#but getting through today was enough for today

[satzumosupremacy]

Ignite The Spark II

Male reader x Kazuha

Tags: Smut 4.5k Words

Part 1

What truly matters is that your home carries deeper meaning. You wouldn’t settle for anything less when the empty chair across from the dining table belongs to Kazuha, or when you go to sleep and wake up together every day.

A smile crosses your face as you step into the apartment. Your gaze is drawn to the hoya kerrii plant, with its iconic heart-shaped leaves perfectly placed by the window. It wasn’t something you initially wanted in the home, but you didn’t see the point in having a small, silly argument over a plant. She thinks it’s a romantic addition to the space, and, over time, you’ve somehow grown fond of it.

“Zuha,” you say, walking through the short hallway into the bedroom and smelling her shampoo in the air.

“Hey, you’re home!” she smiles.

“What do you think of the dresser? It was the one you wanted.”

“It’s amazing,” she says and comfortably takes off her towel that’s wrapped around her body to set it on the rack. Kazuha smirks mischievously, and you seem to have an idea about she’s thinking. Super obvious enough.

“I sent my friend home after they helped out with this dresser.”

“You didn’t tell them how we broke the old one right?” she says, her voice carrying a teasing smirk as she brushes her fingertips across the dresser.

“No, Babe, why would I?” you softly say.

What really happened to the old one? Well, you bent her over, got a little bit too rough, and one of the legs unexpectedly snapped at the bolts. The truth is, the dresser was old, and the materials had seen better days—it wasn’t going to last much longer anyway. Consider it the perfect excuse to upgrade to a much sturdier one. 

“Maybe the first thing we can do is test the quality of this dresser. How about that?”

“Zuha,” you say, chuckling, because you couldn’t say no, because she’s already naked. What can you really do about it as she leans on the dresser with her hands behind her back, just waiting for you?

“Naughty boy," she says, beckoning you to come closer, and so easily, you do. Kazuha places her hands on your chest while you grab the sides of her hips, gently massaging her as you stare right into her eyes. “Thanks for building it, babe.”

“I swear, if this one somehow breaks, you’re buying the next one and building it yourself,” you chuckle, sarcastically teasing her.

“That’s not fair,” she utters. You love how she looks insanely hot with her hair damped. And just that fresh smell of her out the shower makes you impulsively want to fuck her. You gulp, and she looks directly into your eyes, “what are you waiting for, Babe?”

“You’re making me nervous. Okay?”

“Oh, shut up,” she chuckles, leaning in for a quick kiss on your lips. You lift Kazuha up and set her down on the cold surface of the dresser as she chuckles again. “You know this will be put to good use, right?”

“Mhm, I know. But dressers aren’t made for what we intend to do.”

“So what? Who’s stopping us?” Kazuha mischievously chuckles, and she looks so hot that it’s starting to be a problem. A good one.

“What’s with you today?” You didn’t mean to be rude, but those eyes of hers are so seductive that it’s becoming a problem. Again.

By all means, she’s both a problem and a solution. You're always torn between wanting some fun and taking things seriously, caught in the pull of her charm and the chaos she stirs.

“Were you waiting for this moment too?”

Honestly, and quite literally, you did. You knew Kazuha was on her way home after you dropped off your friend, so instead of admitting it, you decide to tease her for fun. “Maybe. Maybe not.'"

“I hate you,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“I love you,” you say, leaning in to give her a quick peck on the lips.

Kazuha pulls back just as quickly after getting a kiss, “fuck me like you mean it then,” she starts to roll up your shirt.

You chuckle, “oh, is this how it’s going to go?”

“C’mon, fuck me, Babe. What’s stopping you? I need your attention fully on me today.” If she say so, and if she’s pulling onto your shirt to come off, you might as well fuck her right on the dresser. Kazuha throws your shirt across the room as it lands on the lamp near the bed and pulls you in to meet her lips, kissing and breathing heavily. “Baby, do you even realize that you’re hard? I know you never get enough.” Maybe Kazuha got you right there. It’s not your fault when she’s naked in front of you with her legs spread open, skin so pure and soft to the touch.

“Take off my—” you say, and you didn’t have to tell her, she’s already pulling your pants down as it drop to the floor. You had no idea when she unzipped your pants.

“Too slow,” she seductively chuckles. You can feel her hand grabbing your cock. It’s always the best feeling when her soft-small hands are all over your it, like she owns it. Your breath becomes heavy and sees her spitting onto her hand to lubricate your cock.

“Push it in,” she whispers with the tip of your cock inches away from entry.

“We’re moving way too fast,” you utter, which, honestly, you’re just worried for her. Having sex was her was planned, but you didn’t think she would rush it.

“Just put it in, Babe,” she spreads her legs wider, demanding for you to get all up inside her.

“Fine, if you say so,” and you gently drove your cock inside, slow enough to get her to moan, deepest you can go in her slick pussy. And little did you know, the shower head did come in handy as a toy for her while you were gone. You hear her shallow gasps and moans. It’s nothing new, but it’s satisfying to hear her gorgeous voice whenever you’re inside her. It’s brings you joy, especially when her legs tense up as she tries to sit still on the new dresser.

You feel her arms getting tighter on the sides of your stomach, and the way Kazuha’s nails digs into your back as you kept thrusting back and forth into her pussy. There’s no need for words, you know she’s loving it, and you’re loving it, arguably more than her.

“Harder,” Kazuha moans out, trying to catch her breaths. She rests her chin on your left shoulder, and just to seduce you more, she whispers in the most erotic voice ever, “fuck me harder, Babe.”

She’s making you go insane. Your mind isn’t where it was. This woman, actually, your girlfriend knows how to push your buttons after all the naked times together. And you will fuck her as much as you mean to love her.

“Fuck,” you groan, and you’re slowly finding the sweet spot to set the pace. She’ll be taking every inch, and every drop of cum that she didn’t get today.

“Babe,” she grunts, “oh gosh—.”

“Take it,” you growl, so aroused by the way how she’s moaning right in your ear.

The dresser rocks back and forth. There’s nothing in it. It was just built hours ago, and somehow, fucking her is the first thing you do on the dresser. And while she’s moans so beautifully, her arms cling to you desperately, one wrapping around you after the other, as she struggles to get a firm grip. Kazuha can’t even get a word out her mouth. You’re so deep inside, penetrating through her slick walls.

“Zuha,” you groan and gasp, hugging her in your warm embrace, slowing down to catch your breath while hearing hers.

“Keep going, I want it,” Kazuha murmurs softly into your ear, her breath sending a tingling sensation across your skin, like the brush of a gentle breeze. “Love me. Have me. Cum in me, like you always do.”

Her words make you smile, the curve of your lips pressing gently against her neck. She can feel the warmth of your cheekbones against her skin, and though you can’t bring yourself to respond with words, the smile speaks for itself. It’s an answer more honest than anything you could say.

You breathe on her neck, and slowly, again, driving your cock in and out Kazuha for a feeling of ecstasy as she arches back and her head leans against the wall from how deep you’re inside her. She grips right onto your broad shoulders, squeezing them in rhyme with your thrust. Her gaze is filled with love and passion, pulling you deeper into the endless depths of her ocean eyes. It’s as if time has ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment while the rest of the world fades away. The room feels smaller, and the silence between both of you fill with unspoken emotions. Despite the weight of it all, you feel an irresistible pull, a need to keep going, no matter how difficult it is to not cum.

You’re so into the moment as Kazuha moans her feelings out with no one to judge, and so was the look she gave you—intense, tender, and entirely unforgettable. It was something special, something that's only meant for you, carrying a depth of emotion that words could never capture. Kazuha can feel your cock throbbing, and again, you’re not stopping. It’s not an option.

“Baby,” she whimpers and gripping into your shoulders harder as she lets out a chorus of endless moans. You feel her squirming around, legs tightly wrapped around your back, cumming.

“Kazuha,” you groan, feeling the tightness of her walls not letting you go. And you kiss the underside of her jaws as she catches her breath to offer you some help with her legs on your back. It’s not looking good for you at the very least, you’re bound to cum any second by how deep she’s pulling you in harder with all her might. “Zuha,” you grunted, like it’s a last chance of her top stop and continue for longer.

She’s not stopping as you take a deep breath, knowing that you couldn’t go any further.

And so, you cum as Kazuha leans back up to hug you in her warm-loving embrace. Nothing feels better than being in her arms. That warm, fuzzy feeling of her heartbeat syncing with yours creates a comfort, as if the world melts away while your cock throbs to fill her womb.

“Kazuha,” you say again, softly whispering, yet gasping with a heavy breath. And if only you can see how she’s smiling behind your back. “We could have went longer.”

“I really wanted it,” she chuckles and hugs you in tighter. "I'm sorry."

“By the way,” you say, catching your breath, “the quality of this dresser is amazing. For now.”

“The reviews were right, at least not for what we just did. It did rock back and forth a little bit though.”

“Babe, that’s because there’s nothing inside,” you chuckle, being witty enough that she chuckles from such an obvious reasoning. There’s no response from Kazuha, other than her chuckle as the two of you hold each other while your souls are intertwined. Outside, the birds chirp, and the distant honking of cars drifts up from the street below. It’s in her arms, in the quiet of this embrace, that you begin to notice the little things that had gone unnoticed just minutes ago.

“I have to go blow-dry my hair,” she says softly, releasing you from her embrace. Her arms linger for just a moment before she pulls away.

