guard down for a second.

When dinner came, Simon was the first to help you with your plate, carefully cutting your food or offering you bites from his own. He made sure you were comfortable, always attentive, his eyes never straying too far from you. He wasn’t one to show weakness, but with you? And with the baby? His vulnerability showed in the way he constantly checked in, in the way he’d rather have his hand on your bump than anywhere else.

His teammates had known him as a man of few words, but tonight, they were learning a different side of Simon—one who would move mountains to keep his family safe and happy, even in a simple dinner setting. They could see it in the way he watched over you, in the little touches he gave you when he thought no one was looking. He may have been the strong, silent type to everyone else, but to you and the baby? He was all heart.

As the night wound down, Simon was already thinking about how soon he could get you home, make sure you were settled and safe. He never stopped being the protective husband, never stopped being the father-to-be, and he certainly never stopped being the man who would give up everything to keep you both safe.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

A Helping Hand

Summary: Tyler Owens x fe!Reader -> The times Tyler has helped you without a second thought and without question.

Disclaimer: continued descriptions of painful periods, the four times Tyler had helped you with them. Fluff with a potential for a little steam, unnamed kinda shitty boyfriend at the beginning, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You always kinda figured that was how it was meant to be. Sure, it would be nice if he helped once in a while. But if he didn’t want to deal with it, then that was okay, right? He was still a good man. Still cared for you. Still made you happy. 

He just didn’t…know what to do when you were in pain. He didn’t know what he was meant to do when your uterus started to prepare itself for a baby that you were both not having and were not ready for even if you were. 

Periods, like for most women you’d met, were painful. Dull aches that never wanted to end, cramps that would creep up your back and down your legs, enough blood being lost that more often than not sent your blood sugars down and your iron levels even lower. 

Some days you didn’t exactly feel like getting out of bed and the ‘light exercise’ the doctor had prescribed you just sounded like complete and utter hell. You were just thankful that, despite the dangers of your job, most of the time you got to choose whether or not you wanted to stay in the van with Javi or Dexter and Dani, or go out into the actual tornado. 

But that didn’t mean the pain stopped. 

“Hey, come on, you’re gonna miss it. Dexter found some cells and-” Tyler stopped in his tracks as he burst into your room. 

You lay in the middle of your bed, your feet on the floor at the end. Your hand pressed as hard as they could into your lower stomach. Your eyes were shut tight and you just looked…uncomfortable. 

“Hey, you okay?”

You just nodded a little. The thought of talking in that moment felt like too much energy. 

“You don’t look it. Are you feeling okay?” A moment later, the back of Tyler’s hand was feeling your forehead. “You’ve got a little temperature. Are you sure-”

“I’m coming onto my period, Tyler.”

“Oh, shit. Right now?”

“Not right this second. But…soon.” Then you stopped talking, feeling the pain shoot down your sides somehow both sharp and dull. 

“You know, you can sit this one out. Want me to bring you back anything? Tampons? Pads? Ice cream?”

You opened your eyes and looked at Tyler. You’d never met a guy brave enough to even think of the word Tampon. 

“You don’t have to-”

Tyler shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. What do you need?”

You somehow managed to talk through the shock. “P-pads. The night ones. With wings.”

Then from outside the door, Boone ran past yelling for you and Tyler to hurry up. 

“Text me a list. Whatever you need.” Tyler smiled at you before leaning down and kissing your cheek. “You rest up.”

“Okay.”

And watching Tyler leave through the door, pulling the cowboy hat onto his head, something hit you. Tyler was the first guy to not freak out about you having a period. Granted, he drove into tornadoes for a living and did have women on his team but…he was the first to never…freak out. 

And that part of him only started to show itself even more. Or, maybe, it was a part of him you truly started to notice. 

After getting back from the chase, Tyler knocked on your door before entering. He was holding a large brown paper bag. “I bring supplies. Four packs of night-time pads with wings. As well as actual wings.” Tyler smiled as he pulled out a small box of barbecue chicken wings. “Also grabbed you some pain medication, couple of different snacks; some salty, some sweet. I didn’t know what you’d fancy. Uh, oh. And, as promised,” Tyler pulled the final thing out of the bag. “Ice cream.”

You smiled up at him from where you were sitting on the bed. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. But, thank you.”

“What’s your pain like? It eased any?”

You made a face. “A little, but not by much.”

“You got a hot water bottle?” 

From under your jacket, you showed him. “Freshly made.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Ty? Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why doesn’t this freak you out?”

Tyler looked at you as he packed some of the spare items back into the bag so they were out of the way. “What? You having a period?”

You nodded. 

“Sweetheart, a man is not a man if he gets freaked out over something like this. He’s a boy if he does.”

You just stared at him. You knew that, of course. There had been plenty of sleepover conversations about it when you were younger. But you were yet to find anyone of the male human species who didn’t get freaked out over it. 

And that wasn’t the only time Tyler helped you out when you were on your period. 

Not too long after that first interaction, you’d broken up with your boyfriend. There had been plenty of other factors that went into the break-up, but the period thing had been the final nail in the coffin. 

Six months later, you and Tyler had been on a four day road trip. You were both heading to one of the Universities to give a talk on meteorology. However, two days into the road trip, Tyler had stopped at a gas station to fill his tank up. 

Meanwhile, you disappeared into the bathroom and finally let yourself cry. 

For the last two hours in the truck, your insides had been screaming at you. For a while, it had felt like they were clawing at your insides, trying to escape. The aching across your lower back meant that no matter how or where you moved, it fucking killed you. Until finally you were hunched over the sink, your eyes closed, breathing as deeply as you could to shake away the jittering in your blood. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been in that position, but it must have been a while because Tyler eventually knocked on the door. 

“Y/n, you okay in there?”

The gas station was in the middle of nowhere so you knew he wasn’t knocking because you’d caused a line to wait outside. 

“I’m fine.” You hoped he didn’t hear the break in your voice. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

There was a short beat of silence. “Sweetheart, open the door.”

It took you a minute before you plucked up enough courage to move and open the door. And Tyler entered quietly. 

“Take it easy.” Tyler stood behind you, his hands softly coming to your hips. “What number are you at?”

“Like a…” The shaking in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Tyler. “Nine?”

Tyler nodded. “Is it okay if I try something? It might help.”

You just nodded. Nothing could make it worse.

So, carefully, Tyler lifted your shirt from your shorts before pressing his hands to the bare skin on your back. You were both completely silent whilst he concentrated on the movement of his hands. They were warm, which was one bonus. With continuous movements and a firm pressure, Tyler started to carefully massage your lower back, hips and abdomen. 

As he reached around your front, you managed to stand up straight and lean against him a little. The pain was still dull and still there, but it was no longer as intense. 

“What number we at now, Sweetheart?” Tyler asked, his voice deep and directly at the shell of your ear as his hands remained in the waistband of your shorts, applying soft pressure to your lower half. 

“Maybe three.”

Tyler smiled and kissed your temple. “Good. Think you can walk back to the truck with me?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

By the time the next chasing season came around, you were having yet another period but thankfully the pain hadn’t been as bad as your previous ones. And it had come on time. Not suddenly early, not incredibly late. 

Your app had predicted it, and your period had followed suit. But, again, that didn’t mean the pain stopped completely. 

You had a little more energy than usual and the feelings you got where you wanted to murder every person who got on your nerves was gone. In its place was the kind of cramps every male doctor had told you about growing up. The ‘mild’ kind. 

It was as you were listening to one of Kate’s stories about when her and Javi were chasing with her last team – Javi had walked out of his motel room without any pants on and had given the owner quite the surprise for five in the morning – that Tyler had stepped over the log you were sat on and handed you a cup of ginger tea. You gave him a quiet smile, which he returned, before he sat beside you with a cup of his own. 

You knew he hated the stuff, but he still drank it anyway. 

And when he walked you to your room, kissing you on your cheek to say goodnight, you found a fresh hot water bottle on your bed with a small, handwritten note. “To help.”

You couldn’t help but smile. 

Ever since the first time he’d helped you, he’d done things like that. Hot water bottles, fresh tea. He’d even surprised you once when Lily came running back to the diner bathroom stall, handing you a pad that apparently was from the kit Tyler kept in his truck. 

But the biggest surprise came one evening when you were sitting in the barn, alone, trying your best to calm yourself down as you completed the final logs of test data. 

If he hadn’t spoken, you would have known it was him by the slight scuff of his boots on the barn floor. 

“Here you are. I’ve got something for you.” 

Then on the table, he presented you with a pack of popcorn, a bar of chocolate and a small selection of sour sweets. The same combo he always brought you when-

“How did you know?”

Tyler gave you a slight smile as he sat down beside your desk. “You snapped at Dexter.”

You cringed at the memory. You had apologised profusely immediately afterwards and Dexter had accepted it. But that didn’t stop you from feeling bad. 

“I know. I’m really, really sorry-”

Tyler just chuckled a little. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve already been forgiven.”

You just gave a shy smile and tried to turn back to the work in front of you. 

“When was the last time you had a shower?”

Your neck almost snapped in half as you looked at Tyler. “What?”

“Not for that reason.” Tyler quickly replied. “But you’re stressed. Showers have been proven to ease tension. Something you are currently riddled with.”

“Who says I’m riddled with tension?”

Tyler just smiled and stood up. “Come on. Work can wait.”

“Who says I’m riddled-”

“You do.” Tyler told you as he led you by your shoulder out of the barn but not before turning the desk lamp off. “Your eyebrows are practically being knitted together at that desk. Come on.”

Ten minutes later, Tyler had led you into the house and pushed you in the direction of the bathroom. After five minutes of standing under the hot water, you felt your shoulders finally relax. Twenty minutes after that, your hair was washed and you didn’t hate the world as much as you did before Tyler came and found you in the barn. 

“Where are the others?”

“In town. Kate dragged them to another line dancing night.”

“Why didn’t you go with them? You love to dance.”

Tyler smiled over his shoulder at you as he moved things around the stove. “I do but tonight I wanted to have a quiet night. Also gives me a chance to try out a new recipe without Dani’s judgement.”

Sitting down at the kitchen table, you and Tyler shared a meal before you helped him wash up before eventually finding yourself lying on the sofa, your legs stretched out as far as they would go. 

A few minutes later, Tyler’s fingers graced your head, lightly pushing the drying strands of hair from your face before he handed you a hot water bottle. 

“To help.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, scoot.”

Pushing you over a little, Tyler lay down on the sofa beside you before scooping his hand under your waist until his arms were practically hugging your middle. With your head on his chest, you let out a content sigh as his hand snuck up the back of your shirt and rested on your lower back. 

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” 

There was a small beat of silence between you both as you lay with your head on his chest, his heartbeat not too far from your ear. Then you asked him a question you’d wanted to know the answer to for a while. 

“Tyler?”

He hummed, the gravel of his voice rumbling into his chest. 

“Why do you do this?”

He opened his eyes and looked at you. “Do what?”

“Help me…that way that you do. I’ve never had to ask, you’ve never once turned green at the thought of my bedsheets having blood on them.” You chuckled a little at the thought, but it was true. Some mornings, especially when the pain had been at its worst a few days before, your bedsheets would be away and already being washed. 

The only way you knew it was Tyler was because you’d left the bathroom sooner than he’d expected so you caught him walking back in with fresh sheets. 

“You’ve always helped me. Why?”

Tyler thought about it for a moment. He already knew why. Even before you’d joined the team, he’d kept an emergency supply kit in the van, but when you started travelling with him, he started to keep it in his truck along with your favourite snacks and drinks. 

You were one of his best friends. The amount of surprise tornadoes you’d both been caught in, just the two of you on a roadtrip…they were shocking enough to bring you both closer together. He cared about you and seeing you go through the pain you did; if there was anything he could do to help ease it, he would. 

But most of all…but most of all…

“You spent every day helping all of us. Without asking and without a second thought. Even when you’ve gone through all of this before, you’ll find a way to push through it and still show up. You deserve to be helped, too. And I’ll keep showing up and helping you, no matter how easy or great your pain is.”

Looking at Tyler, you could have cried. 

You’d had relationships in the past - romantic and platonic – and not once had someone been as caring or loving as Tyler. 

“You really mean that,” you said, not entirely sure if you were asking it as a question or saying it as a statement. But Tyler answered anyway. 

“Of course I do. Sweetheart. I love you.”

Looking at him, hearing those words fall from his lips so effortlessly, seeing that light sparkle in his eyes as he did so…you knew there was more than one meaning to his three little words. And you smiled. 

Softly, your hand graced his cheek and your thumb caressed his skin. His head turned a little, leaning into you before he finally pressed a kiss to your palm. Then, holding your wrist in a gentle grip, he turned back to you. 

It was in the unspoken silence that Tyler leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. His hand at your back pulled you closer to him as your hand that rested on his face reached around his neck and pulled him closer. 

And somewhere in the comfortable silence afterwards, you found the words you’d been dying to let out. 

“I love you, too.”

[taojjang]

𐙚 hong seunghan is . . .

✩⸝⸝ [THE TYPE OF BOYFRIEND TO...] a seven-part series! (vol.5) . . .