“Need some assistance?” you say with a playful grin.

“Wait for me, I need to put on my panties,” Kazuha smiles and gently hops off the dresser. You nod and pick up your pants to put it back on. Kazuha opens the closet and grabs the first panties she sees. Neither could you stop yourself from checking her out, even if she catches you and laughs.

“Are you just putting on your panties only?” you question, sitting right front of her as she puts on her panties, one leg at a time, and up to her waist.

“Yeah, figured we can do it on the bed right after? I’m just letting you get a quick rest,” she chuckles and grabs your hand to take you to the bathroom.

“Naughty girl,” you utter, laughing along with her as you flick the bathroom light on. Kazuha grabs her hair dryer, plugs the cord in, and then hands it over to you with a sparkle in her eyes. As you shuffle through her hair with the dryer in your hand, the warmth of the air mixing with the soft rhythm of your movements, you catch her gaze in the mirror. She’s smiling, and something about her eyes lights up makes you ask, “what are you thinking about?”

“Isn’t it funny how we ended up here to dry my hair after our quick little fun?” she shyly chuckles. “Don’t you think we haven’t been doing it much lately too? I mean, we didn’t do it for five days now until today.”

You wave the hairdryer around, carefully distributing the heat, your thoughts momentarily drifting as you search for the right words. “We’ve been very busy, Zuha. Let’s understand that,” you say, the hum of the dryer filling the space between your words.

“I know,” she pouts playfully, her eyes lingering on you as she watches you dry her hair in the mirror, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. In that moment, there was nothing but the quiet intimacy you both share. “I love it when we spend time together. Just like right now,” she adds, her voice softening, the warmth between you both making the moment feel even more special.

“I love you, Kazuha,” you say, softly, yet clear enough for her to hear besides the noise of the hairdryer in the bathroom.

“I love you too,” she says, smiling and chuckling. You continue to dry her hair, your hand gently shuffling through her scalp, the steady hum of the hairdryer filling the quiet space. Despite your focus, Kazuha doesn’t take her eyes off of you, her gaze soft yet intense, as if she's studying every flicker of your expression. There's a playful tension in the air, a shared sense of comfort and curiosity, as she silently watches you, letting the moment linger.

It’s like she owes you the world, though you know she doesn’t. You took her in during her struggling times, offering her a safe place when she needed it most. What started as friendship slowly blossomed into something more, a love that was found in the quiet moments between the chaos. You both navigated the shift and now, it feels like fate—two souls who once spent a night for some comfort, now bound by something deeper, something undeniable. You struck gold in multiple places when it comes to her.

With mischievous intentions, you couldn’t help but smirk as you’re almost done drying her hair. “I dare you to turn around,” you say, turning off the hairdryer, deciding to let the rest of her hair to air dry. She only has panties on, you just have to do something about her.

Kazuha turns around to face you, just staring right into your eyes and you feel her hands sliding down to your crotch as a tease. “Should we?”

Without answering, you gently lift her onto the vanity, your hands steady as you guide her with care. As she settles, you lean in and give her a soft kiss. Kazuha digs into your pants with chuckle, not letting you have any more rest.

“Round two,” she utters with a heavy breath. "How do you want me?"

“Bent over,” and that’s all you say, firmly, a want, and a need.

Kazuha just laughs. She expected this from you. “Okay, Babe.”

“Think we should start here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispers.

“Bend over.”

Quick and easy, it can be the best when it comes to moments like this. A start of a kiss that’s simple, yet full of meaning. Just the feeling of being together, everything else can wait.

You give her space as she hops down from the vanity to quickly bend over. As you get a glimpse of her gorgeous back, you’re already so impatient to be grabbing her by the hips and hearing her moans echo throughout the bathroom. For all the right reasons, you deserve your time with her, however you want her. And so, you drop your pants down and get closer to pull her panties to the side, grabbing your cock, then lightly slapping it on her ass before you put it in.

“Just put it in already, Sweetie,” she lightly chuckles, impatiently. And after listening to her little cute plea, you insert the tip of your cock slowly in, pushing your length in as she grips onto the marble counter.

Her moans echo, just like you wanted to, so crystal clear in the bathroom as she arches back with her eyes closed. You give her a kiss on the neck. Then clearly, another smile that she can’t hide. You love seeing her smile, it’s such a weakness when you would fuck this woman to sleep on some nights she would want it so bad.

And so, you pull her up gently in front of you, hugging her from behind with your cock still inside, not a single thrust. “We should go to the bed after,” you murmur, getting a whiff of her hair.

“I’d love that,” she whispers, heavily breathing as you push your hips against hers. You close your eyes, slowly thrusting into her again. And with your hands, you explore her chest, groping her tits, giving her nipples some flicks as she chuckles and moan at the same time. Kazuha holds onto your hand, wherever you decide to touch her body, she’ll be holding it as your hands go lower down to her clit.

“Oh my gosh, Babe,” she chuckles, swirming around in your embrace. There’s a deep breath she took, and slowly, neither can she hold herself up with the sensation you give her. "It's sensitive."

“Put your leg up,” you say, almost like a demand as she bends over again when you let her off of you and even your cock slips out when she props her left leg up onto the vanity. Your cock is drenched in cum as you insert it back in. Forget about the mess if there was any, Kazuha is fully getting your attention.

You grab onto the side of her hips, continuing to drive your cock in and out as she moans over and over. The bright lights of the bathroom shines over her body that you still can’t get enough of. Your cum leaks out down to her right leg, slowly trickling down her thighs while you shove your cock in and out, in the most passionate ways that she loves.

Moments go by, not knowing how long it really is. You pull out with your cock drenched in the creamy consistency of your own cum that was inside her. You’re so addicted to her in every way, from her body, to her heart. This nerd, sometime a sore loser at times, yet such a naughty girl is everything you want. A beautiful face, stunning body, and to the way she’s so flexible in bed makes you lose your mind.

“Get on the bed, Zuha,” you gasp, pulling out.

She quickly catches her breath, and before you can fully come back to reality, Kazuha gets down on her knees to suck on your cock without even giving you a heads up. This woman is surely yours, and neither is she going to miss out from getting a taste. She’s smiling so happily, yet so exhausted by how much love you show her, and it’s only right that she gives you the same attention.

It’s quite romantic.

“Kazuha,” you gasp again, grabbing her nape and looking down to see both your gazes meet each other.

She pulls off and licks her lips, taking in the delight that's rightfully hers. You brush her hair to see that gorgeous face of hers. Kazuha gets up and holds your hands to drag you to the bedroom. Quickly, she crawls on the bed, stopping right in the middle with her ass out for an invitation.

“Come here, Babe,” she says, laughing and having a good time with you.

You crawl on the bed from behind her as she awaits for you to insert your cock back in, and slowly, she feels your tip brushing on her clit, enough for her to softly whimper with a smile. Kazuha groans once you insert your cock inside, grunting harder the deeper you push against her ass.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groan, letting out a gasp right after, cock throbbing deep inside of her. Slowly after driving your cock in, you catch your breath, not knowing whether one more thrust could be the end. You wouldn’t want that, but to Kazuha, she won’t even complain.

“Can’t go on, Babe?” she softly says, turning back to get a look at you with a chuckle. “Should I do the honors?”

No, she shouldn’t. You know damn well that she’s going to make you cum when you see the smirk from the corner of her mouth.

“No, Zuha. I got it.”

“Should I lay down on my stomach?”

And with a mischievous smirk, you give her a gentle thrust to make her gasp while still on all fours. “I’ll tell you when you can lay down, Babe,” you softly say.

You continue to thrust as Kazuha clenches her teeth and her head hangs down, bobbing. “Yes, Baby, right there.”

You’re admiring her ass bouncing from the way you start holding onto the side of her hips. There’s no better feeling to hear her moaning and seeing her tightly gripping onto the blanket up front from the sides. You give her ass a slap, then another—a harder one, then one where Kazuha would scream out a louder moan while you continue to shove your cock deep in her pussy. And while you’re have the time of your own life, she arches even more, to the point where it’s driving you crazy, giving you the testimony of your own limits for such a view.

Let her moan all she want, and that’s what you also want. This woman is all yours. You’re going to fill her womb for the second time within a period of the day. The slickness of your own cum coating your cock in her is already motivating to keep going. You just want more of a mess to see her panties stained in cum by the next morning. And Kazuha should know who she belongs to.

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” you groan, almost growling by clenching your own teeth and giving her ass some touch of love after a spanking.

Both of you are so distracted that the bed creaks, and it’s actually unsurprising at this point where neither of you couldn’t honestly care less about it. And as she feels you pushing against her ass, you slowly trace your hands onto her back to grab her hair, looping it around your wrist. Kazuha’s facing forward, moaning and panting as you give her the treatment she’s been fiending for. The handful of the hair you grab stiffens the more you pulled her back. She’s almost looking up to the ceiling with her back arched, smiling, loving the kink.

“Babe, Ugh,” she grunts, mouth wide open to get all the air she can to take your cock.

You release her hair and gently push down onto her back, the cue for her to lay on her stomach as she slowly and smoothly props herself down with your cock still in her.

“Oh, Babe,” she softly moans, brushing her hair back and comfortably lean on her arm that’s on the pillow. “Such a romantic.”

And so, to what she doesn’t expect, you lean down, kissing her on the left shoulders, then to the right, equally giving Kazuha’s body some attention. “I know you love this position.”

“I fucking do,” she says with passion, and a smile on her face that you saw a glimpse of as you lean back up to put both your hands on her ass to spread. Kazuha’s breaths get heavy with every inch of your cock. She looks so comfortable with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths, moaning whenever your cock penetrates deeper into the creamy walls of her pussy.

You’re not giving the roughest pounding that will send her to sleep right after. This woman’s loving every second and minute of your cock. And by the amount of time passed by, you’ve lost track all because of her.

“Kazuha,” you groan, deciding to get closer as you lean down to her ears with the intentions of making her heart flutter, “Baby.”

Again, she smiles without hesitation, enjoy the romance, so comfortably lying down and feeling your cock throbbing more and more between her tight walls. You’re reaching your limit at this point, and you’ve done enough that she’s enjoying the moment being shared.

So, without much thought, and because of your desire to fill her womb every chance you get, you cum, pressing your hips against her ass, mashing your cock so deep that she lets out a quick whimper. Kazuha feels your cock throbbing, pulsating, so much of your warm, sticky cum being dumped in her that makes her so happy. You crash down and press against her body while the two of you catch your breaths. And there’s not a single moment that both your smiles fade away.

Slowly, and even gently, you pull out after giving her a kiss on her cheek and lay right beside her. Kazuha gets up on her knees and with a chuckle, she crawls to your cock. She licks the tip, then down the sides to taste the remaining cum that’s left for her. “Should I wake you up like this tomorrow morning?”

With a smile, you’ll never say no this. “Best way to wake me up.”

“That’s for sure,” she smirks, wiping the cum off her lips with her tongue. “By the way, I have to get on a call for a project in an hour.”

“I’ll be out the bedroom for you to focus when the time comes.”

Kazuha gets up and goes to the bathroom to turn on the faucet. “You don’t have to, Babe. But what should we do tomorrow? It’s the weekend.”

“I don’t know? Maybe laundry and shopping? We do need groceries.”

She turns off the faucet and picks up your pants that was left in the bathroom to give it back to you. “It’s my turn to pay, remember?”

“And I can see the unnecessary stuff that you’ll buy, Zuha.” you say, reaching for your pants from her hands.

“I promise that I won’t buy too much,” then she murmurs quickly, “it would be nice if you buy me a promise ring.”

“A what?” you say, which you didn’t catch the part she murmured.

Kazuha laughs, “never mind.”

[kizzer55555]

Do You Feel That?

Idea. So imagine the bats are going to Amity (or a place nearby) to investigate something. A building that had very strange readings, maybe even investigating a case. Probbaly starting in a forest. So this place is haunted naturally, and the ghosts can’t be perceived by the human eye. In this universe, Danny can technically become visible in his ghost form if he concentrates, along with many powerful ghosts, but their default is intangibility and invisibility and it’s just inefficient to use a that much power just to be seen. So most things that happen in Amity are not seen by normal people. Those infected by ectoplasm (the pits and ectoplasm being two separate things in this) are able to see ghosts after enough exposure. So if a hero were to come to Amity, they would see the destruction happening but it would look like some kind of invisible force, and then if they ask why others aren’t panicking, they just say Phantom is taking care of it.

Anyways, so the bats do not know about ghosts and are investigating this house and basically every kind of malevolent spirit you can think of is there and trying to mess with them. After all, even if they can’t see a ghost, that ghost can still affect them. And Phantom sees these idiots getting closer to one of the designated danger zones in his territory. (Or he was visiting a nearby haunted area due to the rising danger level and sees the bats right in the middle of it) The place all natives know to avoid at all costs. So the bats go anyways, completly oblivious to the danger. Danny arrives just in time to stop a ghost who was inches away from digging their claws into Red Robin.

And it goes on with Danny desperately keeping the ghosts back, tackling them, shooting them, growling and hissing and doing everything in his power to shield the oblivious heroes and keep them safe. He can’t even warn them because he’s spending too much power just keeping them alive in the woods. Because of course they decide to investigate the most haunted woods near Amity. Most of these spirits are old, angry, and wild.

And the bats are just casually going about their buisness, discussing the case and the evidence they found.

Danny tackles a ghost wolf to keep them from biting their fangs into Red Hood’s neck.

They follow some tracks.

Danny grabbing the shadowing tendrils attempting to strangle Nightwing.

They even joke around and push each other.

Someone temporarily possessed Red Robin and he starts reaching for a batarang with bloodlust in his eyes, before Danny digs his hands into the bat’s chest and rips out the foreign entity.

There is screaming, snarling, screeches, and lots of punches thrown, all unheard by the bats.

By the end, Danny is panting as they finally made it out of the forest. The bats are tracking a signal, and heading towards an abandoned house. Danny looks up and sees the place absolutly overflowing with spirits. They are crawling up the sides, eyes and teeth and tentacles moving through the wooden boards. Banshees and wraiths, eyeing them through the windows. Skinny limbs with barely any form creaking as their claws try to escape the house and reach towards the group below. Hundreds upon hundreds of spirits all confined to this small hut and ready to tear apart any who enter.

Danny takes one look at them, overhears the bats say that they have to head inside, and decide that he’s not dealing with this today. So he shoots a small laser to cut their power. No signal? No lights? No search.

He can hear the bats complaining but eventually, they have to turn back as they lost the signal and they are unable to continue. And hears them talk about how the place was so weird. Almost like something was watching them.

Phantom sags in relief once they are finally gone.

While they leave, Danny squares his shoulders because he needs to deal with all these ghosts before they get back.

Later, after not finding anything strange about the house or forest or the cause of their case (possibly a death? Or maybe just trying to find information connecting to something else?) and all the previous evidence and traces were gone. So they call in the magic users to use a spell to show the past and figure out what happened. And they can see the group in a sort of 3D holographic image as they investigated. But the spell doesn’t just show them, it shows every being from that time….so the group gets to see just exactly how close they all came to dying.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Off limits pt.2 - Remus Lupin

summary: remus can’t help but liking the one person who’s off limits, but it seems like they him too. black!reader - read part 1 here!! wc: 1.3k+

It was becoming harder for Remus to ignore his feelings for you, especially after that dream. He started thinking of you cuddled next to him, on his lap, on his dick, in your pyjamas, in less than your pyjamas. Remus felt disoriented the entire way through the day, remnants of the dream still pounding in his head. He didn’t think he could believe a single thing that would happen throughout the day. And even worse, Sirius held some sort of animosity towards him ever since he’d witnessed your interaction at the Three Broomsticks. This officially turned into Remus’s worst nightmare.

Remus felt as though he spent the entire day trying to convince Sirius that there was nothing going on between you. In other words, he spent the day lying to both himself and his best friend. At lunch in the Great Hall, Sirius sat out of the conversation, instead training his eyes on you from across the hall. Sirius saw as your eyes moved towards his general direction, but since you didn’t return the glare he was giving you, he became confused. That was until he realised that you weren’t staring at him, but the boy beside him. Remus chatted along with James as he ate, a smile gracing his features, clueless to the way you stared at him with admiration.

Sirius glanced back and forth between you and Remus, furrowing his eyebrows as you propped your chin up on your hand, sighing dreamily. What the fuck? Thought Sirius. Narcissa stood up next to you, slinging her bag over her shoulder and you quickly followed, tearing your eyes away from the chestnut-haired boy. From across the vast hall, Remus’s eyes were caught by your sudden movement, dozing out of his conversation to watch you leave to your next lesson.

Sirius huffed, crossing his arms as Remus said his goodbyes, claiming Slughorn wouldn’t be happy if he were late to class. Sirius scoffed; he’d had Slughorn as a teacher for long enough to know that he was one of the most lenient professors in entire the castle. Remus trotted through the hallways, hoping to catch you before class started. He slowed his step down just as he rounded the corner to the Potions hallway, but his face fell when he found Narcissa waiting in front of the closed classroom alone.

Remus tried not to look too disappointed, attempting a nonchalant expression as he ran a hand through his hair. When he made eye contact with Narcissa, he froze, eyes going wide. Your cousin had her arms crossed over her chest, a smirk on her face. The knowing look on her face scared Remus, and when she cocked an eyebrow up at him in question, he feared he would be spilling all his secrets to her. “I-” Remus shut his mouth, turning away from the intimidating blonde to find you rushing down the hallway, a nervous smile on your face.

“Hey.” Remus nervously greeted, both hands gripping the strap of his book bag. “Hi.” You responded, but before you could bring the conversation any further, Slughorn opened the door to his classroom, ushering you all in. With one last look to a terrifying Narcissa Black, Remus slid into the classroom. Similarly to the day before, it didn’t take long for you to become bored of Slughorn’s slow drawl, but at least today you were brewing a potion in pairs.

Remus turned to find Frank on the opposite side of the room, who he usually paired up with, but he was stopped by a hand placed atop his. He turned towards you, mouth agape. “Pairs?” You asked, looking deeply into his eyes with a sweet smile on your face. Remus sputtered, looking past you towards Narcissa, who was already speaking to Severus, seemingly unfazed by your decision. Remus turned his attention back to you, nodding eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

But there was one problem to this: Remus had forgotten about his dream and how it would affect his interactions with you. “I’ll go get these ingredients.” You announced, disappearing into the ingredient cupboard. It was only when you walked out, carrying jars of ingredients in your hands that Remus’s mind flashed back to the dream he had. Of you, walking towards him as though he was your prey, before you demanded him to kiss you. Remus shook the thought away, rushing towards you to help with the ingredients you carried. You both worked quickly and efficiently, with the exception of Remus zoning out when your fingers grazed, or you smiling too sweetly at him whilst you waited for Professor Slughorn to come examine your potion.