# ಇ. seunghan as your boyfriend; headcanons!    ⋆   fluff!   //   bf!seunghan x reader  ˖  ✧ no warnings! [m.list]

💬 ... i miss my little snookums i need to give him a fat kiss on the nose

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ୨୧

bf!seunghan who . . . is your own little chunk of sunshine!

bf!seunghan who . . . prioritizes your happiness and comfort over his own.

bf!seunghan who . . . never fails to put a smile on your face no matter how serious the situation is.

bf!seunghan who . . . takes time to learn more about your interests, whether it be movies or hobbies, so he can enjoy them just as much as you do :)

bf!seunghan who . . . never breaks eye contact; he loves focusing on your pretty eyes whenever you're lost in the little stories you're telling him about your day.

bf!seunghan who . . . always has dirt stains on his pants from constantly kneeling down to tie your shoes (he never lets you lift a finger!).

bf!seunghan who . . . never stops talking; he turns into a chatterbox with a broken power switch whenever you're around, going on and on about silly little anecdotes and mishaps he experienced throughout the day.

bf!seunghan who . . . is absolutely obsessed with you; everything you do is so adorable and precious to him and he has billions of text messages bragging to his friends about you.

bf!seunghan who . . . instead of forcing reasons out of you while you're upset, he silently takes you into his arms and blabbers about lighthearted things to take your mind off of your problems, asking questions like "your nails are so pretty! should we get matching ones next time?" (it works every time)

bf!seunghan who . . . annoys the crap out of you but you can never stay mad at him for more than 10 minutes because of how clingy he is :( he'd cuddle up against your arm and spout endless apologies and promise he'll make up for it (he's gonna annoy you again once you forgive him :p)

bf!seunghan who . . . is your safe place <3 on hard days, seunghan will sit beside you and stare at you with the most heart-shattering puppy eyes and nod out of empathy with every word that trails from your frustrated lips.

bf!seunghan who . . . treasures every single moment with you, good or bad.

bf!seunghan who . . . will always be your happy pill <3

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ୨୧

(a/n: FUCK SM I MISS MY BABY SO MUCH PLSPLSPLS GOD BRING OUR FAMILY BACK TOGETHER)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ tag list! (ask or comment to be added!)@endtostartbreathin @gacktsa @hanninova @ramyeonzprincess @taroddori

[tryanmybest]

does kayne know his daughter is alive.

no, listen. hear me out.

this is gonna be a lot of me interpreting kayne very specifically, but kayne DOESN'T lie. he withholds information but he does not lie. and here, he speaks as if... like he doesn't realize that lilith HAS met arthur. that she DOES love him. that he's her favorite.

and i don't have the ep 50 transcript but i believe that when lillith is being explained to arthur, mother darkness says that she was the forgotten one trapped within hattie. being FORGOTTEN, to me, sounds like "presumed dead," specifically by other gods. oscar described it as a great entity being "trapped." if lillith has been trapped long enough, which, if we're going by what mother darkness said, it has been a LONG time, it's possible her father doesn't think she's alive. or at least she's not coming back from where she was trapped.

"why would he call his dead daughter a bitch" you raise a good point. i could say he's a weirdo and call it a day, but also, the full line is:

im not exactly arguing that lillith is DEAD, im arguing that she's lost enough power that it is the equivalent of being dead to the other gods. based off what kayne says, it seems that lillith has a habit of liking humans (probably what got her originally trapped within hattie) and messing with them. i think this particular comment is more a memory. like a "ah, someone messing with a human because they like them. my daughter used to do that..."

so to bring me to my point, because lillith is a shapeshifter and because (supposedly) kayne isn't really paying attention to what's going on in season five (based on:)

(whether he's not paying attention because he CAN'T (blackstone) or he WON'T i cannot say) the point is, he wouldn't have seen lillith alive. and when mother darkness explains lillith to arthur they are hidden with the hand of malevolence. PLUS, dead children are kind of A Thing in this show, idk if you noticed (faroe, addison, marie's son, malam, mother darkness and the witch...). so, the idea of kayne seeing lillith, his daughter, resurrected to her full self after being dead for years, doesn't seem so far off for the overall themes of the show.

plus, i think it gives him and arthur something to talk about. and adds a fun flavor to his character. the way he talks to arthur about faroe? while having a daughter of his own he believes to be dead? actually insane.

sorry that's a lot. anyway.

[lila-lou]

✨The smarter choice - 1/8✨

Summary: The pull was undeniable—every glance, every touch, a spark. Dean was everything you shouldn’t want, yet resistance was futile. Teaser

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8819

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The sounds of pots and pans clanking echoed through the kitchen of the bunker as Sam wiped down the countertops, his broad frame moving smoothly through the space. He hadn’t even noticed his older brother lurking nearby—Dean was always the one who loved to poke fun, and today, he was feeling particularly mischievous.

"You sure you want to bring her here, Sammy?", Dean’s voice rang out, teasing but with an edge of curiosity. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his younger brother intently. "I mean, the bunker’s great and all, but it’s not exactly a romantic getaway".

Sam didn’t miss a beat. He was used to his brother’s banter, though that didn’t mean it didn’t annoy him. "Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s not like—".

"Not like who, Sam?", Dean interrupted, smirking. "She’s not a hunter like us, right? Just a normal girl, who doesn’t actually know what she’s getting herself into?".

Sam shot Dean a glare, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "She knows. I’ve told her everything. She’s not freaked out".

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin. "Oh yeah? You sure about that? You sure she’ll be able to handle—", he motioned vaguely with his hand, clearly meaning the life they led—"all this? The monsters, the blood, the nightmares?".

Sam was about to respond when he heard the familiar buzz of his phone from the counter. He quickly wiped his hands on a towel and checked the screen.

It was you.

"Hey, I’m on my way. Should be there in 20. See you soon :)".

Sam smiled softly at the message, his heart warming, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who suddenly took a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

"See, now that’s what I’m talking about", Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The great Sammy Winchester, the smooth talker. Getting some girl to text you emojis and all. You sure you're ready for her to meet this version of the family?".

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. He wasn’t embarrassed by his brother’s antics—well, not totally—but he was more concerned about how you’d react to it all. You’d been really understanding about the supernatural stuff, but Sam knew meeting Dean was a different matter.

"I’m serious, Dean. She’s not like other people. She’s not going to freak out". Sam looked at Dean with a raised brow, as if daring him to argue.

Dean chuckled, his arms uncrossing as he pushed off the doorframe. "Yeah, we’ll see. It’s just… funny to me. You spent four weeks talking about her and now—", he grinned, "now I get to meet her. What’s she like? You know, aside from being really into you?".

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’ll find out in twenty minutes, won’t you?".

Dean smirked and shrugged. "Guess I will".

Sam turned his attention back to the counter, his heart still thumping with the excitement of seeing you. He really did want you to meet his brother. He had been so careful about introducing you to this world, and now, with you so close, he hoped you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

But deep down, Sam knew the biggest challenge wasn’t the monsters or the blood—no, it was whether or not Dean would scare you off. That was always a risk when it came to Dean.

Dean’s grin widened as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His gaze shifted to Sam, that playful glint never leaving his eyes.

“But give me something Sammy”, Dean began. “She probably a little nerdy, huh? You know, like you”. He snorted, clearly amused by his own joke. “I’m picturing a cute, bookish type, glasses the size of saucers, maybe even a ponytail, and some kind of vintage sweater”.

Sam rolled his eyes, trying his best to stay patient with his older brother’s antics. “Dean, you’re not even close”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between fond and embarrassed. “Oh, I know I’m close. You’re basically saying you’re dating a female version of yourself, right? So… same height, same awkwardness, same love for dusty old books, and all the same nerdy stuff that makes you… well, you”. Dean made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “You’re probably gonna end up sitting in a corner, playing board games, or—God forbid—watching documentaries together, right?”.

Sam sighed, fighting a smile. “She’s not like that, Dean. She’s…”. He paused, trying to find the words. You were a bit of a nerd—he loved that about you—but there was a lot more to you than that.

Dean was still going strong. “Yeah, yeah. I bet she doesn’t even know what a real hunter is. Probably thinks all this is just some Halloween stuff, huh? Well, good luck with that”. He laughed at his own words, clearly enjoying every second of getting under his brother’s skin. “Can you imagine it, Sammy? You, with your little nerdy girlfriend, sitting there, all cute, surrounded by textbooks and… and cats. So many cats”.

Sam shot him a glare, but it was impossible to hide his amusement completely. “You’re ridiculous”.

“Just tell me one thing. She tall? You know, like… as tall as you?”. He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying getting under Sam’s skin, the older brother’s usual role. “Or is she one of those tiny, cute types you can just—”.

Before Sam could answer, his phone buzzed, cutting him off. His thumb quickly tapped on the message, and he read your text aloud, clearly amused.

“I’ve knocked like five times, Sam. Are you ever going to open the door?”.

Dean’s grin only widened as Sam read your message aloud, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. Dean, of course, wasn’t about to let up. “Guess she’s not the patient type, huh?”, he teased, leaning a little further into his brother’s space. “Maybe you’ve got yourself a little firecracker, Sammy. Or a tall one”.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile creeping up at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a handful sometimes”.

Dean leaned in, his voice taking on a more exaggerated tone. “A handful, huh? What, like a tiny, cute handful with her oversized glasses and a love for knitting?”. He chuckled, clearly relishing the thought of you fitting the quirky, innocent image he had concocted.

Sam was about to retort when his phone buzzed again. He quickly glanced down at it, his heart skipping a beat as he saw your name flashing on the screen once more.

“Sam, are you seriously just gonna leave me out here? Open the door!”.

Sam couldn’t hold back his laughter now. “Alright, alright”, he muttered to himself as he pushed off the counter and made his way toward the door, shooting Dean a look over his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. Just wait and see”.

Dean was unbothered by the warning, following his brother with his eyes.

Sam ignored him and reached for the door, his excitement growing. He finally swung it open to reveal you standing outside, your hand raised in the air as if ready to knock once more.

You looked up at him, the tiniest hint of impatience in your eyes. “You know, I was starting to think you were ghosting me, Sam”, you teased, a playful smirk curling at the corners of your lips.

Sam stepped aside quickly, scratching the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Dean was…”. He glanced back toward the kitchen, choosing his words carefully. “…distracting me”.

You shook your head, brushing it off with a soft laugh. “It’s fine. But seriously, don’t keep me waiting next time. I was starting to feel like a door-to-door salesperson”.

Sam chuckled, gesturing for you to step inside. As you walked past him and into the bunker, you couldn’t help but glance at cavernous walls. The space felt huge, even more so because of your height. Not even reaching Sam’s chest, the bunker seemed almost overwhelming. Still, you moved forward with confidence, curiosity lighting up your features as you carefully stepped down the metal stairs.

“Whoa”, you said, pausing for a moment to glance back at Sam. “This place is… something else”.

Sam smiled, pleased by your reaction. “Yeah, it’s a bit much at first, but you get used to it”.

As your feet touched the ground, you ran your fingers along the edge of the war room table, taking in the ancient, heavy atmosphere of the place. Just as you were about to comment on it, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner.

Dean appeared, beer in hand, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face. “Well, well”, he said, his voice light and teasing as he approached. “What do we have here?”.

But the second his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted.

You turned to face him, and for a moment, Dean simply stared. He hadn’t been expecting someone like you—not even close. You were small, barely coming up to his chest, and the contrast between your petite frame and your confident presence was magnetic. The high-waisted jean shorts you wore showed off your curves in a way that made his throat go dry, and the fitted top you paired them with hinted just enough at your gorgeous figure.

Dean’s brain went blank for a split second.

“Uh…”, he started, his usual charm stuttering as he tried to find words. “You’re… uh… not what I expected”.

Sam cleared his throat, stepping forward and giving Dean a pointed look. “Dean”.

“What?”, Dean shot back, still unable to tear his gaze away from you. He gestured vaguely with his beer. “She’s definitely not nerdy”.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused as you crossed your arms and looked up at him. The size difference was almost comical, but you didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “And what exactly did you expect?”. There was a playful edge to your tone, but something in the way you held his gaze sent a strange jolt through Dean’s chest.

Dean blinked, quickly scrambling to recover. He leaned casually against the wall, lifting his beer to his lips. “I don’t know. Glasses, books, maybe a little cardigan or something”. He smirked, though it wasn’t quite as sharp as usual. “I mean, you’re dating Sam”.

Sam groaned softly, running a hand down his face. “Dean—”.

You cut him off, your smirk widening as you tilted your head. “Sorry to disappoint”, you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “No glasses. And I left my cardigan at home”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can see that”. He took another swig of his beer, though it did little to cool the sudden warmth spreading through him.

Sam stepped in then, clearly eager to move things along before Dean could dig himself deeper into the hole he was making. “Alright, let’s sit down. Y/N’s probably hungry”.

“Hungry? Or thirsty?”, Dean quipped, holding up his beer. “I mean, I could—”.

“Dean”, Sam interrupted sharply, shooting him another warning glare.

Dean held up his free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Food it is”. But as he turned to follow Sam toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance back at you one more time.

You caught him looking, your lips curving into a small smile that sent his pulse racing.

What the hell is happening? Dean thought as he dragged his eyes away.

For all the teasing he’d thrown Sam’s way, he wasn’t prepared for this. You weren’t nerdy, awkward, or shy. You were gorgeous, confident, and way more than Dean had been ready for.

And something told him this was just the beginning.

The sound of your light footsteps on the bunker’s floors seemed to echo louder than they should have, or maybe that was just Dean’s heightened awareness of your presence. He tried to shake it off, forcing his thoughts back into his usual easygoing rhythm.

“So”, Dean began, his tone casual as his eyes flicked between you and Sam. “Sammy here been bragging about his cooking skills yet?”.

Sam sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Dean—”.

“Oh, come on”, Dean pressed, walking a little faster so he could fall into step next to you. He gave you one of his signature grins, the one that usually worked wonders on just about anyone. “He didn’t warn you that his idea of fine dining is throwing together a salad and calling it a meal?”.

You glanced up at Dean, amused by the way he towered over you. “Actually”, you said, your voice laced with playful curiosity, “he told me he made something special tonight”.

Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing toward Sam as they all entered the kitchen. “Special, huh?”. His eyes darted to the oven, catching sight of the lasagna baking inside. The smell was already wafting through the room, rich and savory, instantly recognizable.

“Lasagna?”, Dean asked, surprised despite himself. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest as he turned his attention to Sam.