“Are you doing anything this afternoon?” You asked Remus, who shrugged his shoulders, a pink hue unfolding onto his cheeks. “Any surprise appearances to Hogsmeade?” You laughed at the humiliated look on Remus’s face, who began stuttering in an attempt to explain himself. You giggled, cocking your head to the side. “It’s okay Remus, it was a nice surprise. It cleared out any doubts I had about your feelings towards me.” Remus’s face went impossibly redder, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, Professor Slughorn made his appearance. You had to suppress the roll of your eyes and the annoyed scowl, instead smiling respectfully at the old man.

Every time you attempted starting the conversation up again, Slughorn either interrupted you by finishing up his lesson, or people were too close for comfort. You sighed disappointedly, waiting awkwardly for Slughorn to dismiss the class before jumping up excitedly. You and Remus waited until the rest of the students cleared the crowd, emptying the hallways out until you finally walked out together. “So… What did you mean by your doubts about my feelings towards you?” Remus finally spoke up, coming to a halt outside the classroom. He had spent the entire rest of the lesson thinking of your words which echoed in his brain like an ear worm.

Turning to face Remus, you mustered up the most confident tone possible. “Well I like you, and it’s good to know that you like me back.” Remus’s quiet gasp made hope flutter in your chest, but your confident stance was breaking down with every second he stayed silent. Remus opened and closed his mouth in uncertainty before finally landing on “You like me back?” You grinned widely at the reassurance of the boy’s feelings towards you, and you rolled your eyes jokingly, muttering “Yeah, don’t beat yourself up over it.” Remus laughed happily, watching as you rocked back and forth on your feet. You glanced down at your feet, hesitantly clutching the strap of your bag. “Well-” But Remus’s hands on your cheeks were quick to silence you, pulling your gaze back on his face. He stared at you for a moment, as though mentally debating something before finally leaning down to peck your lips quickly.

You smiled widely when Remus pulled away, your hands travelling upwards to grip the bottom of his jumper. “Well, you sure have plans for this afternoon now.” You said, watching as Remus’s eyes shone with a happy gleam.

“Yeah?” “Yeah.” “I’ll find you after class then.” “Okay.”

But your happy little exchange was short lived, for when you turned around to make your way to your next class, you met Sirius’s angry stare, glued to you from the other side of the hallway. From Remus’s quiet “Oh no.” behind you, you knew that you weren’t the only one in trouble. You cleared your throat, spinning on the balls of your feet to quickly begin making your way to class. Loud footsteps followed you, and you groaned, immediately knowing that you were in for a scolding. A scolding that would probably cause you to skip your next class.

taglist: @treefairy-28 @screechingovercaffeinatedgumball @therealmsmisery @ilovejamespottersomuch @plk-18 @lxdystxrdustt @ravisinghs-wife @moonyswifee @jimeniita

[dixonsbrat]

── .✦ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃? ┆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ; after weeks of visiting the video store in the hopes of catching steve’s attention, it seems that your efforts weren’t entirely pointless.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; steve harrington x fem!reader , fluff , steve being oblivious and robin on her queen shit getting things done.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ; 1.8k .ᐟ

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ; love me some ditzy nervous stevie <33

“y/n, hey!” robin waves the second you enter the small video store, the smell of freshly cleaned carpet and plastic invading your senses. you and the other girl were quick to become friends, getting on over your shared love for certain movies. "what are we in the mood for today?"

“i’m not sure, but... i do need to return this.” you smile, gesturing to the tape in your hand, and she bounds towards you, leaving behind her trolley of already returned tapes.

“follow me and i will get steve to take care of you… as always.” a roguish grin takes over her features, and she leads you towards the counter where steve was currently on the phone.

it was no secret to robin that you had been fawning over the boy for some time now, even going as far as to make extra trips to the store just to see him, but she swore with scouts honour that she wouldn’t tell him. it didn’t come as much of a shock to her though, most of the girls that came in just wanted to stare at him, but not you — you actually wanted to get to know him.

for weeks you had been trying to get his attention, trying to figure out if he was the least bit interested in you, but to no avail. sure, he would joke around and act flirty, but he did that with most of the girls that would come in. you were no different.

however, what you didn’t know was that every saturday afternoon, steve would purposely sit by the front counter just in the hopes that you would walk through the door. he would tell robin that it was his turn to take over the returns and man the phones, but she knew better than to believe him. he just wanted to make sure he was the one that got to serve you if, and when, you decided to come in, and every time that you did, he did.

as you approach the counter, you can’t help but admire steve as he’s visibly lost in the conversation he was having. he was certainly a sight for sore eyes. what with his chocolate locks brushed out of his face as a few loose strands fell across his forehead. he was wearing a sweater that was unbuttoned at the top, giving the smallest glimpse of his chest and the mound of hair that now grew upon it.

the phone was tucked between his ear and shoulder as he leaned over the counter, idly fiddling with a silver slinky. he was yet to look up at you, but you didn't mind, it gave you a few extra moments to admire him.

“oi, dingus!” robin pulls the cord far enough away to fly back and hit him in the face. “we have customers, you know?”

“robin, what the f-” he retorts, his face scrunching with annoyance, but the second he sees you standing beside her, he wastes no time in hanging up the phone.

he couldn't believe he had missed you walk in. he had been so distracted by dustin talking about his stupid club that he had completely zoned out.

“y/n, hey. what can, i, uh, d-do for you?” he smiles, but it falters for a ghost of a second, and he swallows hard.

ribin snickers, rolling her eyes as she walks away, “okay, that’s my cue to go take my lunch break.”

you chuckle softly at the girl, knowing well enough that she just wanted to leave the two of you alone. when you look back at the boy, he's already staring at you, and he stammers for a second, “just returning this for today.”

“fast times…” steve’s voice fades off as you place the tape on the counter and a breathy laugh escapes him.

“yeah... and don’t worry. i didn’t pause it at 53 minutes and 5 seconds.” you narrow your eyes at him slightly, referring to the inside joke robin had told you about, as a smirk plays on your lips, and you lean across the opposite side of the counter.

steve opens his mouth to talk, but nothing comes out other than an incoherent mumble as his mouth forms an 'o', before he says, "okay."

he continues to check the movie back into the system, his eyes grazing over you every few seconds as you gaze around the store. the sun was shining in through the front windows, illuminating your features as it danced across your skin. steve was at a loss as to how someone so beautiful could ever exist.

you truly were an enigma, and he so desperately wanted to be the one to figure you out.

the first time he saw you, you were standing in the third aisle, wearing a deep green sweater and browsing the horror section. he was intrigued by your choice of movies, bringing ‘a nightmare on elm street’ and ‘baby it’s you’ to the front counter. you were smiling, but it wasn’t animated like most of the girls he had to deal with.

you were the breath of fresh air in the tainted town of hawkins that he had been so desperately looking for.

“you're not hiring another movie today?” his brows pinch together with confusion. you’d never not choose another movie to take home.

you shake your no, “uh, no.”

he shakes his head, and says, “what? you’re not impressed with what we have in stock?."

“oh, no. it’s not that.”

“good. because i was a little worried we were losing one of our favourite customers for a second there.” the words come out so fast that steve doesn’t acknowledge what he had said until it was too late, and his eyes widen with realisation.

“favourite customer, huh?” you rest your chin in your hand and gaze up at the boy, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

you watch as he shuffles awkwardly on his feet and then laughs nervously, "yeah. robin! she, uh, she's really fond of you."

a small silence ensues as he continues checking in your movie, and your heart begins to thrum loudly in your ears. so loud that you were finding it hard to remain calm as you watched him type away on the computer.

was he being extra flirty, or were you just imagining it?

"alright, you are good to go," he turns back to you, placing his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "though, there is one slight problem."

"yeah? and what’s that?"

"it's just... i can't have you leaving here empty handed, can i?" he cocks his head to the side, brows raised as a devilish grin dangled on the corner of his lips.

"well, then..." you heave a deep sigh, eyes fixed on him as you pull back a little. "what would you recommend?"

his face lights up, and he gleams at you, snapping his fingers as he backs away to head toward the shelves. he immediately starts rummaging through the array of videotapes in search of something he thought you would enjoy when he pulls out 'the breakfast club'.

scrunching up your nose, you shake your head, "seen it."

"yeah, you're right. super popular movie." he nods and returns to his search. his fingers hover over 'risky business' but the second he starts to pull it out, he puts it right back. "how about this?" he hands you a tape, your fingers just grazing one another's and the sudden contact takes you by surprise.

the already rapid beating of your heart fastens as your breath catches in your throat, and you quickly take the tape. pulling your eyes away, you scan over the video to see it was another you had seen and hand it back.

disappointed, he nods and places the video back on the shelf, but instead of returning to his search this time, he knocks his fist on the top of the shelf for a second and then exhales deeply. he was tired of constantly second-guessing himself, wondering if there was even a slight chance that you liked him too. it had been driving him crazy not knowing, and he was at his whits end.

"steve, are you okay?" you ask, apprehensive as to why he was suddenly acting a little weird now.