Sam ignored the jab, moving to check on the lasagna. “Figured you’d be less… disruptive if I made something you liked”, he said, adjusting the oven temperature and glancing at his watch to time it perfectly.

Dean smirked, picking up on Sam’s strategy immediately. “Oh, I see what this is. You’re trying to keep me quiet. Feed me comfort food, and I’ll behave, is that it?”.

Sam didn’t answer, which was all the confirmation Dean needed.

You laughed softly, leaning against the counter opposite Dean. “So lasagna’s your weak spot, huh?”, you teased, your tone light but curious.

Dean turned his grin back to you, his green eyes narrowing slightly in playful suspicion. “Depends”, he said, dragging out the word. “You any good in the kitchen? Or are you more the ‘microwave and hope for the best’ type?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with an amused smirk. “I can hold my own”, you replied, not missing a beat. “But if I’d known I’d be competing with this”, —you gestured toward the oven— “I’d have brought something to prove it”.

Dean chuckled, impressed despite himself. “Well, that just means you’ll have to stick around long enough to show us, huh?”.

Sam gave Dean a pointed look as he turned from the oven to grab plates and utensils. “Dean, maybe try not to scare her off within the first ten minutes”.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just being friendly, Sammy”. He turned his attention back to you, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “I’m not that scary, am I?”.

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Not yet”, you replied, enjoying the banter. “But I’ll let you know if that changes”.

Sam rolled his eyes, setting the plates down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, dinner’s almost ready. Can we all just… focus on eating like normal people?”,

Dean gave you a conspiratorial wink before turning his attention back to Sam. “You’re the one making the rules, chef”.

You caught the dynamic between them easily—Dean’s teasing, Sam’s patient exasperation. It was clear they had their differences, but there was no denying the bond between the two brothers. And as Dean reached for another nearby bottle of beer, cracking it open with ease, you found yourself wondering just how much of Dean’s charm was a front, and how much of it was the real him.

The next few minutes passed smoothly—or as smoothly as they could with Dean in the mix. As Sam checked on the lasagna one last time, you busied yourself helping him set the table. You grabbed utensils and napkins from the counter, moving around the space with ease as though you’d been in the bunker a dozen times before.

Dean, leaning against the counter with his beer, watched you with casual interest. “So, Y/N”, he started, his tone light, “if you’re not a hunter, how’d you end up with my nerdy little brother here?”.

You glanced up at him, amused by his bluntness. “We met at a bookstore, actually”, you replied, placing the last fork down. “I was looking for a gift for a friend, and Sam swooped in to save me from picking the world’s most boring biography”.

Dean snorted. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he probably gave you some twenty-minute lecture on obscure historical facts before you even realized he was flirting”.

You smirked, shooting Sam a playful look as he turned back from the oven. “It was more like fifteen minutes”, you said with a shrug. “But to be fair, he was right. The book I was about to buy sounded awful”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but smiling all the same. “I wasn’t trying to lecture. I was just being helpful”.

“Sure you were”, Dean shot back, his grin widening. “Bet you even pulled the puppy-dog eyes, didn’t you?”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you seemed so at ease around them, or the way your laugh lit up the room, but something about you had him hooked.

“Sam’s told you about… you know, all the crazy crap we deal with, right?”, Dean said, changing the subject as he leaned in slightly,

You nodded, your expression growing a little more serious. “Yeah. He’s been easing me into it. It’s… a lot, but I’m getting there”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed. “And you’re not freaking out? Most people would’ve run for the hills the second they heard the words ‘demonic possession’”.

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s a lot to take in, sure, but Sam’s been really patient about explaining things. And honestly? I think what you guys do is incredible. It’s scary, yeah, but also… kind of amazing”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by your sincerity. He wasn’t used to hearing people talk about their work like that, especially not people who weren’t hunters themselves. “Huh”, he said after a moment, a crooked grin forming on his face. “You might be tougher than you look, short stuff”.

The nickname made you laugh again, and you couldn’t help but shoot back, “Careful, Dean. I may be small, but I can hold my own”.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that”, Dean said smoothly, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “Bet you’ve got a hell of a right hook for someone your size”.

“Maybe”, you replied, a playful glint in your eye. “But you’ll just have to take my word for it”.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from where he knew it was headed. “Dean, maybe stop interrogating her and let her breathe for a second”.

Dean waved him off, his attention still fixed on you. “Relax, Sammy. We’re just getting to know each other”, He leaned back slightly, his tone turning more casual. “You got a day job, or are you just spending all your free time keeping this guy out of trouble?”.

You smiled at Dean, enjoying the banter. “Actually, I’m a fitness coach”, you said, leaning casually against the counter.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his grin widening. “A fitness coach?”, he repeated, his tone equal parts impressed and intrigued. “Didn’t see that one coming”.

You laughed softly, folding your arms as you looked up at him. “Why’s that? You don’t think I could handle it?”.

Dean tilted his head, giving you a quick once-over, and while his expression remained playful, there was a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Oh, I think you could handle it just fine”, he said. “But man, Sammy must have his hands full. What, you got him running laps between cases now?”.

Sam sighed, clearly trying to stay out of the conversation, but you were quick to play along. “Not yet”, you said, shooting Sam a teasing look. “But I’m thinking about it. He could probably use the cardio”.

Dean barked out a laugh, his head tilting back slightly. “Oh, I like you”, he said, pointing at you with his beer. “You’re a smartass. Sam needs more of that in his life”.

You grinned at Dean’s comment, enjoying the playful energy in the room. “Oh, trust me, he gets plenty of sass from me”, you said with a smirk. Turning to Sam, who had been quietly tolerating Dean’s antics, you reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his bicep—the highest point you could easily reach without him bending down.

“Just kidding”, you mumbled teasingly as Sam gave you a soft, amused smile. He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss against your forehead in return, his hand grazing the small of your back as he murmured, “Thanks for putting up with him”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you grabbed the last glass and placed it on the table. “I think I’m handling it just fine”.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the two of you, the ease of your affection and the way Sam looked at you. There was something about the way you and Sam moved together—comfortably, naturally, like you’d been part of this world for longer than the few weeks you’d actually been dating—that made something twist uncomfortably in Dean’s chest.

Dean took another sip of his beer, the cool bitterness doing little to chase away the nagging feeling in his chest. He leaned back against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his jaw tightened subtly as he watched you and Sam. There was something about the way Sam looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—that made Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Hell, he barely even admitted it to himself.

It wasn’t like he was jealous. Dean Winchester didn’t do jealousy. No, this was just… him being protective. Yeah, that was it. He was just making sure you were really who Sam thought you were. Making sure Sam wasn’t setting himself up for another heartbreak. It had nothing to do with the way you smiled when you looked up at Sam, or the way your laugh seemed to linger in the air, soft and warm.

Dean cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from you. He focused instead on the beer bottle in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. “How long until dinner’s ready, Sammy? I’m starving over here”.

Sam shot him a glance, clearly catching the faint edge in Dean’s tone. “It’s almost done”, he said, moving to check on the lasagna. “You can survive a few more minutes”.

Dean smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, good thing you went all out. I wouldn’t survive another night of your rabbit food experiments”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean glance up despite himself. “Rabbit food?”, you teased, looking between the brothers. “That´s about your love for salad?”.

Sam sighed, shooting Dean an exasperated look. “He’s talking about the one time I made a salad with kale”.

“It wasn’t a salad”, Dean shot back, pointing at Sam with his beer. “It was punishment. Nobody eats kale by choice”.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring a kale smoothie, huh?”.

Dean couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. “You’d better not. I’d kick you out on principle”.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, busying himself with pulling the lasagna out of the oven.

Dean’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. He wasn’t jealous. He was just… protective. Yeah, that was the story he was sticking to.

Dean watched you as you moved around the kitchen, effortlessly fitting into the bunker like you’d always been there. It was unsettling how natural it all seemed. His eyes followed you, and he took another sip of his beer, determined to shake whatever it was that had him so off balance.

But then you leaned over toward him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of whatever perfume you were wearing. Your thigh brushed against his, the contact sending a jolt of heat up his leg. Before he could react, you tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“I fucking hate kale”, you whispered, your voice low enough that Sam couldn’t hear, but there was no mistaking the teasing lilt in your tone.

Dean froze for a second, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process the sudden proximity, the soft warmth of your leg against his, and the quiet intimacy of your words. Then, almost involuntarily, a grin broke across his face, quick and genuine.

“Good”, he murmured back, his voice equally low. “Means I don’t have to kick you out after all”.

You laughed quietly, the sound sending a ripple of something warm and unfamiliar through him. Dean blinked, his grin fading slightly as he tried to steady himself. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly as he sat down at the table. He told himself it was nothing—just the heat of the moment, the way your laugh had hit him, or the accidental brush of your thigh. It didn’t mean anything. He could shake this off, no problem.

Except it wasn’t nothing. Not with the faint trace of your perfume still lingering in the air or the way your mischievous smirk had seemed to sear itself into his brain. Dean shifted again, leaning forward slightly in his chair to subtly adjust himself under the table, hoping like hell neither you nor Sam noticed.

Sam, thankfully oblivious, placed a plate in front of Dean and another in front of himself before sitting down next to you. “Alright, dig in”, he said, shooting you a small smile. “Let me know what you think”.

You grabbed your fork, glancing at Sam with a grin. “No pressure, right?”.

Dean snorted, hoping to distract himself from his predicament. “Trust me, you don’t need to worry. This is probably the best thing Sammy’s ever made. Not that the competition’s stiff or anything”.

Sam shot Dean a dry look, but you laughed, your shoulders shaking slightly. The sound sent another ripple of heat through Dean’s chest, and he focused hard on cutting into his lasagna, the knife scraping against the plate.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence”, Sam said sarcastically, turning his attention back to you. “I’m glad someone appreciates the effort”.

“I think it’s great”, you said after taking a bite. “Seriously, Sam. This is amazing”.

Dean grunted in agreement, though his focus was less on the food and more on keeping his gaze off you. The way you leaned forward slightly when you laughed, the way your lips curved around your fork—it was too much, and he knew if he let himself keep staring, he was going to lose whatever shred of composure he had left.

“So, Y/N”, Dean said, forcing himself to speak, his tone casual as he leaned back slightly in his chair, “You like it?”. He gestured vaguely around the bunker, doing his best to sound normal despite the tension knotting his shoulders. “I mean, it’s not exactly… cozy”.

You glanced up at him, your eyes warm. “It’s definitely different”, you admitted. “But honestly? I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like something out of a movie”.

Dean smirked, though he avoided looking directly at you for too long. “Yeah, well, wait until the pipes start rattling in the middle of the night. Real cinematic experience”.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He just hates doing maintenance”.

You laughed again, and Dean felt his resolve waver. He grabbed his beer, downing half of it in one go just to have something to do with his hands.

The meal continued, with Sam and you trading stories while Dean chimed in occasionally, mostly to toss in a sarcastic comment or crack a joke. But the whole time, that nagging feeling sat heavy in his chest, and he couldn’t shake the heat pooling low in his stomach.

It was going to be a long night.

The meal wrapped up smoothly, though Dean spent most of it trying to keep his focus on his lasagna. By the time the dishes were done, Sam had his sleeves rolled up, his hands wet from drying the last plate, and you were leaning against the counter, chatting idly with him about your plans for the next day.

Dean lingered nearby, his fifth beer in hand, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on you.

Finally, as Sam dried his hands and set the dish towel aside, he stepped close to you, his palm brushing down the small of your back in a way that seemed almost instinctive. “Ready to call it a night?”, he asked gently, his voice low, the kind of tone that was meant just for you.

You glanced up at him, reading the softness in his eyes. Sam wasn’t one for late nights, not unless a hunt demanded it. His mornings usually started early with a run or a workout, and you knew he valued his sleep schedule more than most.

But you? You weren’t tired at all. You were used to staying up late, whether it was working on plans for your clients or just relaxing with a spicy book or a show.

Still, you smiled at Sam, your hand brushing his briefly. “Sure”, you said lightly. “If you’re ready, we can head to bed”.

Dean, who had been pretending to check the contents of the fridge for the last few minutes, glanced over at the exchange. Something about the way Sam’s hand stayed at the small of your back made his jaw tighten again, though he quickly covered it with a casual tone. “Wow, Sammy, calling it a night already? It’s barely nine. You getting old or what?”.

Sam shot Dean a look, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Some of us actually like starting the day early”, he said, his hand still resting gently on you. “Not all of us are night owls”.

Dean smirked, leaning back against the counter with his beer. “Night owl? Please. I’m just making sure the world doesn’t fall apart while you’re catching your beauty sleep”.

You laughed softly at that, glancing between the brothers. “So what, Dean? You stay up all night patrolling the bunker or something?”.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark of mischief. “Something like that”, he said, his tone easy. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He just watches bad movies and eats junk food when he should be sleeping”.

“Hey, classics aren’t bad movies”, Dean shot back, pointing his beer bottle at Sam. “And nachos at midnight? That’s living, Sammy”.

You grinned, folding your arms. “I think I’m with Dean on this one. Nachos at midnight sounds way more fun than an early morning run”.

Dean’s smirk turned into a full grin at your response, his eyes glinting as he looked over at you. “Finally, someone around here with taste”.

Sam rolled his eyes at your comment, though there was no mistaking the fond smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, you two can bond over junk food another time”, he said, his hand brushing gently against your back again. “I’ll leave you to it, Dean”.

You glanced back at Dean, your smile softening as your eyes met his. “It was nice meeting you, Dean”, you said warmly, your voice genuine. “I can see where Sam gets his sense of humor now”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the way your words—and that smile—made his heart skip a beat. He forced a grin, though it felt a little stiff. “Yeah, you too”, he said, his voice a bit quieter than usual. He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than he intended. “Goodnight, short stuff”.

You chuckled softly at the nickname, turning back to Sam as he led you toward the hallway. Dean stayed rooted in place, leaning back against the counter with his beer as he watched the two of you disappear from sight. The sound of your voices��low and comfortable—faded as you headed down the hall.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the empty space where you’d been. He let out a long breath, running a hand over his face before muttering under his breath, “What the hell, Winchester?”.

He downed the rest of his beer in one swig, the bottle clinking softly against the counter as he set it down. Shaking his head, Dean turned back toward the fridge, already looking for something to distract himself from the way his heart had stubbornly refused to settle all evening.

But the image of your smile—soft, genuine, and directed at him—lingered, refusing to fade. And no amount of nachos or bad movies was going to fix that.

Inside Sam’s room, you looked around, taking in the neat, utilitarian setup. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a certain comfort to it that matched Sam’s personality. The shelves lined with books, the neatly folded bedding, and even the scent of him lingering in the air—it all felt cozy and inviting.

Sam moved across the room, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a simple white shirt. He handed it to you with a soft smile. “Here”, he said, his voice low and gentle. “This should be comfortable for the night”.

You took the shirt, your fingers brushing his briefly as you gave him a small smile. “Thanks”, you said, though there was a slight edge to your voice that you hoped he didn’t pick up on. You’d been dating for weeks now, and while things between you and Sam were great, there was a tension simmering under the surface that you couldn’t ignore.

Sam hadn’t made a move to take things further, not once. No matter how many nights you spent together, how much time you spent in his arms, he never seemed to push for more than kissing and light touches. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect his pace; you did. But you were only human, and lately, the frustration had started to build.

And tonight? Tonight was unbearable. You couldn’t explain it—maybe it was the lingering energy from dinner, the way Dean had looked at you with that mischievous grin, or the way Sam’s hand kept brushing against the small of your back. Whatever it was, it had you wound tighter than a spring, and your body was practically humming with need.

You turned away from Sam as you began to undress, your fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks, aware of Sam sitting quietly behind you, his presence filling the room. The air felt heavier than usual, like a current of unspoken tension buzzed between you.

You slipped off your top next, leaving your bare skin exposed for a moment. You weren’t wearing a bra—something you’d normally think nothing of, but tonight, it felt impossible to ignore. The cool air brushed over your skin as you reached for the oversized white shirt Sam had given you, the fabric soft in your hands.

Pulling it over your head, you let the material fall into place. It was so big on you that it nearly reached your knees, the hem swaying slightly as you moved. The sleeves hung past your wrists, making it look more like a dress than a shirt, and you couldn’t help but glance down at yourself, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips.

When you finally turned back around, Sam was already in bed, propped up against the pillows with a book in his hands. His eyes flicked up as you moved, and for a brief moment, you caught something in his expression—a flicker of something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You good?”, he asked, his voice soft as he closed the book and set it on the nightstand.

You nodded, climbing into bed beside him and pulling the covers up to your lap. “Yeah”, you said quietly, though your voice felt strained. You couldn’t shake the awareness of him next to you, the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, or the warmth of his body so close to yours.

He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into. As he settled back into the pillows, you found yourself lying rigidly on your side, staring into the darkness and trying to will away the storm of frustration building inside you.

The shirt you wore smelled like Sam, wrapping you in his familiar, comforting scent, but it only made things worse. Your body was on fire, and every little movement—his hand brushing the covers, the sound of his breathing, the shift of the mattress as he adjusted his position—felt like a spark igniting something deeper within you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the ache that had settled low in your stomach. Sam’s steady, calming presence had always been enough to soothe you, but tonight, it wasn’t working.

And the worst part? You had no idea what to do about it.

Meanwhile, in the war room, Dean sat slouched at the map table, his boots propped up on the edge as he cradled a large glass of whiskey in one hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, casting faint shadows that danced on the tabletop. He swirled the drink absentmindedly, staring into the space ahead of him but seeing nothing—nothing except you.

He let out a heavy sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long sip. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you leaning toward him in the kitchen, your thigh brushing his, the warmth of your breath on his skin as you whispered, I fucking hate kale.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was everything—the way you moved, the sound of your laughter, the way you fit so effortlessly into the space that had always felt so cold and utilitarian. And, of course, the way you looked at Sam, the softness in your eyes that made it so damn clear how much you cared about his brother.

Dean scowled at the thought, tipping back his glass and draining the rest of the whiskey in one go. He set the glass down with a muted thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His jaw tightened as he scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

It’s nothing, he told himself. Just a little admiration. She’s cool, that’s all.

But the ache in his chest said otherwise.

The thought of you in Sam’s room, wrapped in his arms, made Dean’s stomach twist in a way that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy. He clenched his fists, shaking his head as though he could physically dislodge the thought from his brain.

“This is ridiculous”, he muttered under his breath, reaching for the whiskey bottle and pouring himself another glass. He stared at the amber liquid for a moment before taking another sip, the burn doing little to drown out the frustration bubbling inside him.

He didn’t get it. You were with Sam—his brother. You were off-limits, plain and simple. And yet, there was something about you that felt like a punch to the gut every time you smiled.

Dean huffed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. The faint creak of the bunker’s pipes echoed in the distance, a reminder of how quiet and empty the place felt most of the time.

But you’d brought a kind of energy into the bunker that Dean hadn’t realized he’d been missing. And it was driving him insane.

Dean drained the second glass of whiskey, letting the burn spread through his chest as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze drifted to the door that led to the hallway.

“Get a grip, Winchester”, he muttered to himself, shaking his head again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps entering the war room. His first instinct was to expect Sam, coming to lecture him about something—or maybe just checking on him—but when he turned, he froze.

It was you.

You stood in the doorway, looking a little out of place, your bare feet pressing softly against the cold floor. Your hands fidgeted at your sides as you tugged your hair behind your ear, mumbling, “Sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom. Didn’t mean to interrupt”.

Dean’s gaze lingered, the whiskey in his hand forgotten as his eyes took you in. You were wearing Sam’s oversized white shirt, and on your smaller frame, it hung loosely, nearly brushing your knees. But the cool air of the bunker seemed to cling to you, and he couldn’t help but notice how the faint chill had tightened your nipples against the fabric of the shirt.

He forced his gaze back to your face, his throat tightening. “Uh… yeah”, he said, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the left”.

You gave him a small smile, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks”, you murmured, your voice soft. But instead of immediately leaving, your eyes flicked to the map table, then to the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Dean followed your gaze to the glass of whiskey in front of him, his lips curving into a slow, teasing smirk. He leaned back in his chair, his green eyes flicking back to yours as he lifted the glass in a mock toast.

“Don’t tell me you’re a whiskey girl”, he said, his voice light but carrying that unmistakable edge of mischief.

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile as you stepped further into the room, your bare feet making the faintest sound against the cold tiles. “Maybe I am”, you replied, your voice soft but with just enough challenge to make his smirk widen. “What’s wrong with whiskey?”.

Dean chuckled, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Nothing”, he said, his tone teasing. “Just didn’t expect it. I mean, you’re walking around in Sam’s shirt, looking all cute and innocent, and here you are, eyeing my drink like you’re ready to steal it”.

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you refused to let him fluster you. Crossing your arms, you leaned slightly against the edge of the map table, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I was just wondering why you’re sitting here all alone in the middle of the night”, you shot back. “Doesn’t seem like your usual scene”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed by your quick comeback. “Huh”, he muttered, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “What about you? Thought you’d be in bed, snug as a bug with Sammy by now”.

You hesitated, glancing toward the hallway before looking back at him. “I couldn’t sleep”, you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine curiosity. “And you ended up here, instead of the bathroom”, he said, gesturing around the room. “Lucky me”.

You laughed lightly, tucking your hair behind your ear again as you glanced at the map table. “I guess so”, you said, your smile lingering as your eyes returned to his. “But seriously… is whiskey your midnight snack now, or what?”.

Dean chuckled, reaching for the bottle and pouring a small amount into the empty glass beside him. He slid it toward you, his smirk returning. “Why don’t you find out?”.

You glanced at the glass, then back at him, your brow lifting slightly. “Is this how you get all your guests to stay up late with you?”, you teased, taking the glass in your hand.

Dean leaned back in his chair, watching as you reached for the glass. His lips parted slightly, and without even thinking, his tongue darted out to wet them, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake whenever his nerves got the better of him—or when his thoughts strayed somewhere they shouldn’t.

His gaze flicked downward, almost involuntarily, landing on the curve of your chest beneath Sam’s oversized shirt. The fabric shifted slightly as you raised the glass to your lips, the movement drawing his attention like a magnet.

Dean’s eyes lingered for a second too long, his grip tightening around his own glass as he caught himself staring. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back up to your face. You didn’t seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you were just too good at hiding it. Either way, it only made the tension in the room thicker, more suffocating.

You set the glass down. “What?”, you asked, your voice casual but with a glint of curiosity. “You’ve been quiet all of a sudden. Did I say something wrong?”.

Dean smirked, trying to mask the heat crawling up his neck. “Nah”, he said, leaning back again and taking another sip of whiskey. “Just thinking”.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “About?”.

He hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He wanted to say something cocky, to deflect like he always did, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he shrugged, his voice dropping slightly. “About how you’re a hell of a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for”.

Your eyes widened slightly, the soft flush in your cheeks deepening as you let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment”, you said, your tone light but tinged with something warmer.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening. “You should”.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, heavy with unspoken things that neither of you seemed ready to address. Dean’s chest tightened as he watched you tuck your hair behind your ear again, the movement so simple yet somehow mesmerizing.

You bit your lip lightly, your arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver ran through you. The cool air of the bunker combined with the cold tiles underfoot wasn’t doing you any favors, and the oversized shirt you wore didn’t provide much warmth. You glanced away from Dean, suddenly feeling more vulnerable under his gaze.

Dean sighed softly, setting his glass down on the table with a quiet clink. The sound drew your attention back to him just in time to see him stand up, his broad frame now looming over you. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he felt larger somehow—his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken energy as he closed the space between you in just a few steps.

“Here”, he muttered, his voice low and rough as he reached for the flannel he’d been wearing. The movement made his biceps flex beneath his gray T-shirt, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles shifted. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care—as he slipped the flannel off his shoulders and held it out to you.

Before you could say anything, Dean gently draped it over your frame, the fabric settling around you like a warm cocoon. It smelled like him—faintly of whiskey, leather, and something distinctly Dean. You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat as you realized just how close he was.

“Can’t have you freezing to death on my watch”, he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something warmer, almost protective.

Dean tugged the flannel tighter around your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it to make sure you were warm. The gesture was meant to be casual, maybe even brotherly, but as he shifted closer, his hips inadvertently brushed against your belly.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t mean to react, but the unmistakable press of him against you—even through his thick jeans—sent a jolt of heat rushing through your body. Your gaze flicked up to his face, and you saw his jaw tighten, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came.

Dean froze, his hands still resting lightly on the flannel draped around you. He’d felt it too, the way his body betrayed him at the worst possible moment. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to push down the flood of sensations threatening to overwhelm him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The tension that had been simmering between you all night boiled over, the air crackling with an intensity that made your pulse race. You weren’t sure what to do—what to say—but your body seemed to have a mind of its own, leaning ever so slightly closer to him as if drawn by some invisible force.

Dean’s hands dropped from the flannel, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a half step back, his expression unreadable as he looked away, his jaw clenched tightly. “You should, uh…”, he started, his voice rough and uneven, “you should probably get back to Sam”.

His words felt like a bucket of cold water, and you blinked, stepping back yourself as you clutched the flannel tighter around you. “Right”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should”.

Dean nodded, still avoiding your gaze as he grabbed his glass from the table and drained what was left in one swift motion. His other hand raked through his hair, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Goodnight, Y/N”, he said, his voice softer this time but still laced with tension.

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you turned and walked toward the hallway, your bare feet padding softly against the tiles. As you disappeared around the corner, you couldn’t help but glance back once, catching a glimpse of Dean standing there, his shoulders tense, his head bowed.

Dean didn’t move until he was sure you were gone. When he finally sat back down, his elbows resting on the table as he buried his face in his hands, he muttered to himself, “What the hell are you doing, man?”.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the ghost of your touch and the warmth of your body against his lingered, driving him closer to the edge than he cared to admit.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

1: WRONG FOOT FORWARD

MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: When you receive a wedding invitation from your best friends, they expect you to bring along your elusive boyfriend—except, he doesn’t exist. Panicked and out of options, you find yourself considering increasingly desperate measures to avoid humiliation. Meanwhile, your grumpy, annoyingly handsome neighbor, Bucky Barnes, has his own battles—ones that you unknowingly make worse with a thoughtless remark. As tensions rise and misunderstandings deepen, will you find an unexpected solution to your problem… or just more trouble?

Warnings: neighbors to lovers, fake dating, slow burn, Bucky has issues™, Reader has issues too™, emotional baggage

Word Count: 2,572

“Please save the date to celebrate the union of Hanna Marin & Aditi Sharma!”

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” you cursed silently, reading the text that had just come through on your phone.

Hanna had texted you the beautifully designed “Save the Date” card, followed by…

4:04 PM - Hanna: Can’t wait to meet that secret hunk of yours. Don’t leave him at home!

You groaned. This was a disaster. An unmitigated disaster. You had no idea how you were going to get out of this situation. Another long drawn out groan slipped from your lips as the elevator doors on the third floor of your apartment opened up. The sound was embarrassingly obnoxious, slipping out at the exact moment the doors parted to reveal the outline of your neighbor.

Of course, it had to be Bucky!

You immediately flushed crimson as Bucky turned around with a smirk painted across his face.

“Making those noises in public could get you arrested for public indecency, you know that, right, Princess?”

You shot Bucky a withering stare, hoping to melt the that stupid smirk of his stupidly handsome face. Why did it have to be him?

“Funny,” you snapped, stepping out of the elevator, “considering I’m pretty sure your entire existence is a crime against humanity.”