"i, uh, i just-" he gets cut off when something flies at his head and a grape falls to the floor in front of him. screwing up his face, he turns to see robin sticking her head over the shelf a couple of aisles away. "what the hell, robin?"

"would you please just stop wasting the girl's time and ask her out already!" she exclaims and shoves a couple of grapes into her mouth.

"robin!" he proclaims, his jaw tensing as he closes his eyes momentarily.

"what? i'm doing you a favour. she likes you too!"

"robin!" this time her name leaves your lips.

"oh my god, seriously the two of you are so oblivious it’s driving me crazy.” she groans, and throws another grape in your direction.

inhaling deeply, steve slowly turns back to you with softened eyes as your chest fell and rose with rapid breaths. he looked almost apologetic as he now met your gaze, and your body stiffened.

"is that true?" he asks with disbelief.

"i mean... yeah..." you shrug, removing your gaze to look at the ground, and when you look back up, his eyes are boring into you. "you really think i kept coming in here just to rent movies?"

steve lowers his head and scratches at the back of his neck nervously. he couldn't believe the words that had just fallen from your mouth. sure, he had hoped that you felt the same way about him, that he did you, but to have you stand before him and practically admit it, he was over the moon.

"really?" he asks softly, brows upturned with hope.

"yeah, really. i know that makes me a total loser, but-"

"no. no, it doesn't." he starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he does.

jutting your bottom lip out, you say, "then why are you laughing at me?"

"because you're so damn cute," his remark causes the air in your throat to catch once again, and he takes a step toward you.

though before he can get so much as a syllable out another grape hits him in the back of the head, "ask her out already!"

"can't you see that that's what i'm trying to do?" he lifts his arms in irritation, shaking his head, as he turns back to you once more. "let's try this again," he rolls his eyes. "would you... like to go out with me some time?"

you pause with bewilderment, a nervous smile causing your lip to quiver slightly before nodding, "j'd like that, but only if you promise no more movies!"

"deal."

[yzashaven]

CONTENT WARNING .ᐟ dom!scaramouche x fem!reader ⋆ breeding ⋆ creampies ⋆ face down ass up + mating press + riding ⋆ oral m!rec ⋆ deepthroat ⋆ slapping & spanking (once) ⋆ praise ⋆ "slut" + "good girl" ⋆ squirting ⋆ rough sex ⋆ needy scara ⋆ [tell me if i missed anything, thank you ♡]

WORD COUNT ᯓ 1.37k

NOTE ᝰ late birthday special, sigh... going back to my roots as a scara lover ♡ i'm sorry for any errors or whatever that seems ooc... my take at some fluff at the start, it's definitely mid but good enough LMAO happy new year, may 2025 be good to us all. yza loves you 💌

[ nsfw under cut ]

"this is actually pretty good, surprisingly edible, coming from you." scaramouche says, chewing softly on the cake that you had baked yourself.

"hey, i know a few recipes or so!" you laugh lightly, "and you're welcome. my baking skills have improved, you can't lie." he scoffs but give you a slight nod, "alright, whatever you say." he cuts up a bite size piece and brings it to your lips, you open your mouth to accept it. he smiles.

his precious smile.

"i never thought i'd spend a birthday like this—you know, the traditional way with cake and stuff." a sigh leaves his lips. he comes closer, "do me one last birthday request, won't you?"

"oh, sure!"

— ☆★ —

"take it deeper." his sharp voice cuts through the silence and heavy atmosphere of the room. with you on your knees before him. his cock inside your mouth as he pushes himself deeper, inch by inch. you move on your own now. taking his dick from the tip and down to the base, all the way down and back up. over and over.

"fuck. that's good." you look up at him, cheeks flushing at the scene before you: scaramouche's head thrown back, the light from the moon softly illuminating upon his beautiful features, the way his breathing was already uneven.

he's perfect.

his hand goes to the back of your head, "that's enough, love. i'm gonna cum already..." you pull away upon hearing so. "strip for me." he helps you up but you get shy from his request. "maybe you can do it for me–" he sighs immediately, "no. strip for me."

holding onto the last bit of your pride, you began to take off each article of clothing you had on. all the while making eye contact with his pretty eyes. your heart's beating so fast from the anticipation of what's next to come.

scaramouche can't help but slowly stroke his cock from watching you. he seems to be just as needy as you are.

"get on the bed, face down ass up for me." his eyes get a good look at your form, back arching just for him. he easily discards his clothes as he walks over behind you. a hand gropes your ass, giving it a playful spank. you were so sure he was smirking at the way you moaned so sweetly at the action.

you could feel his tip teasing the wet slit of your pussy, "you wouldn't mind if i went rough today, would you?" he asked despite already knowing the answer. before you could even breathe in response, he had already plunged into you. completely bottoming out within your hole. "god, you're tight... so wet, just how i fucking like it."

he sets a steady but rough pace. hands gripping your hips as he pulls you back to meet each of his thrusts. "scara! right there..!" you manage to say in between your moans, "you close, baby?" his voice rings in your head as his hand dips down, fingers drawing small circles on your clit, giving it a decent amount of attention as well.

"cum on my cock for me." you bite down on the pillow nearby to muffle your whimpers that grew increasingly loud. scaramouche scoffs and grabs you by the neck, pulling you back up, "let me hear you."

your entire body shudders as your orgasm hits you hard. he continues to thrust deep inside your pussy, "i'm on the edge, baby. fuck–let me cum inside... can i?" his voice trembled with need, desperation, even. you nod, wanting to accept his load. not long after, you feel his warm seed filling you up. he wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly in an embrace.

he lets you go and you fall onto the soft bed. scaramouche flips you over and spreads your legs. bringing down two fingers to spread apart your pussy lips, "not enough." he simply says and instantly puts you into a mating press. "huh? what do you mean?" still breathless, you managed to ask.

"we're not done until my cum is dripping from your cunt. i want to breed you, baby. i want you completely full, aching, sensitive—and of course satisfied. so you're gonna take everything i give you tonight like the good girl i know you are, alright?"

a red hue spreads across your face, making you blush at just the thought of him fulfilling his words. he notices that you weren't responding and grabs your chin, "i expect an answer."

"y-yes! i'll take it all... for you."

"that's my girl."

he thrusts back into your pussy, trapping you in a tight mating press, making sure you couldn't escape him. his movements are fast, rough, desperate. with the addition of his thumb massaging your clit, it was hard to hold any approaching orgasm in.

"let go, baby. cum all you want." he whispers right before finding an area on your collarbone to leave a hickey or two on, marking you as his. you submit to the feeling of an intense orgasm, creaming all over his cock. despite your words about how you're still sensitive having just came, he continues to relentlessly pound into you.

scaramouche pushes himself as deep as he can go, his seed definitely reaching your womb. you could feel his tip lightly brushing over your cervix. with shaking hands, you attempt to push him away. but he just steals your lips in a heated kiss, "i love being inside you. this is such a good fucking gift."

pulling out, cum oozes out of your used hole. he smirks but pushes his cock back inside, pushing the fluids deeper within you. you were already a mess—and he loved it. scaramouche continues making out with you, tongue entering your mouth while he rocks his hips against yours, fucking you mercilessly.

a visible string of saliva connected your lips. your hands reach down to hold tightly onto the sheets beneath. your eyes threatened to shut close as the feeling of fatigue was creeping up on you.

slap!

your body jolts awake at the sudden impact on your cheek. looking up at the man before you, scaramouche seemed rather upset...?

"keep your eyes open. got it? don't you dare fall asleep on me, slut." all you could really do was nod. wrapping your legs around him made his body shudder in pleasure. the way you were practically helping him reach even deeper areas in you. it was so hot to him.

"you're gonna be the death of me, baby." he laughs right before capturing your lips in a needy kiss yet again, emptying out his load in your pussy for the nth time. he gives you both some time to catch your breaths before pulling you on top of him as he sits with his back against the headboard of the bed.

"ride me."

scaramouche's eyes travel across your trembling body as you bounce yourself up and down on his cock. lookign down, you could vividly see that some of the cum from your pussy had dripped down to coat the base of his dick, leaving a sort of white ring around it.

his hand finds its way back to your hips, while his other one reaches for your chest. thumb gently flicking one of your hardened nipples. he leans down to lovingly suck on them as well. he could feel himself getting even more turned on if that was even possible from hearing you moan from what he's doing to your body.

holding onto his shoulders tightly, you feel yourself losing control as you squirt on him. "yeah, that's it, drench me. fuck... that's so hot. i'm gonna fill you up again, 'kay?" your eyes roll back as he orgasms again, giving you another well deserved creampie.

"happy birthday, scara..." you manage to smile even when your entire body was shaking, sensitive from the feeling of having one orgasm after another. "thank you, darling. i'm grateful." scaramouche pulls you in for a deep and passionate kiss. holding you in his arms, he began to pound up into you. parting from the kiss, he makes eye contact. "i love you."

[p0orbaby]

Your Turn to Bear the Burden was amazing!

Maybe a part 2 or a blurb with Alexia asking R, "Are you still mad?" And making it up to her by bringing her to one of their daughter's football games and just rubbing it in everyones (shiny hair's) face that they are indeed happily married even with their constant loving bicker

something small that follows on from this

-

The pitch smells faintly of damp grass and overcooked hot dogs, the kind you find at community sports events, their red plastic wrappers binned but somehow omnipresent in spirit. Alexia holds your hand as you weave through clusters of other parents, her grip firm, almost possessive. You know this isn’t just about Aina’s match. This is about her. About Shiny Hair, who you’ve recently discovered is actually called—of course—Catalina.