His smirk faltered for a split second. It was so quick that if you had blinked, you would have missed it. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he dropped his gaze slightly, as if something inside him had changed. A darkness flickered across his face before the familiar grin reappeared on his face like a shield.

But it was too late, the words had been spoken and you could feel the weight of what you’d said. Guilt crept in, gnawing at your stomach. You hadn’t meant it like that. It had just slipped out, your mouth working faster than your brain. But that look, that flash of pain, it told you that your words had landed somewhere far more poignant than you had intended.

“Bucky, I didn’t mean—” you began, your voice softening as you felt a rush of regret.

“No offense taken, Princess,” he said stiffly,  turning toward the elevator with his back to you, hiding his face. His words were sharp and final. He slid past you, posture tense and tone colder than you’d ever heard before.

“Wait,” you cried, taking a step to follow. “I’m sorry, okay?” I didn’t mean it like—”

“Forget it,” he interrupted. “I’ve been called worse.”

His words hit you like a sucker punch. He wasn’t just brushing you off— he genuinely meant it, and that hurt more than his earlier teasing ever could.

“Bucky, seriously, I—”

But the elevator doors closed in your face, cutting you off leaving you staring at your own distorted expression in the reflective chrome surface. You stared blankly at the doors for a few moments, debating whether you should go after him but he had already tried to brush it off. You didn't want to make things worse for him. 

So instead of making a fool of yourself further, you turned back towards your front door, mind still dwelling on that look of hurt— the one you had caused.

While Bucky Barnes was undeniably attractive, his brooding, grumpy demeanor made living across from him a bit of a challenge. Ordinarily he would grunt his greetings, he came and went at strange hours and you could hear his television on loud almost every night. His favorite sport was avoiding you but when your interactions were unavoidable, they were usually thinly veiled insults.

You collapsed against the door of your apartment, letting your head fall back against the wood with a dull thud. A frustrated groan leaving your lips. Why did these things always happen to you? Why did your mouth always have to get you into trouble? 

Shaking your head, you bent down to unzip your velvet cream ankle-heeled boots. You took a moment to admire your outfit in the mirror by the front door, a two-tone brown tank top paired with a plaid high-waisted midi skirt. Comfortable yet professional, it was one of your go-to for meeting clients. Today, you didn’t have any high-end commissions to deal with, so you’d opted to wear something practical over statement-making.

You took off your necklace and earrings, custom pieces that you’d meticulously designed yourself when you’d first started out in your career. Carefully you placed them in a small velvet-lined box in the top drawer of your drawer for safe keeping.

You sighed again, pulling the hair clip out of your tresses and running your fingers through the strands, trying to comb out the irritation of the day. Hanna’s message had thrown you for a loop. And then there was Bucky— his face was still burned on your retina. That stupid smirk, always so smug— you hated how easily it had crumbled into something else. Something more vulnerable.

You didn't mean it. You never meant to hurt anyone with your words. Least of all him.

Back when he had moved in across the hall, it had taken you a while to recognize who he was. To you, he was just a grumpy neighbor who kept to himself. It wasn't until you'd seen him on television, standing beside Sam Wilson, The Falc—, no Captain America, that you realized who he really was. After a few internet searches, you had more information than you’d ever wanted.

At first, you were wary. The Winter Soldier living across the hall? The idea alone had been enough to send a shiver down your spine. But your opinion had shifted one afternoon when you’d seen him helping Mrs. Burke, your elderly neighbor, up the stairs with her groceries when the elevator was out of order. He just silently carried her bags while she rambled on about her apple pie recipe.

Mrs. Winnie Burke was a kind soul, the heart of the building, really. She won over all the residents with her fierce independence, her fond stories about her late husband, Arthur, and her ample supply of baked goods. For you, she was always ready with a piece of advice or a slice of apple pie. You helped her as often as you could, offering to pick up her groceries when the weather was foul, and in exchange she would grace you with one of the delicacies she would conjure up using her ‘secret family recipes’.

Bucky’s readiness to help her had been the first step to your altered perception of him. Beneath this gruff exterior and curmudgeonly ways, you started to see that there was more to him than the news headlines and whispered rumors. He didn’t make it easy to see, but it was there.

And now? You weren’t sure what to feel. You couldn’t unsee that flicker of hurt in his eyes, the way he had stiffened before brushing you off. He may have pretended not to care, but you’d seen enough to know otherwise.

You sighed again, a sense of unease growing tighter in your chest. You really hadn’t meant to say those things to him, but now the damage was done. But with Hanna’s text looming over you, you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You had bigger problems— like figuring out how to conjure a hunky boyfriend out of thin air.

You slipped on a loose, oversized gray sweater along with a pair of black skinny jeans and re-tied your hair into a messy bun. The growl in your stomach reminded you that you had skipped lunch in favor of around five steaming cups of coffee. At this point, you probably had more coffee in your veins than blood. Inconveniently, your fridge seemed to have swallowed up every ounce of edible material it had been storing. Another night of takeout was the only solution if you didn't want to head down to the grocery store.

You picked up your phone and dialed the number of your favorite Chinese takeaway, before settling onto the couch with your iPad, the app for Procreate already open from where you had left off a few days ago. Hanna and Aditi had asked you to design their wedding rings. Actually, they had begged you; they said they would consider it your wedding gift to them. You had consented easily, it was truly an honor to be asked. You had added the finishing touches to the design and sent them the images for approval and received a resounding ‘yes’ from both brides almost immediately. The rings had complementary designs but represented each bride’s personalities. You had designed them so that if they were placed next to each other, they would fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

As you admired the design, your thoughts wandered back to your most pressing issue. Your boyfriend… or conspicuous lack thereof. What were you going to do? You’d been lying for months to get your friends off your back. It was so unlike you– dishonesty made you anxious, your mouth got dry, you got butterflies; the lies were written all over your face. But for some reason, this piece of misinformation had left your lips before you could bat an eyelid and you were struggling to maintain the level of deception. Now, when your friends badgered you for information, you just refused to reply.

You picked up your phone, scrolling down to Tinder. Maybe you could find someone willing to go to a wedding with you. A no-strings-attached kind of affair. Just one day, smile for the photo, pretend to be someone else for a day, roll in the hay after… maybe that wasn’t such a great idea after all. Prostituting yourself to get your friends off your back wasn’t a genius idea.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. Tinder was officially a dead end.

Your thoughts spiraled as you pondered other avenues you could take to fill this role. You scrolled through Facebook for a bit, but your options were bleak. Most of your friends were married, engaged… or worse: actually in love! Your eyes wandered around your apartment, landing on a photo of you, Hanna and Aditi. It had been taken on the night of their engagement, you were standing in the middle and they were on either side, each one of them had their lips pressed against your cheeks. Hanna had leant in tipsily and whispered in your ear, “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone amazing too.”

You’d known Hanna and Aditi since elementary school, separately and then together. You were the reason they had met, they’d been your best friends from different places and you knew they’d been in love with each other since you’d all attended high school together. Somehow they never let you feel like the third wheel in your relationship, but there were times when you felt very lonely in their company.

Yeah, you were definitely running out of time.

To top off your issues, your stomach growled loudly, demanding to be fed. Your eyes flicked to the door, as if the delivery of your takeout would materialize outside by your sheer force of will. As you imagined someone in the hallway, your mind automatically gave the figure a face… your neighbor’s face. No. Absolutely not. Bucky Barnes was not an option. Not even a last resort. Sure, he was attractive… ridiculously attractive… but he was a world class grump, your friends would never believe that you would date such a loner.

“No,” you muttered to yourself. “Not happening.”

But despite your protests to yourself, you were already picturing him in a suit, a navy three piece would bring out those piercing blue eyes.

No.

Then you remembered who else would look good in a suit. Leonard! Your ex. Reluctantly you picked up your phone and started typing.

Bucky stepped out into the chilly afternoon air. He kept replaying his exchange with you. It had been far more awkward than he had intended. It wasn’t like he was good at these things, but talking to strangers was definitely not on the top of his list of things he enjoyed. There had been a time when he could quite literally charm the pants off a woman but somehow he had made a mess of things… again.

She didn’t mean it like that, he told himself. But the words wouldn’t stop echoing through his mind. Crimes against humanity. He shoved his hands into his pockets, avoiding making eye contact with anyone on the street. He walked down the street with the collar of his leather jacket turned up in an attempt to shield his identity. Bucky turned away from the faces who might judge him, but he could still see them— the faces of the people he had hurt, the people he had killed. 

There was a pang of guilt. Maybe you were right, maybe there was some part of him that would always be defined by the things he’d done— the things he’d been made to do. A flare of resentment coursed through him. She doesn’t know me, he thought. She has no idea what I’ve been through.

You had a way of making him feel exposed. Every single one of his interactions with you made him feel raw, like you’d peeled away the layers of armor he had built around himself. He didn’t know what it was, but the way you looked at him with your sharp, discerning eyes was disarming. It was like they could see more than he was willing to show you. This was exactly why he did his best to avoid you. And when he had no choice, he resorted to sassy quips and smug smirks. If he played the role of grumpy neighbor well enough, he could keep you at a safe arm’s length.

Not that it had worked very well. You were everywhere. Even when he managed to deflect your attempts at small talk and walk away, he still felt your presence. Maybe he should move… You didn’t even have to try to unearth his insecurities, they seemed to rise to the surface whenever you were around. So he did the easiest thing for when someone got too close— he pushed you away, hoping you wouldn’t see who he really was— a man trying to put himself back together— one broken piece at a time.

He picked up his pace; Sam was probably already waiting for him. The last thing he needed was to listen to Sam’s well meaning criticism about his demeanor and lack of time management. It was easier to focus on his friend. The straight forward, outspoken man was easier for Bucky to deal with. Fine, so he could be incredibly annoying and sometimes, downright exasperating but for the most part he didn’t make Bucky feel like he had unknowingly exposed his innermost self.

Also, Sam was definitely not the type of guy who was going to let Bucky sit around and brood in peace. Which was probably exactly what he needed. A distraction. Something to pull him out of the tornado of self destruction that he seemed to have been sucked into. Bucky rounded the corner, feeling a little more drive in his step. A destination, something he could focus on instead of the emotional mess your words had somehow whipped up. He would deal with his emotions later… or maybe, if Sam did his job right, not at all.

MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

No tag list. Posting schedule: Mondays and Fridays around 7.30am ACT / 4.30pm EST / 1.30pm PST / 9.30pm BST

[celtrist]

OWNER BAD END ROUTE

Alastor vanished again. He's kept in his owner's little hideaway where no one could think to find him. They've stitched his mouth shut and kept him bound. Whether just by simply tying up, collar, or wall shackles. The restraints will vary.

He does have a shock collar on him at all times, just in case he ever does manage to find a way out. In addition, there is a tracker on the collar, a double measure in case the shocks don't work for whatever reason or his owner needs to take him out. Alastor is treated like a pet with basic training and his meals are served in dog bowls. He's cleaned and taken care of like any good pet owner would take care of their dog.

Alastor passes his time with self-mutilation, sleeping, or trying to fix a radio. His owner gives him new toys on occasion, from as simple as a coloring book to a good bottle of whisky. But they've found the most success in the broken radio they left as a present one time. They frequently give Alastor parts to work on it, but the radio is beyond fixing. It's completely broken and his owner gives it to himself as a good means for controlling, to sate his boredom rather than self-mutilating, and to give Alastor a false sense of hope. The amount of parts accumulated is scattered across the room, and Alastor tends to be defensive about his owner trying to take even the tiniest dials.

They will occasionally give mercy and bring in a working radio to play some music for Alastor. However, they do need to be in the room when they do so, if not only give Alastor a limited amount of time with it.

For the most part, they keep Alastor primarily for companionship. Having his head in their lap, cuddling, is really what you would want a normal pet for. Of course, being more physically intimate isn't off the table, but they do like to just spend time with Alastor and remind him that they own him. They will occasionally pamper and spoil Alastor with access to an actual bedroom if he's being really good for them lately. But his owner both enjoys the moments of being able to spoil him like the good pet he is and the hopelessness they always find in the cold, dungeon-esc room he stays in.

Alastor is more or less mute with his stitched mouth (his mouth opens enough to eat and drink but keeps closed enough so he can't speak), so most of the time he is in a terrible room filled with only silence. Alastor was given very little room for negotiation with his soul owner and quickly realized there wasn't much he could do to get out of his predicament. The place he was stuck in gave no way of escape, and any opportunities to be let out or leave to be pampered in a nicer bedroom wouldn't mean much when his owner could pop him back with no issues.

The best he could do was find a way for someone stronger to help break his contract by force, but then Alastor would just lock himself up in ANOTHER situation he didn't want to be in.

At this point, Alastor was just so tired of everything that, why not just stick with the simple? He didn't like being restrained 24/7 or having little lights and sound in his room, but he had his radio to fix, good meals, and he knew what to expect each day. Hell, as long as he was good enough he could be more or less allowed to stay in that pampered room of his owner's, and that's more or less luxury at that point. Sure Alastor is powerless, silenced, and he's pretty sure he's slowly going insane with how much time he's spend talking to himself (in his head) now that his shadows were gone. But life wasn't atrocious, was it?

Of course, catching glimpses in mirrors startled him. He felt the need to hurt when fixing radios wasn't doing enough. He wanted to LEAVE and he desperately would give anything to have his old life back. Alastor never regretted his deal more than ever, but this was his lot in life. He couldn't perform his end of the deal to get out of it like this, and no one could really help him. The one attempt he had made that should've given no room for his owner to be aware of him leaving had him back on the hard floor of his room rather quickly, and a brutal punishment that led the typically touch-averse deer to be touch-starved and eating up the pets his owner gave once they paid attention to him.

Alastor isn't happy. There's no debate there. But he certainly tries to delude himself into thinking it isn't so bad. He'll plead with his owner every so often, and they'll give a look of genuine debate before sending him back to his room since begging didn't deserve the pamper room. Alastor is completely loss and isn't sure what to do. With himself, for his predicament, his sanity, anything.

But, he has a radio to fix.

[oneforthemunny]

how do the different more dom eddies take it when their girl rolls her eyes?

it depends on the context of it honestly. like if one of them said something cheesy or silly and they rolled their eyes, they’re not going to like flip a switch and immediately punish.

but if they’re being intentionally bratty and mean and huffy??

i’ll start with mafia!eddie bc i don’t really see him reacting even then that much. he’s very much so the gentlest dom out of all of them, i’d even say he’s more of a pleasure dom because he really does it all for her and wants her to feel good (her pleasure above his own). i think he’d honestly be like “??? why are you getting attitude rn? what’s going on? what do you want from me?”

rockstar!eddie at the beginning with nb he’d automatically correct. mainly because they’re always alone when they’re together. might blindfold her and torment with his various toys because “if you’re gonna just roll those fuckin’ eyes, then i don’t wanna even see them.”

relationship rockstar!eddie and nb, when they’re actually in love and such, honestly i think he’d fight fire with fire and get the worst, bitchiest tone back lmao. he’s a diva. he’s a big fan of mocking too, will over exaggerate and shrill just to piss her off even more (bc he thinks it’s hot).

dom!eddie also kinda depends. if they’re alone and it happens, he’d just grab her face, make her look at him and give her the look. “let me see you roll your eyes at me again and i’m gonna get the cane.” something along those lines and it never works ofc, bc she’s a brat to her core and that’s what she wants lol. wouldn’t have an attitude if she didn’t.

cowboy!eddie is such a shit (so fucking hot) and if sweet girl did it to get a rise out of him, he’d do the opposite. literally just wouldn’t react, go about his business, whether in public or not to leave her to huff and be pissy and pent up- mad she didn’t get her way. then later, when she’s out of her “little mood” (as he’d call it) and ready to be sweet, try and seduce him or just back to normal, he’d bring it up. so casually, so sweetly, holding her and about to give in and just stops. “you think ‘m gonna let you get away with bein’ mean to me earlier? we gotta settle up baby. gotta do somethin’ ‘bout that little attitude. told ya it was gonna get you in trouble.”

great now i’m horny and want a dom variation of eddie in my life.

[sevsgiirl]

— show her what you’re all about.

sevika x jealous!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: sevika didn’t think bringing you to one of her meetings with the chembarons would go south. then again, she probably should’ve mentioned that one of them happens to be her ex. something you didn’t take lightly when you found out.

word count: 4k words.

tags: jealousy, established relationship, margot is sevika’s ex, overstimulation, sub!sevika, top!reader, strap-ons, explicit sexual content.

note: this was inspired by lana del rey’s jealous girl hence the title reference, and also because I got a req from a reader requesting jealous sevika and although I’ll be coming back to that I wanted to do jealous reader first because I’m insane <3

it took a while for you to convince her to have you tag along at work.

it’s not that sevika was against it. if she could have an excuse to bring you with her wherever she went - whether it was to run one of silco’s collections or to ensure that some of his shipment got transferred smoothly - just as long as you’d be safe no matter what, why not?

but considering her job isn’t the safest, she’s had her doubts about letting the people in that part of her life know about her relationship at the risk of endangering you, and she’d rather be the one who gets harmed before anyone even touched a single hair on your head.

nevertheless, you persisted. telling her that people at the last drop were likely aware that she wasn’t single anymore. with her nights of gambling, drinking, and visiting the gardens becoming less frequent, they’ve probably begun to speculate that something, or rather someone, had snatched her away from her usual proclivities.

plus it’s not like you two have been discreet. on nights when sevika stayed out too late, stressed from the missions silco assigned her and where she felt the need to drink her problems away until it was well past midnight - you’d always be the one to go and fetch her from the bar.

even if you tried to convince yourself that no one had seen the two of you stumble out of the last drop together, chances were a wandering eye lurking in the shadows still managed to catch a glimpse or two.

fast forward to earlier this morning, sevika tells you that she’ll be the one taking over the assembly with the chembarons as silco had other matters to attend to.

knowing him, she already knew he was either off to make sure the enforcer who kept an eye on jinx’s sister was doing his job right, or to deal with jinx himself. as the girl couldn’t be left alone for more than five minutes without causing trouble.

and he would’ve brought sevika along hadn’t the chembarons insisted on doing a meet-up to discuss trade, shipment or stocks. which honestly, was something you didn’t bother knowing too much about.

it was common knowledge between you two that sevika’s way of living isn’t something that you agree with. it was a cesspool of violence but she’s disputed many times that the ends justify the means. that what she does for silco only works to propel zaun’s liberation and at that point, you could only keep your mouth shut because if there was one thing both of you could agree on is that the city deserved better.

for sevika, if that meant working under silco, no matter how questionable his strategies were, then sure. but it’s not like it was easy for you to let go of your lover every single day, dreading whether or not she’d come back home from work or not at all. that’s why you insisted on tagging along.

ever since the two of you met, sevika’s been the one to provide for you and that’s given you the luxury to stay at home. she’s given you the freedom to do whatever it is you want to do with your time while she’s gone, just as long as you don’t stray further away from home. but you’d be lying if you said that after a while, just being by yourself worrying if she’s okay while at work hadn't become isolating.

so you’ve been asking her for a while if you could come just to keep a watchful eye, which she turned down. even going as far as to laugh at the suggestion.

“baby,” she cooed “I don’t need you to keep an eye on me. I’m capable of looking after myself.”

you huffed “I know you can. it’s just that… it gets lonely sometimes, okay? and when it does I can’t stop myself from thinking about what weird crap silco’s put you through and if you’d be able to come out of it unharmed.” you explained “it doesn’t help that you come back some days so beaten up.“

“we’ll, you should’ve seen-“

“-the other guy. I know.” you sighed, cupping her cheek “I just get worried, vika.”

sevika couldn’t deny her heart squeezed at your words. no one’s expressed that much concern over her. she’s always been expected to bite the bullet in almost all situations - her left arm, or rather the lack thereof, being a prime example of that.

no one’s felt the need to offer anything beyond the usual ‘are you good?’ whenever she got herself into a dilemma, so to say it was hard to accept that your constant fussing stemmed from a place of genuine love and worry, would be an understatement. it felt disorienting. she wasn’t used to it.

but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel flattered. so after a while, she had finally caved in and brought you with her to the assembly. walking alongside her hand in hand as you strode through the eerie corridors of the last drop’s headquarters, walking into the elevator as sevika opened the heavy metal doors for you to step through.

she gripped your hand tightly on the journey up to the assembly room “if it gets overwhelming or uncomfortable, you tell me, okay?” she said in a soft but commanding voice.

you nuzzled closer to her and kissed the underside of her jaw “yes, boss.” you replied playfully.

she scoffed and rolled her eyes, but when you looked, the slight curve of a smile teased at the corners of her mouth.

you were glad that she brought you on this specific day where silco was absent because although you’d never admit it, that man scared the living daylights out of you. you’ve had your fair share of interactions and as far as you know, he was the only one out of the people sevika worked with who’s always known about your relationship, he just never commented on it.

he’d briefly acknowledge you whenever he’d see you at the last drop but that was about it. aside from that, you had no intention of knowing more about the notorious drug lord and even though sevika told you he’s the last person you should be afraid of, you found it hard to believe.

but as you arrived at the top and walked into the assembly room where the chembarons were all gathered, perhaps sevika was right when she said silco wasn’t even the worst one out of all of them. when your eyes scanned the room, you could only squirm from where you stood as the scrutinizing gazes of the chembarons shifted between your partner and you.

one of them a grotesque, wrinkly rodent with a ridiculous top hat and sharp claws eyed you and chortled “who’s this, magpie? your new arm candy or something?” he gestured to you, his words degrading “where’d you find her? at the gardens? you can only get a pretty little thing like that from down there.”

you scowled at the implication and before you could give him a piece of your mind, sevika beat you to it “fuck off, smeech. we’re here to discuss business. not so you could run that mouth of yours talking shit you don’t know about.”

you felt her flesh hand squeeze your waist and you quickly relaxed, her protectiveness never failing to soothe you.

she turned to look at you and cocked her at the corner “you can sit there for me, baby. this won’t take long.” she muttered and you nodded. your hand stroking her forearm one last time before you let her go and made your way to the side of the room where a dusty velvet couch was situated.

you sat silently as you watched sevika start the meeting. all the while, you felt a hot, piercing gaze drill holes into the side of your head and when you looked up, you caught one of the chembarons watching you. her elbow on the table and her chin prompted on her knuckles, she stared at you with a heated glare that made your skin prickle because really, what the fuck was she looking at you for?

she was a petite, pale-skinned woman with blonde hair that had green dye at the tips. four metal piercings could be seen on her forehead along with a clasp around her nose and two more piercings below her lips. her outfit was revealing, a black sleeveless top that showed off the deep plunges of her neckline that was only accentuated by the choker around her neck.

she wore black eye shadow and you couldn’t deny that the baroness exuded a seductive aura, her thin lips forming into a mocking grin when she noticed the way you ogled at her appearance.

you quickly turned away, uncomfortable by the unwanted attention and no wonder sevika didn’t want to bring you along to these things. the atmosphere was too unsettling and you couldn’t help but fidget from where you sat, wanting the hours to pass by already and it seemed as though sevika felt the same.

with an exasperated look on her face, the chembarons kept probing her about silco’s absence, specifically the hideous rodent from earlier “how are we even supposed to take this shit show seriously when he let one of his goons do his dirty work for him?” he said, his tone condescending.

sevika’s jaw clenched “I could care less if you want to listen to me or not, smeech. silco’s already made it clear that the lost inventory is going to be replaced and that you’ll get your money back. for now, we’ll just sign over an agreement with a deadline ensuring we’ll get the stolen cargo back.”

smeech took a hit from his cigar, the purple smoke billowing through the room and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at him “you better make sure, hot shot. silco’s been slipping lately and we all know it’s because of baby blue. who was the reason the firelights even got hold of the previous cargo that was misplaced, by the way.”

you remembered that incident, sevika came home that day the angriest you’ve seen her, your thighs involuntarily clenching at the memory of the rough sex that ensued when you offered to take her mind off it.

sevika grunted at the reminder “we told you that was the first and last time. jinx lost her shit. end of story.”

“oh come on, smeech.” the blonde baroness chimed in “you could tell darling sevika here is doing her best. so lay off her, will you? she’s more than just silco’s number two. plus she knows better than to be just some lost, kicked puppy who follows the big man around. not knowing how to be her own person.” her eyes were on you as she said the closing statement, and your eyebrows furrowed. excuse me?

however, sevika was oblivious to the subtle jab thrown at you. muttering to the baroness that sat near her “thanks, margot.” so that was her name.

you couldn’t help the ugly, prickly sensation that clogged your insides at the sight of them being friendly with each other. too friendly to be exact, given how sevika seemed to be fed up with the other chembarons.

meanwhile, her attitude towards margot held a stark difference that you just couldn’t ignore. it made you dig your nails on the sides of the couch, wanting to swallow back down the acid that suddenly churned in your throat. no, perhaps you were overreacting.

the assembly lasted for a couple more minutes until finally, sevika called it off. saying silco would be present in the next one and while the other chembarons got up to leave, margot lingered in her seat as sevika gathered the paperwork on the table.

standing up with a slight sway of her hips, your stomach twisted as you observed how she walked up to sevika and placed a tentative hand on her bicep. making your partner raise an eyebrow but making no move to shrug her off.

sevika wasn’t the type to make you jealous. she didn’t find any enjoyment in eliciting a reaction out of you by entertaining other people and you thanked her for that because although you’d never admit it, you were extremely prone to jealousy. so much so that the feeling swallows you whole and practically burns you alive. you hated the feeling more than anything.

which probably didn’t help that margot was relishing in bringing the green-eyed monster out of you. you stood up with your fists balled before you unclenched one of them to reach for the switchblade that was strapped to the holster just above your thigh.

it was something sevika gifted you on your birthday, a weapon to protect yourself with and although this wasn’t a situation you’d ever imagine you’d be using it, you couldn’t stop yourself. especially when margot dared to caress a finger over sevika’s arm, her intentions clear as day.

“how you’ve been sevika, my love? it’s been a while, no? I’ve missed you.” margot purred, grasping sevika’s bicep “I didn’t think you’d already moved on so quickly. especially since it wasn’t long since we, you know…”

your heart pummeled to the pits of your stomach. margot is her ex?

why the fuck didn’t she mention that to you? and it seems as though it wasn’t a big deal to sevika given how she only let out a tired breath at the baroness’s words “it was never serious, margot. I don’t know why-“

you didn’t even let sevika finish before your hand curled at the handles of your switchblade, your temper rising when margot didn’t cease with her invasion of sevika’s personal space and how sevika just didn’t make a move to fucking stop it.

without thinking, you grabbed the dagger in your hand and swung it across the room. the blade aiming directly between the small gap that separated the two as they jumped at the sharp object that suddenly flew past them and onto the wall, creating a noticeable dent.

your nostrils flared as sevika turned to you, her eyes wide but you dismissed her. you made your way towards them and glared menacingly at margot, but she seemed undeterred.

“I think the meeting’s already extended for far too long, don’t you think?” there was a bite to your tone that made her smirk.

margot’s gaze shifted between you and sevika before she let out a hum “hm, no wonder you chose this one.” she said before turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

your heartbeat was still pounding violently against your chest even when she left the room, the air thick with tension as you turned to sevika and she couldn’t mask her shock at the fiery look in your eyes. you look like you wanted to eat her alive and then spew her out.