You’re here because Alexia asked you to come, her tone as careful as if she were handling a volatile substance. She didn’t have to spell it out. You knew. This wasn’t just a casual Saturday morning family outing. It was an event. A declaration. A parade.

And you’ve made up—well, you’ve reached a state of détente, which is close enough. The argument about Catalina was settled with a lengthy, painstaking conversation at 11:32 p.m. two nights ago, during which Alexia’s “I don’t even like her!” was met with your razor-sharp “Good. Then she’ll be thrilled to know I’ll be coming along to training drop-offs from now on”

“Don’t be weird today,” Alexia mutters under her breath as you approach the sidelines.

“I’m never weird,” you reply, your tone saccharine, squeezing her hand in a way that’s more threatening than reassuring.

The parents’ section is crowded, folding chairs scattered in half-hearted rows, some people standing to get better views of their kids. And there she is—Catalina, of course, already perched in the best spot, laughing at something someone just said. Her hair shines in the morning sun like she’s auditioning for a Pantene ad.

“Did you see? Aina’s already warming up,” Alexia says quickly, drawing your attention back to the pitch, where your daughter is stretching with the kind of seriousness only a six-year-old takes into warm-ups.

“She’s a professional,” you say, watching her. Aina has Alexia’s determination, her unrelenting focus, and probably her taste for grudges, too. You love that about her.

Alexia stands beside you, taller, proud, her other hand shoved in her jacket pocket. She’s wearing that cropped burgundy Nike YOON cardigan she’s kept all these years in an attempt to maintain her youth. Though you have to admit, she looks better than anyone here has the right to look, which you suspect is deliberate.

“You’re staring,” she says, without looking at you.

“You like when I stare at you”

“I do,” she admits, glancing at you briefly, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips.

The game kicks off, and the next twenty minutes are a chaotic blur of small children running with alarming intensity. Aina, predictably, is everywhere. The ball seems magnetised to her, and you can’t help but feel that Alexia’s genes are showing off today. She scores twice, both times with a little fist pump that makes your chest ache with pride.

Catalina claps politely. Alexia doesn’t. She cheers, loud and clear, her voice slicing through the sideline chatter like a knife. “¡Bien, Aina! ¡Muy bien!” She throws an arm around your waist as she says it, pulling you in close. You’re not sure if it’s for your benefit or Catalina’s, but you let her have it.

At half-time whistle, Alexia makes a point of leaning in to kiss you She keeps it casual, but the timing is far too perfect to be anything but calculated. Catalina looks over. Alexia doesn’t notice—or pretends not to. You, of course, do.

“Subtle,” you say as she hands you a paper cup of coffee she must’ve queued for while you weren’t paying attention. Or burning holes into Shiny Hairs head.

“Why would I be subtle?” Alexia replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re my wife”

Catalina drifts closer during the second half, probably to position herself nearer to the action on the pitch, but you can feel her presence lingering. When Aina scores her third goal, Catalina lets out a low whistle.

“She’s incredible,” Catalina says, beaming at Alexia as if she wasn’t the one who taught your daughter how to feint past a defender.

“She gets it from her mothers,” you say, smiling sweetly. Alexia’s hand finds the small of your back, and you’re almost certain she’s trying not to laugh.

When the game ends, Alexia spends twenty minutes chatting with Aina’s coach, with her arm slung over your shoulders the entire time. It’s less a conversation and more a public exhibition of marital bliss.

In the car, Aina babbles from the backseat about how she’s the best on her team, and Alexia sneaks a glance at you, her expression softer now, almost shy.

“Still mad?” she asks, knowing full well your annoyance with her lasts as long as a sugar cube in water.

You take your time answering, watching the houses blur past the window. “No,” you say eventually, “but next game, I expect you to wear a shirt with my face on it. Maybe one that says, ‘She’s my wife, and she’s always right.’”

“Always right?” she echoes, and you notice a slight lift of her eyebrows under her sunglasses.

“Always,” you reply, deadpan. “That’s non-negotiable”

[loucifersbitch]

Fifth of All

Late one night, Tommy receives a text from Howie.

> buck in hospital. might not make it <

And that's the whole message. He doesn't elaborate beyond that or pick up when Tommy calls. So Tommy grabs his jacket and keys and sprints to his truck, hoping it's the same hospital as always.

He flies through the bay doors, not really remembering the drive, but he'll accept any tickets as long as he's here in time.

The nurse behind the desk is on the phone, but when she notices the slightly wild look in Tommy's eyes, she puts the call on hold long enough to direct him to Evan's room.

He tries not to run, but he can't deny that he jogs down one hallway, then the next two, before he comes to a stop outside the closed door.

It hits him then. He could lose Buck. He could lose Evan. Howie had warned him, said he might not make it.

Tommy feels sick.

He raises a fist to knock, but before he makes contact, the door swings open, a burst of noise and laughter hitting Tommy. Howie almost walks right into him before stumbling back, looking perplexed.

"Tommy? What are you doing here? What...?" he trails off.

Tommy looks around the hospital room and sees nearly everyone he hasn't spoken to since the breakup. Maddie's right behind Howie, Hen is in a chair off to one side, and Eddie is next to Bobby on the other. They're all clearly having a fun time, their laughter only fading when they notice Tommy and confusion takes over. It's not the sorrowful mourning Tommy had been expecting.

On the bed, Evan sits with his leg in an air cast, one arm in a sling, and various scrapes and cuts that Tommy can see on his face and arms. He's not exactly near death.

"'Buck in hospital. Might not make it.' Really, Howie?" he asks, staring down at wide, worried eyes.

"'Might not -" Howie scoffs, realization softening his features. "Tommy, I meant I might not make it to the karaoke bar tomorrow night. Gotta take care of the unlucky man-baby in the hospital bed over there."

"I'm not a 'man-baby,' Chim," Evan says, rolling his eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah," Bobby interrupts, "took care of yourself so well that you fell off a ladder today."

"I slipped!"

"You fell on a glass coffee table," Eddie says.

"Where you dislocated your shoulder and sprained your ankle and got a concussion," Hen adds.

"I'm fine," he insists. "Just need someone to drive me home when I'm released, and I can take care of the rest from there."

Tommy doesn't roll his eyes at Evan's petulant tone, but it's a near thing.

"I can help."

Six sets of eyes turn to him.

"We couldn't ask you to do that, Tommy," Maddie says softly.

There's a crinkle between her eyebrows that makes her look like she's trying to solve some puzzle. And in this case, the puzzle is Tommy.

"You're not asking," he answers just as softly. Then he asks everyone, "Can Evan and I talk for a few minutes?"

They all glance at Evan like they're waiting for his permission.

"It's fine, guys. Go get some coffee or something."

They all file out, Tommy standing out of the way as much as he can while everyone pats his shoulder or shakes his hand or — smacks him upside the head.

"I deserve that," he says, rubbing the sting where Hen's hand had connected with his skull.

"And more," she says seriously. "If you break him again, I swear to God I -"

"Okay, let's go," Eddie says, shoving her down the hall and away from striking range of Tommy. "We can save the threats for the next time he screws up. I'll help you take him down," he tells her with a smirk.

Tommy knows it's a joke, but it's also not a joke. He doesn't want to screw this up again either.

He steps into the room, closing the door behind himself. He stands near the foot of the bed, unsure if he'll be welcome any closer. Evan simply stares at him, waiting.

"So first of all, I'm sorry. Let's get that out of the way. And second of all," he takes one step closer, "I'm blocking Howie's number."

Evan snorts, but doesn't say anything. Tommy takes another step.

"Third of all, I'd really like to take care of you while you recover. If you'll let me."

"You don't need to do that."

"I know. I want to."

"I don't want you to do this because you feel obligated or like you owe me or whatever," Evan says, a little sad.

Tommy takes one final step that places him next to Evan's uninjured side.

"I have a lot of vacation time saved up. I'd like to spend it with you," he shrugs.

Evan looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he nods, accepting Tommy's help.

"Fourth of all, I want you to stay at my house." He holds up a hand before Evan can protest. "You don't need to be worrying about stairs or trying to sleep on your couch once the shoulder heals. Plus, my kitchen is better."

"Okay, fine," Evan concedes. "What's fifth of all?"

"Fifth of all," he says, finally sitting in the chair at Evan's bedside, "please don't ever die."

That surprises a laugh out of Evan.

"What? That's not something I can promise."

"Then at least make sure I die first."

"Tommy," Evan says, concerned, "you know I can't promise any of that. What's going on?"

"I -" he clears his throat when his voice breaks, "I lost you once. And I know I owe you an explanation for everything. But today I thought I might lose you for good, and — I can't do it again. I can't take the thought of losing you forever."

"Tommy -"

"I love you."

Evan's mouth snaps shut.

"And I don't expect you to say it back - now or ever - but I need you to know that one more person out there loves you. So please, at least try not to die while I'm still alive, okay?"

It takes a moment for Evan's expression to shift from shock to understanding.

"Okay, I can try."

"Good. That's - that's good. Thanks."

Evan holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers until Tommy laces his own through. He can feel the adrenaline crash hitting him.

"So does this mean you want to try again?" Evan asks.

"If you'll give me another chance, I'd like to try keeping you. And we can call this a trial run for living together. Although I don't want to move too fast for you."