“we’re talking about this when we get back home,” you said and sevika could only stay silent at the warning.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

the apartment had never been more silent.

you trudged your way inside with sevika following close behind, tossing the keys onto a nearby table while the sounds of your footsteps echoed in the small space.

once the door closed and was clicked shut, you let out a stuttering breath when you finally turned to look at your perplexed partner.

she only stared back at you “can you tell me what the fuck happened earlier?” she asked and you could only laugh at how painstakingly oblivious she was. but at the same time, it agitated you because really?

“it’s one thing not to tell me that one of the chembarons you regularly meet up with happens to be your ex,” you began and the light bulbs inside sevika’s head finally lit up “but for you to allow her to get that chummy with you is another.”

she cringed at the slight edge of your tone. she’s never seen you this pissed off before.

“baby, it’s not-“

“not what? that important? or is it because I’m just not that important to you?” you hissed and she took a step back at your words because really, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

margot didn’t mean jackshit to her. they had sex on a few occasions and even tried the whole relationship thing until sevika realized they just weren’t compatible. it lasted about a month until they decided to call it quits. sure, they’d still hook up every once in a while back then but it immediately stopped as soon as you came into the picture.

but of course that wasn’t enough for you.

“you know she doesn’t mean anything. if she meant that much to me I would’ve told you and hell, I wouldn’t even acknowledge her. and even if she did mean something to me it’s not like I would’ve tried anything with her. what do you take me for?” she was genuinely shocked you’d even feel mildly threatened at the idea of margot stealing her away because that was about as plausible as her growing her arm back.

nevertheless, you weren’t pleased by her explanation “do you know how much it pissed me the hell off seeing that wench cozy herself up to you as if you two were still a thing?” you scoffed “she’s lucky that blade didn’t cut through her fucking skull.“

she’d never seen you act this way before, what’s more surprising is not that it was out of character, but that the sudden switch in your attitude turned her on.

she’s always perceived you as someone gentle and nurturing, the complete opposite of her who oftentimes lets her anger the best of her. you were never like that. you always made a point to approach things cordially. never violent. so to see the way that you’re acting now, almost leveling with her hostility made her core clench.

an undeniable heat pooled at her insides at the way you were looking at her as if you were ready to maul her.

“baby…” she took a step towards you, and you didn’t miss the shift in her tone “come on, look at me. she doesn’t mean anything. you’re the only girl for me. you know that.”

you didn’t budge even when she started pressing kisses down your throat, palms grabbing the meat of your hips as her tongue darted to lick your neck.

“hm… fuck. I never thought you’d be the type to get so jealous.” she muttered.

you scoffed “I’m not jealous.” you pushed at her chest, creating some distance between you two “why would I be jealous of someone I know could never compare to me?”

sevika hummed at that, grinning “then why are you so angry?”

your eyes squinted as you pulled her by the collar of her shirt and tugged her closer “because it seems like you forget sometimes.”

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

sevika grunted, squeezing your sides so tightly you were sure she’d be leaving bruises on your thighs, but despite that you didn’t falter with the frantic bouncing on her strap.

the bed creaked in a violent back and forth as you threw your head back and moaned, placing your hands on sevika’s shoulders while you continued to grind against her. the ridges of her cock sliding deliciously against your tight walls “t-that’s it, baby…” she rasped, her pupils blown wide at the sight of you using her to get off “god, your pussy’s taking me so fucking well.”

you let out a chuckle, your breathing labored “no one’s gonna be able to fuck you as good as I can, vika. I hope you know that.”

she nodded, hypnotized by the way your tits bounced in front of her face while the wet squelching of your folds filled the room.

the back of the strap continuously hitting her clit and she couldn’t suppress the groans that slipped past her lips when you showed no signs of slowing down “b-baby, I’m gonna cum, holy f-fuck.”

with that, you slid off her, not being able to contain the grin on your face at the way her eyes popped open when she realized you had suddenly stopped.

“w-what are you-“

“I don’t think you deserve to cum, actually,” you said as you glowered at her, fingers reaching down to play with your clit and sevika was about as close to losing her shit when you decided to play with yourself instead.

thumbing the hood of your clit before you slipped one to two fingers in, grinding against them while sevika desperately tried to pull you back down.

you jerked yourself away from her prying hands, shaking your head at her attempts to get you to ride her again “after the stunt you pulled today, not telling me about margot-“

“she doesn’t fucking mean anything!-“

“-and not stopping her when she flirted with you in front of me?” your tone was patronizing as you observed her panicked stricken face “what makes you think you deserve to cum?”

sevika didn’t know whether to lash out or cry at this point, but knowing you, you wouldn’t succumb to her pleas unless she gave you what you wanted.

“baby, p-please. I’ll never do it again. fuck every other girl who isn’t you, okay? I only want you. you and your tight fucking pussy. I don’t want anyone else. shit. the way you squeeze around me and the way you bounce on my cock, I’d rather fucking die than lose that.” she babbled and you bit your lip at how nonsensical she sounded.

you leaned down and slipped your tongue inside hers. humming as you kissed her slowly and her eyes fluttered shut at the taste of you while you drank her moans in.

without warning, you sank down on her once more and she immediately detached her mouth from yours to let out an obscene moan when you resumed riding her.

your pace frenzied and you stared at the way her heavy breasts moved with the speed of which you rode her. her fingers clawing at your hips as she aided you with your bounces.

“you feel so good f-fucking, vika. cock so big.” your eyes rolled at the back of your head, the build-up of your orgasm approaching meanwhile sevika took in the view of your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

she then started frantically bouncing you on her strap, making you scream while your juices dripped down from your thighs.

“v-vika, I’m gonna cum!-“

“that’s it, baby. cum for me. cream all over my cock.” she groaned as your body started trembling in her hold.

your orgasm hitting you like a punch in the gut and you couldn’t stop the cries that spilled out of you when sevika didn’t stop with her relentless thrusts.

practically using you as a fleshlight and your nails dug into her forearms when you started to feel overstimulated “v-vika, please, oh my god. b-baby stop, I c-can’t…”

“a bit more…” she stuttered, her pace never faltering “I’m so sorry, b-baby. you just feel s-so fucking good.”

after a few more minutes she joined you as she came, body shaking. you fell in her arms and hugged her loosely, her cunt gushing behind the harness around her hips, humming when you started leaving little bite marks around her jaw.

you two stayed like that for a while, just relishing in each other’s presence.

“I know I said I wouldn’t pull the same shit I did with margot earlier…” she mumbled in the crook of your neck “but I’d be lying if I said seeing you jealous didn’t turn me the fuck on. not to mention the sex. jesus.”

you could only let out a snort at her fucked out state “don’t push it. next time I might actually not let you come.”

“take back what I said then,” she said quickly, making you laugh as you held her close.

[scarletttries]

Sanji NSFW Alphabet (One Piece)

Pairing: Sanji (One Piece) x Reader

Rating: Fluffy Smut

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone that voted on what my next post should be, that was very fun and cute and I'll definitely have to do voting more often! Anyway, Sanji was the top comment and these alphabets were the top vote, so please enjoy and keep an eye out for the other options coming soon 💕

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

After the euphoric highs of being with you, Sanji needs a moment to come back to earth before he can say a single thing. He'll collapse beside you, clinging to your body and pulling you close as his eyes fix to the ceiling, needing to look away from you for a breath just so he can pull himself together and not get lost in your beauty all over again.

After a moment of still, in which he can feel his whole heart healing and a lifetime of fears washing away, he'll turn to you, and suddenly he'll be creating the most loving outpour you can imagine. He's prasing every inch of you, he's trying to verbalise the enormity of his appreciation for being this close to you, he's asking for notes so he can be a better lover for the next time if you should ever deign to honour him with your company again. He gets so out of breath in his endless praise and excitement that you might just have to kiss him to shut him up, but be careful you don't get him going all over again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Sanji refuses to fight with his arms, so that his hands remain the remarkable tools that they are. Where once his favourite thing about them was their proficiency in the kitchen, now nothing brings him greater pride than using them to show you his adoration. He loves nothing more than interlacing his fingers through yours, whether you're out on the streets of some new island, or tangled up in sheets and crying out his name. He loves to see the effect even the lightest touches can have on you, and when he feels you twitch around his fingers when they're buried inside you, he knows he can die a happy man.

There's no part of you that Sanji doesn't think is the definition of perfection. You are by far the most beautiful being he's met in his life, and any time he lays a hand on you he feels like he has received a blessing from the heavens. That being said he does find his heart hammering especially hard in his chest whenever you have your legs exposed around the ship, and when you sit on the kitchen counter to keep him company you'll notice how quickly he gets distracted when he knows he could have his fingertips grazing over your thighs as he steps between them to capture your lips. Don't be surprised if he places a firm hand over your leg whenever you sit together, even though the anticipation of that simple touch is almost enough to knock the chef unconscious.

C= Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Hopeless romantic Sanji would definitely worry about getting his cum on you, feeling like you are so far above him in every way that it would be wrong for someone as lowly as him to leave himself on or in you. It would be obvious how shy he felt about it about the first time you let him get that far, but with a little gentle encouragement he'd quickly lose hold of himself and end up spilling across your chest before he can think twice. Run your finger through his release and bring it to your lips and the connoisseur of all things delicious will almost spontaneously combust, not sure he's ever felt better about being your chef.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sometimes when your clothes are still drying from laundry day, or they just aren't fitting right, you'll borrow one of Sanji's shirts to wander around the ship in. Unfortunately Sanji cannot control the effect that the sight of you in his clothes has on him, and immediately he'll be straining against his trousers, losing focus and begging you to consider putting something else on 'because you must be cold.' At first you're worried that he doesn't want you in his clothes, until he hurries you back into the cabin you share, awkwardly shuffling behind you until he can finally undo his belt, worried he might faint for the sheer rush of blood leaving his brain. Suddenly he's in adoration mode begging you to let him wear the shirt that has blessed your skin and promising to decorate you in a thousand kisses instead. If you sleep in one of his shirts, I guarantee he'll wear it all the next day just so your smell lingers in his senses all day long.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Sanji has been a lover for as long as he can remember, but you might be the first person he has ever actually pursued a relationship with, physical or otherwise. He would have a lot of enthusiasm and a keenness to learn exactly how to make you feel as special as you make him feel every day, but he wouldn't have the chance to put anything into practice before you came along. On the plus side the chef already knows how to handle things delicately, and how to devour a meal, so he's already most of the way there.

F = Favourite Position (this goes without saying)

Sanji needs to see your face to get the most of your time together, the intensity of connecting with you this way being such an important part of sex for him. A classic for a reason, he'd love being in missionary with you, able to see your every reaction to his touch and grab your thighs to keep you close, leaning back on his knees or pulling your legs onto his shoulders to feel even more of you. Get on top of him, riding him Cowgirl style, and this man will completely short-circuit, not even able to string together a compliment as he fights to remain conscious, not wanting to miss a second of the incredible view of you bouncing on top of him, but worried he might pass away if he gets any more lightheaded.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Sanji is definitely more of the intense romantic type. He might be a shameless flirt, but he doesn't take the act of having sex with someone lightly. He might let out the occasional euphoric giggle, and he'll plaster on a beaming smile if you laugh at one of his long winded compliments, but overall he's there for serious business, rather than goofing around.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they?)

Sanji likes to keep his appearance neat and tidy as a chef so he'd be very on top of any grooming and hygiene.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sanji is 100% head over heels in love with you, so you know he's going to be relishing every second of intimate connection you spent together. He takes the romantic side of sex very seriously; he wants every occasion that you're together to be as special as you make him feel, and wants you to be entirely focused on him for the duration. He'll adore taking the time to set the mood with a homemade dinner, candles, and ensuring a rare moment of calm in your complex lives.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It's no secret Sanji is a bit of a lover boy, so it's no surprise that before you were his partner, he'd pass most of his nights enjoying his own company and thinking of you. The way you looked that day, the times you'd spoken to him, the noise you made when you took the first bite of a dessert he'd whipped up just for you - it's all a bit much for his romantic heart to bare, his teeth biting his tongue as he worked his length over for fear of crying out your name in earshot of the crew. Once the two of you are an item though, he prefers to avoid his solo time, and instead save every ounce of his stamina and lust for the times he finally gets you all to himself. Nothing his imagination has ever conjured is anywhere near as sweet as the reality of being in bed with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let's start with the most obvious one - definitely a food play kind of guy. He's whipping cream and melting chocolate and begging to decorate your body like the sumptuous dessert that you are, just so he can taste every inch of you over and over again.

There's also definitely a praise kink at play with Sanji, who will fall all over himself to impress you when you're telling him he's doing a good job, that he feels incredible, that he looks so sexy buried between your thighs. He'll definitely shower you with praise as well, every notable feature he describes only adding to his seemingly endless adoration for you.

This man would let you do absolutely anything to him anyway, but offer to blindfold him with his own tie and have your way with him, and he will practically spontaneously combust. And if you prefer the be one tied down, Sanji will drop to his knees and thank whatever deity gifted him with such a perfect partner. I promise he will realllly take his time with you, devouring you for hours and exploring every curve of your body like the work of art you are, until you have to beg him to let you rest.

L = Location (favourite places to do it)

Obviously the idyllic romance of your shared cabin upon the ship, curled up in bed together, is how Sanji enjoys your romantic encounters the most. But that doesn't mean sometimes he doesn't get carried away with you perched on the kitchen counter, the briefest kiss descending into unbridled passion with his hands frantically clawing your thighs apart so he can finally be inside of you.

When you're not out at sea, Sanji loves to find romantic spots to lead you to - a secluded island hot spring, a warm isolated beach, a beautiful wildflower meadow. He'll bring a picnic and blanket, but rest assured, you're the only thing he's interested in eating.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's nearly impossible to find something you do that doesn't get Sanji going. Seeing you be good at your role on the crew, seeing you defend yourself or think quickly against an enemy, seeing you just going about the ship minding your own business. Obviously any time you smile at Sanji, or ask him the slightest question, this boy is ready to tear off his well-fitting shirt and offer himself to you for whatever would bring you joy. And when you sit on his lap, or keep him company in the kitchen, or eat something he's prepared and let out a satisfied hum - well that's when he becomes desperate to climb on top of you, manhood aching to make you feel as incredible as he feels around you.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Sanji is a very jealous partner, thanks to an undercurrent of insecurity and rejection that has plagued his life, so anything to do with sharing you is off the cards.

He also couldn't think of anything worse than doing something that would hurt you, handling you like a priceless artifact in the best way, and rarely using his full strength in bed if he can keep control.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think we all know Sanji would live and die for the chance to taste you. To feel you twitch against his tongue. To see your head tip back as the throes of ecstasy overtake you while he's working between your thighs. It's his heaven, his earth, and his everything in between. From the first time he gets to taste you, it's all he wants to do, often forgetting his own throbbing pleasure in favour of seeing if he can make you cum just one more time, living for the way you whimper out his name as he brings you to the edge again. You are the finest taste this world has to offer, and he will never take for granted that only his tongue gets to explore it.

A gentleman to his core, Sanji would be almost dismissive of your desire to go down on him. You'd have to catch him too far gone in his passionate euphoria to have any thoughts at all, but when your tongue first makes contact with his sensitive tip it's like his whole body melts into the world's happiest puddle. He'd make the absolute most pathetic noises, fighting to keep his eyes on you as they roll back into his skull with bliss. And seeing his release dripping from your lips as you lick them, that might just be enough to kill the poor chef, who is somehow already in heaven.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sanji definitely prefers to savour every second with you, taking things slowly and gently, building the sensation by worshipping your body before gradually getting to the main event. Just like in the kitchen, he doesn't like to be rushed, and he knows you achieve the best results with a delicate touch.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sanji's not the type to try and squeeze in a quickie, given he wants to make the most out of every opportunity to explore your body. That being said, if you can't keep your hands off him and are the one to make a move, he'll happily give you everything you want, exactly how you want it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

You are by far the most precious and important part of Sanji's life, so it's safe to say he's not going to be keen to do anything risky with you. He knows the fear of losing you in battle, he constantly frets that you'll find a reason to leave him, realising how far above him you are, and so his mission in life is your joy and safety. He'll experiment in the bedroom with new positions and any kinks you might want to explore, but honestly as long as you're happy, Sanji is the most content individual on all the seas.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

We've seen Sanji in battle and know he's a master of strength and endurance, but given how quickly he crumbles to his knees at the mere brush of your hand, I'm not sure that would apply in the bedroom. The gorgeous blonde would be fighting for his life from the moment he slipped into your warm, soft, wet core. Over time he'd get a little better at containing himself, but thankfully even when he's done for, it barely takes him a minute to recover and be ready for another round, and usually by then he'll have spent the better part of the day going down on you before he ends up inside you, so you really don't need to worry about your satisfaction.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

If toys exist in the one piece universe, then you can bet Sanji not only has them, but would take an endless amount of pleasure in using them on you. Maybe with your hands bound above your head with his tie, or just as a little extra stimulation to make sure you're having the best possible experience with him. And if there's a little shop selling toys on an island where you stop, Sanji will practically faint walking around it with you and looking for something new.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Sanji is so much fun to tease, because he has absolutely no poker face about how desperate he is for you. No amount of pride will stop him from begging you to finally use him if you've been working him up all day, and if you decide to grind your hips over his lap at a leisurely pace, Sanji will be in tears begging for you to bless him with the sweet gift of release.

On the other hand, Sanji doesn't consider himself a tease, thinking he was put on this earth just to tend to your every whim. However, when he starts showering you with kisses and praise as he insists on focusing on your pleasure, he is inadvertently the best tease. He knows exactly how to make your pleasure as perfect as possible, so if you ask him to speed up or to finally fuck you, he's going to insist that you trust him because knows how to give you the release you deserve, and he won't comprimise on your pleasure. Unfortunately he's always right, so you're never going to get him to stop.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Sanji isn't going to be letting out loud echoing moans, his lips are too busy running a mile a minute with compliments for every inch of your body, inside and out. Sometimes he trips over his words or they come out in a desperate whimper when you just feel too good for him to keep in control of himself. And when you tease him, or even just give him a subtle smile to let him know what you want to do when you get him alone, well then the poor guy turns into a whining mess, practically frozen with his brain malfunctioning, unable to make any sound except the tiniest 'please'.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for this character)

Sanji is 100% a crier in the bedroom. He gets so swept up in the romance of it all, the depth of his feelings for you, the kindness and love that you show him, how he's never felt anything so lovely (physically or emotionally) and it would all just be too much. From the moment he's slowly plunging inside you, to him lying awestruck beside you in the afterglow, there's tears welling up in his eyes and falling across his cheeks in beautiful lines. It might be a little confusing the first time, but as you look into his expression of sheer devotion, running your thumb across his cheek as he croaks out how much he loves you for the thousandth time today, you'll come to appreciate his emotional exterior and openness with you.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Sanji has a more slight build despite being very muscular, so he's probably more on the average size, and his practiced chef's hands really add to the sensation.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

If you looked up Yearning in the dictionary, you'd find a picture of Sanji. From the day your paths crossed, he'd think of little else but your lips, your body, your voice. Everything you do is the height of beauty, and he can't help but be very affected by your every move. Every smile you throw his way tugs on his heartstrings and send warmth fluttering all the way down his torso.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Sanji would definitely be awake for a while afterwards, recounting your every perfect expression and noise, fishing for praise on his performance, and generally pouring his mended heart out to you. The afterglow of it all is just as beautiful and meaningful to Sanji as any other part of your intimacy, and he'd cherish getting to run his fingers through your hair and hold you close as you gradually drifted off. You might occasionally feel a teardrop land on your cheek as Sanji wishes he could somehow capture these perfect moments in time and keep them with him everywhere he goes, sweet echoes of his voice whispering 'thank you' and 'i love you' inevitably finding their way into your dreams, as he lives out his.

[livvyandcaycaytakenselfies]

GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS!! I GOT TO THINKING (obvi) AND WHAT ABOUT AN OVERSEER USER IN TWST?!

Like, user has been alive since the beginning of time, and had a family of their own before they were brutally destroyed and they couldn’t save them?

(User looks around 17is and is a second year in NRC)

So skip to when they are teleported into Twisted wonderland, and they see Diasomnia‘s happy little family of four (ex, Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek) and they envy it.

She grew close with the four Diasomnia members and after some prodding from Lilia, told them who you are and why your envy came into play.

You told them about the beginning, and how you had four other people with you. The four being based on things in the world they helped with. And how either the mortals or another being (your choice) killed them off.

As if Diasomnia wasn’t obsessed with you before, the Yandere behavior became worse.

It was Lilia who reminded you of Venti

When you look at Lilia, you see your beloved Wind/Anemo Archon of freedom. The man who’s mind is plagued by war but try’s to live his life in freedom through music and love and compassion.

The man who protects his loved ones at all costs (or try’s to) whether it be through blade or words, bone or mind. Lilia is flattered by this, considering all the good things you have said of Barbatos/Venti.

It was Malleus who reminded you or Morax

Malleus with his scary demeanor and dragon relations, the one who just wants to be loved and feel something for once reminds you exactly of your beloved Archon on Geo and Contracts.

Malleus smiles at this and loves it when you talk about how much similar he is to Morax/Zhongli.

It was Silver who reminded you of Tsaritsa

(Note: Reminds you of Tsaritsa before the happenings of the Fatui and since we only have little info on her for now, these are my own personal hc for her)

Silver who reminds you of Tsaritsa

Oh how you loved Tsaritsa…

The Archon of Cyro and Love, this man looks identical to her in features as well even if the colors are slightly different.

Hidden fear of losing the people he loves, had to stone himself to reach his goals, and always has that overwhelming feeling of security but fear wrapping around you in a sleepy hug.

Silver loves you. He loves the idea of you thinking of him being of someone who loved you as so.

It was Sebek who reminded you of Ei

Ah yes, you beloved Ei. The Archon of Electro and Eternity, the stoned face Ei.

Sebek may be a loud mouth, but he has a good heart at the end of the day just like Ei. He wishes to prove himself and honor a promise made (just like Ei) and secretly has that one little thing that bring him security that he loves so much..

Sebek really didn’t know how to react at first, but he did take it was a complement. He asks you to tell him mor of Ei/Beelzibub from time to time. He loves you.

Also let’s have a lil Drabble story here:

You: “Back in my world, they say that hair holds memories.” *que long ass braid going down her back to the floor Rapunzel style*

Lilia: *smiles from the ceiling* “That’s nice beastie, I’m sure it must be true with how long yours is.”

Malleus: *Smiles and pats your head* “What a wonderful thing to have, child of stars.”

Silver: *Smiles sleepily with his hand laced into your from where he lays on the couch* “That’s nice, starlight.”

Sebek: *Nodding his head and smiling in approval* “Such a wonderful thing to have, my lady! Always able to cherish you precious memories of loved ones!”

You: “…”

You: “So somebody get me some scissors, I’m cutting this shit off-“

*Que Mal Mal, Lils, Silv, and See falling from the ceiling, couch, and stumbling.*

everyone: “ABSOLUTELY NOT!!”

[nemisuki]

New Colors 

Synopsis || A grumpy 5 yr old wanting his classmates' attention!

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, short oneshot, bkg pov, kid bkg & reader, jealous bkg, deku mentioned, both in preschool, open ending, he’s just a lil guy, 488 word count

He couldn't believe what he was hearing! 

An extra actually managed to take her attention away from him?! Ridiculous!

And out of all people... of course it had to be the nerd.

The blonde frowns from across the classroom – practically burning holes through poor izuku's skull – his displeasure evident in the way he furiously fills his page with crayon.

For a five year old, the teachers noted that the boy had quite a temper, so they didn't think much of it when he stomped out of his seat a few minutes later.

Assuming he's simply having one of his infamous tantrums.

Instead, he marches towards her direction – right after izuku retreated to his seat – feeling like a small fireball, destined to explode but holding back his fury for her sake.

The exchange between y/n and izuku bothered him more than he liked to admit.

Her innocent gaze meets his and before she could get a word out, his hand reaches down to grab her coloring book, the other pulling her hand to follow.

Hmph, as if he'll let Izuku snag her away.

She's beyond speechless. Stumbling a bit but soon pauses as he drops her hand, watching as he places her book at the table next to his.

"Sit."

He doesn't wait for a response as he plops down in his own chair, going back to filling his All Might coloring sheet like nothing.

Though his pink cheeks are clearly noticeable to anyone who'd look his way.

"o-oh but my crayons-"

He nudges his own box of crayolas towards her, not making eye contact as he focuses on coloring inside the lines.

The boy can hear her sit down beside him, a small sound of awe escaping her lips as she takes a crayon for herself.

"thank you kacchan! you always got the best colors!"

A cheerful smile immediately forms on her face, her mood brightening up instantly – legs happily kicking back and forth under the table – another testimony to her increasing joy.

"hmph of course i do! the best for the best!"

The feeling of triumph fills his veins but the cocky smirk wavers from his face as he looks at you. A fluttering feeling in his chest as she giggles to his words.

He averts his gaze as his blush deepens.

"...you can borrow them too but only if you sit next to me from now on."

"ah- really?! okay i promise!"

"just don't give them to anyone else...... especially him."

He mumbles the last part to himself, waving off her oblivious expression as she asks him what he said.

Bakugo Katsuki does not share – whether it's his lunch, school supplies or toys – steal one of his valuables and it's absolute mayhem.

But to the stunned teachers who saw it all, and the shocked kids when he actually offered stuff to someone, it seemed he added another treasure to his list... you.

Poor innocent you.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| idk where this idea came from but here u goooo! it's rlly short bc ngl i got superrrr lazy today so enjoy this little drabble! bring back innocent fluff i say... lowkey wanna make a story of them as babies bc thats so funny to me for some reason lololol. OMG ALSO DOES ANYONE REMEMBER THE 64 PACK OF CRAYONS THAT HAD A SHARPENER INCLUDED IN THE BOX?! BRING THAT BACK!!! tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[okkotsuus]

"boyfriend" (tabito k.) !

features: tabito k.

contents: pre-established relationship. fluff.

notes: my man my man my man... also i lowkey like this writing format because it lets me pump out content faster, but i still plan to write longer things when i have the time. maybe i'll make a boyfriend mini-series for this.

tabito karasu is the boyfriend that always keeps an arm looped around you. fingers drumming against your skin that is just barely shown from the hem of your shirt riding.

tabito karasu is the boyfriend who presses a kiss to your cheek right after licking his lips just to hear you gasp and furiously try to wipe his spit off of your warmed cheeks.

tabito karasu is the boyfriend who acts like he's impossible to fluster but finds himself getting giddy over every little thing you do. whether it just be something as simple as showing him a stupid reel and going "us for real"

tabito karasu is the boyfriend who drags you just about everywhere he goes. from on snack runs late at night to his menial errands mrs. karasu assigns him on. you and him come as a package deal.

tabito karasu is the boyfriend who never shuts up about you to his friends. he brings you up when just about anything is mentioned. once, when otoya was talking about some ninja thing, he dreamily sighed and said he thought you'd be a great shinobi/kunoichi. absolutely whipped.

tabito karasu is the boyfriend who keeps something you gave him as a lucky charm. ideally it is something he can wear, like a necklace. bonus points if it's a cutesy beaded friendship bracelet that he can wear under the sleeves of his kit.

tabito karasu is the boyfriend who silently thanks the world for pulling his head out of his ass and bringing him back to you. even if the two of you's path to love wasn't perfect, he would never have wanted it any other way.

okkotsuus 25