"If anything, I think I moved too fast for you," Evan smiles. "Maybe this time instead of moving at my pace or your pace, we can move at our pace."

"Have I ever told you how much I love the way your brain works?"

Evan squeezes his hand.

"Once or twice I think."

"Is that all? That's not nearly enough."

It's easy to fall back into this thing with Evan. They talk until the 118 crew and Maddie return, and then they all talk some more. Tommy takes his fair share of gentle ribbing, but with Evan's hand in his own, it's not so bad.

The next morning, Tommy gets to take Evan home. They've gone over all of the discharge forms and orders from the doctor, and they pick up two prescriptions from the pharmacy on their way.

As Tommy helps Evan get settled in the recliner, Evan says, "I love you, too, y'know."

Tommy barely falters where he's fluffing the pillow against Evan's back.

"You really are on a lot of painkillers."

"Tommy," Evan says seriously, the hand of his good arm clutching Tommy's wrist before he can pull away, "I love you. I never stopped. I don't know if I ever could."

It's the simplest thing to lean down and press his lips to Evan's. It's less simple to allow himself to accept what Evan said. Not because he doesn't believe Evan means it, but because he doesn't know if he'll ever deserve it.

"What do you want to eat? I think we'll order in, so pick whatever. Thai? Chinese? Sushi? There's that new Ethiopian place two streets over."

"Delivery is so expensive, Tommy."

"I'm on vacation," he shrugs. "And maybe I wanna splurge on some food for you."

"Well, first of all -"

"Don't start."

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts Pt III - S.H

Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Single!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Summary - A winter dance recital prompts you and Steve to spend a little more time together outside of the school.

AN - here they are again! the crowd favs it seems. thank you all so much again for the love on previous parts, i’m so excited for everyone to see where the story is headed and what these two losers get up to next. ~ emma <3

Outside the door labeled with a plaque that reads ‘Mr. Harrington’ in neat font, you can just barely make out the faint hum of a distantly familiar song. The door is slightly ajar but you still give a soft knock before entering to announce your arrival.

“Mommy!” Abbey shouts as she barrels towards you; whatever activity she was previously occupied with long forgotten.

“Hi, bug!” You greet through a quiet grunt as you hoist her up. “How was your day?”

Steve had taken to tutoring Abbey after class most days. He had originally offered under the guise that she was falling behind some of the other kids, and while that may be true, you suspect that he really offered because he noticed how guilty you’d been recently for being late picking Abbey up from school. Your job has been keeping you past three, despite having told them repeatedly that you have to clock out by two. You can’t afford to lose said job– rendering you both effectively homeless– and embarrassingly enough, Steve knows this.

“Good!” she wriggles out of your arms, not too partial for physical affection these days, “I was showing Mr. H my dance for the recital!”

“Is that so?” You ask, amused.

“Yes, but Mr. H is not very good at dancing–” she makes a pitiful face that she unsuccessfully hides from Steve.

“--Hey!” Steve laughs, “I think I’m pretty good!” Trying to sound confident but faltering, it elicits a boisterous laugh from you.

“Show us your moves then, Harrington,”

“Fine,” he huffs defiantly and hilariously contorts himself into what he thinks is a correct position for a pirouette. He balances on one foot– the other one tucked clumsily into his knee– and brings his arms up and over his head like one of those spinning jewelry box ballerinas.

“No, that’s really good. You should keep going,” you try to trap your giggling between your teeth, but Abbey doesn’t spare him such mercy, as she is literally doubled over in a fit of laughter watching him.

“Jerks!” He stops his sorry excuse for a twirl long enough to take in the sight of Abbey, who’s still cackling so much she doesn’t even notice he’s done with this antics. A knowing, affectionate glance is shared between you two at the sight of her.

“Whaddya think, Ab? Am I ready for the big stage?” He motions towards himself flamboyantly– striking a pose with his hands on his hips. Not sensing his sarcasm, she exclaims, “No!” incredulously through her gasping, trying to catch her breath. You imagine this isn’t the first instance of this happening today.

“I guess I’ll leave the dancing up to you then, huh?”

Suddenly, her expression erupts with a look of joy that only comes from a great epiphany,

“Can you come to my recital?!”

–

“Mommy that hurts!” Abbey whines from where she’s seated on the bathroom counter.

“Just a few more minutes and then we’ll be done, I promise.”

Trying to tame her unruly curls into a slicked and gelled ballerina bun was proving to be more challenging than you originally thought. Her dance teacher's instructions were very clear, however– the hair must be in a bun, accompanied by the most ridiculous amount of blush you’ve ever seen on a child, so that she doesn’t look pale under the stage lights.

One entire bottle of hair gel and several broken hair ties later, the updo is as neat as you can possibly manage, “Alright, girl, you’re all set. Let’s go get your costume on, yeah?”

She nods as you assist her off the counter and onto the tiled bathroom floor. She books it to her room and you follow suit, but when you look in her closet where you could’ve sworn you left her costume– it's nowhere to be seen.

“Abbey… where’s your costume?” You ask through a tight lipped smile, suspecting you know exactly what happened to it.

“I don’t know…” she answers mousily.

“Were you using it to play dress-up?”

She breaks instantly– her guilty conscience making it impossible for her to lie to you for very long, “Yes but!--”

“--Abbey!”

“I put it right back where I found it!”

You take a deep, grounding breath before you truly start to overreact, “Well obviously not, Ab. Just help me look for it, okay?”

Twenty excruciating minutes later, you’re sweating and on your hands and knees tearing through your daughter’s closet; the mess you’re making is a problem for your future self. Every item of clothing starts to look exactly the same– just an amalgamation of pink and glitter and blinding sequins.

“I found it, mommy!” Abbey yells triumphantly from the hallway as she sprints into her room– beaming and holding the tutu like it's a gold medal.

“Yes!” You gasp with relief and haphazardly crawl in her direction, suddenly thankful that no one else can witness you in such a state, “Hurry, let’s put it on.”

You slip the sparkly red and green costume on her as quickly as possible without damaging the bun you just spent at least an hour on. She does a little twirl, grinning ear to ear, “I feel like a princess!” She exclaims.

In the car, you struggle to buckle her seatbelt over her frilly tutu. After a little finessing, you figure it’ll be fine for the drive up the road to the local high school where the recital is being hosted in their auditorium.

–

In the lobby, you’re looking as disheveled as you feel. Abbey held one of your arms, and in the other you carried a small duffle bag full of extra hair products and a spare set of tights. She’s bouncing with nerves beside you, and asking you for at least the fifth time in ten minutes, ‘Where’s Mr. H?’

“I’m sure he’s here, Ab, we just have to find him,” you reassure her again, anxiously chewing the inside of your cheek as you scan the room for a perfectly manicured head of chestnut colored hair.

And as if he’s got some powerful sixth sense for knowing when he’s needed, you spot him timidly entering the double doors, dodging stray children and looking a little out of place. He holds a small bouquet of red roses that match the shade of his cheeks and nose– tinted red from the biting chill of early December winds.

“Steve!” You call from where you and Abbey stand near the makeshift dressing rooms– waving frantically to get his attention for your daughter's sake just as much as your own, “Over here!”

A look of recognition and then relief passes over his features when he identifies where his name is being called from, and slowly but surely starts to make his way over to you both. If he was just smiling before, he was positively beaming when he caught the sight of Abbey for the first time. His strides increase in length to catch up to you faster.

“Abbey! Look at you!” He compliments, and suddenly she’s all bashful. The man she looks up to almost as much as her own mother is here to see her perform for the first time, with a bouquet of flowers and an unrelenting grin plastered on his face. The sight does nothing to extinguish the steadily growing fire that’s made a home in the pit of your chest the past four months.

She shyly eyes the flowers in his hands– the bouquet almost the length of her own torso, “I brought these for you,” he extends them out for her and she accepts them timidly, swaying on her feet like she can’t stand to be still, “Thank you,” she all but whispers.

“Of course,” he squeezes her little hand as he straightens back to his full height. He directs his attention to you, “How are you? Did everything go alright?” Now you’re sure you look as frazzled as you feel.

“We had a mishap or two, but nothing we can’t handle. Right, Ab?” She’s not paying the slightest bit of attention– too busy observing the older kids as they mingle in front of the auditorium with their friends, “I’ll tell you about it later,” you give him a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods, “when does the show start?”

Checking your watch, you reply, “Just a few minutes. I’m going to drop her off backstage, stay here.” He gives a two finger salute and you recapture Abbey’s focus enough to guide her down the hall where dozens of other dancers in identical costumes were congregating.

You kneel down to her eye level, “I’m so proud of you, you’re going to be amazing,” gently pinching her blushing cheek for emphasis, “Mr. H and I will be right up front, okay?”

She nods once, “Okay, momma,”

“I love you, Ab,” you give her one last squeeze before sending her off, albeit begrudgingly. You know she’s in good hands with the instructors, but lately it seems like the universe keeps finding new ways to shove in your face just how quickly she’s growing up.

When you relocate Steve, he’s standing exactly where you left him.

“You ready?” He asks as you approach.

“Mhm,” you nod and smile in response, suddenly too nervous to meet his gaze. Being around him with Abbey is one thing, but without her as a buffer, you find yourself getting increasingly jittery.

An usher hands Steve a program for the recital, which he promptly passes to you before thanking the woman. You can feel his right hand just barely hovering over your lower back with a featherlight pressure to guide you through the swarms of families attempting to enter the auditorium. You don’t think it’s even a conscious act, but the touch makes your heart– for lack of a better phrase– drop into your ass. You come to the stark realization that to the untrained eye, you must resemble two doting parents here to watch their child perform.

“Alright, where are we sitting?” He asks, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Oh–uhm,” trying and failing to speak around the dry muscle that sits in your mouth like lead, “Row C, I think,”

When you reach your assigned seats, he waits for you to go ahead of him, holding his arm out as if to say ‘ladies first’, just like he did that day on the bus. It makes you swoon just as much now as it did then. The auditorium feels sweltering.

“Hey,” he places a clammy hand on your knee when he notices you zoning again, “You okay?” Oh my God get it together, you think.

“Oh, yeah, it’s just,” you pull at the neckline of your wool sweater, “It’s a little warm in here, isn’t it?”

“A little bit, yeah. Long morning?” He asks with an empathetic wince.

“You could say that,” you chuckle breathlessly, “With her? Every morning is a long morning,”

“You can say that again,” he shares in your laughter, “keeps me on my toes, alright.”

“I don’t know where she gets it from,” you sigh introspectively, “some days I feel like she couldn’t be less like me even if she tried.”

“I beg to differ,” The way he smiles at you sets you on fire from the inside out, but the lights dim– signifying the beginning of the show– before you get the chance to ask him what he meant. It’s only then that he removes his palm from your leg, and you immediately miss the weight of it resting there.

The Nutcracker theme plays over the loudspeaker as a group of ten or so little girls perform a haphazardly put together ballet number. Almost all of them are doing something different, but with huge, toothy smiles on their faces nonetheless. Originally, putting Abbey in dance served as a way to tire her out before bedtime and give yourself a measly hour of alone time, but seeing how much effort she’s put into practicing and how much joy she takes in performing cements your decision to keep her in class.

She performs wonderfully, just as you suspected she would. Always your little perfectionist. You may be biased, but you thought she was the most elegant and beautiful little girl on that stage.

When the company takes their bows, you and Steve both shoot up at the same time to give a standing ovation. Everyone else stays seated, which would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so filled to the brim with pride for your daughter. There was simply no room in your body for any other emotion.

“Yay, Ab!”

“Let’s go, Abbey!”

You both shout simultaneously, clapping your hands ecstatically.

–

Back in the lobby, your arms are overflowing with Abbey’s things from the dressing room along with the flowers Steve brought her.

“Did you see me?!” She asks expectantly, as if you could’ve seen anyone else up there except for her.

“Of course we did!” Steve assures her quickly, “For a second I thought I was watching the real Nutcracker,”

She blushes wildly, “Really?” If you didn’t know better, you thought you could’ve seen stars reflecting in her pupils.

“Totally! You were the best one up there,” he takes his forefinger and mimics drawing an ‘X’ shape over the left side of his chest, “Cross my heart.”

Abbey tugs on the hem of your sweater you were starting to become too warm in again, “Can we still go get milkshakes?” she asks. You had forgotten all about her stage fright induced breakdown two days ago, during which you promised to get her a treat if she went through with performing.

Checking the time, you saw it was already well past eight o’clock– but what would one late bedtime hurt?

“Sure, that sounds yummy. Say goodbye to Mr. H, then we’ll go,” she barrels into his legs at full speed– her signature– and wraps her arms tightly around his knees.

“Bye, Abbey, I’ll see you on Monday, ‘kay?”

She reluctantly loosened her grip on his legs and made her way back to her designated spot next to you.

 “Goodbye, Steve, thanks for coming.” You give a small wave accompanied by a tender smile.

“Thanks for having me.” He said, returning the gesture.

Feeling a little reluctant yourself, just as Steve was crossing the threshold of the double doors, you called,

“Hey, Steve?”

He turned back at the sound of your voice, looking at you over his shoulder just enough for you to admire the straight slope of his nose and the twin moles on his cheek. He was giving you that warm, anticipative smile you were beginning to grow particularly fond of.

“Yeah?”

“Would you–uhm,” Don’t get nervous now, “Would you want to join us?”

–

At Benny’s, Abbey insists on sharing a booth with Steve while you sit opposite of them on an uncomfortable, sticky vinyl chair. Steve orders a basket of fries to share and shakes for the table. Strawberry for Abbey, and chocolate for the adults.

At one point, Abbey lifts the straw from the old fashioned shake glass and attempts to spoon the whipped cream into her mouth, consequently dripping the frozen treat all over the front of her sweatshirt. You try not to fuss, even though you’re plagued with the fear that you won't be able to get the stain out of her brand new hoodie. Such is having a five-year-old, you suppose.

Steve was quick to grab the napkins at the far end of the table, surprising you with his reflexes– like he knew the mishap would occur before it actually did. 

As he’s dabbing Abbey’s shirt dry, she studies his hand and asks, “Why don’t you have a wife Mr. H?”

“Abbey!--” You scold through a poorly concealed laugh. Steve barks out a shocked huff of laughter himself.

“How do you know I don’t have a wife?” He asks, looking a little dumbfounded at the suddenly intrusive line of questioning, but amused nonetheless.

“Well, mommy used to wear a ring for daddy, but you don’t wear a ring.” She observes, “Aren’t grownups supposed to be married?”

“Ab–” You grow quickly embarrassed by your child’s lack of a filter and social cues. Again, such is having a five-year-old.

“No, that’s okay,” Steve chuckles, only slightly reassuring you, “I guess I–” he contemplates, choosing his words carefully, “I just haven’t met anyone I want to marry yet,” the only thing giving you solace is the knowledge that he probably deals with children asking him much, much more embarrassing questions, all day long.

“Oh,” Abbey says, doing some of her own contemplation, “that’s okay, Mr. H,” she comforts, like a little therapist, patting his back twice before refocusing her attention back on her milkshake.

You send Steve a look across the table, trying your hardest to convey ‘I’m so sorry my child says the shit she says, forgive me?’ with just your expression. He seems to understand what you’re attempting to get across, because he simply shakes his head and smiles like he’s trying to tell you ‘I spend everyday with her, I get it. Don’t worry about it.’

You spend the next half hour or so swapping your funniest workplace stories with each other.

“So then, we’re in the middle of a quiz right? This kid, he just–” he motions with his hands near his mouth, “projectile vomits all over the desk and the kid sitting in front of him,”

“Oh…” you wince with second-hand disgust, “that’s brutal,”

“I know!” he laughs, “I literally had to evacuate the entire classroom,”

“I feel like I remember Abbey telling me about that, actually,”

At the mention of her, he glances to his side, “Speaking of,” he chuckles.

You follow his eyes to find Abbey slumped over into Steve’s side– completely dead to the world. You can tell she’s asleep by the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing.

Steve carefully fishes a twenty dollar bill out of his jeans pocket– careful not to disturb her– and places it on the table underneath a sweaty glass that at one point contained a diet coke.

“Oh, no you don’t have to–” you say, reaching for the bill when he delicately grabs your wrist to stop you from trying to shove it back towards him. His palms are much softer than you anticipated, and the sudden movement of his arm sends a wave of his scent straight up your nose– nearly suffocating you. What a lovely way to go, you think.

“Hey, it’s okay. I want to,” he reassures you as he pushes your hand he’s still holding back in your direction. You oblige him, only because you don’t have the energy for a chivalry competition. You make a promise to yourself that if you’re ever fortunate enough to do this with him again, that you’ll foot the bill.

When you try to gently shake Abbey awake, he stops you again, “I got it,” he says, as he hoists Abbey up and carries her bridal style out of the diner and to your little sedan; you wish the waitress a good night as you exit. It’s a dark night outside, no moon or stars to be observed. The navy velvet of the sky is completely blanketed by heavy clouds. It’ll probably snow soon.

You open the rear passenger side door for Steve as he sets Abbey in her seat and fumbles a little bit with the seat belt mechanism. As he’s ducking back out, he rises just a second too early and rams his head on the top of the car with a harsh ‘THWACK!’  You try to stifle a surprised laugh behind the back of your hand as he groans and shuts the door as softly as he can.

“Oh my God, are you okay?!” You take a step closer to him as he scratches at the back of his usually perfectly coiffed locks, having lost its usual volume.

“Don’t laugh!” He playfully scolds.

“You’re laughing!” you quickly retort.

“Because you’re laughing!”

Once you’ve calmed a bit– reduced to just quiet giggling– you ask, “Can I look?” With that, he turns to give you a better look at the back of his head.

From this angle, you can unabashedly blush and grin at him and not have to worry about him seeing you. You relish in it for as long as possible, as well as the excuse to touch him, even for a moment.

“How do I look, doc? Am I gonna make it?” He says with a faux grim tone to his voice.

“Well, I’m just the receptionist– but you’re not bleeding, no cracks or contusions, either. I think you’ll be alright,”

You grin when he turns back around to face you again, this time with less space separating you, accounting for how closely you were inspecting his head. You stay like that for a moment too long, giving you just enough time to count the freckles spattered across the bridge of his nose like constellations lacking in the sky above you, and how his lashes kiss at the corner of his eyes.

He harshly clears his throat– a nervous habit, you’ve noticed– and looks down at the pavement where you stand, inches from each other.

“I’d better let you get her home, it’s getting late,”

“No yeah– definitely uhm…” you struggle to find your words again, “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah,” he smiles fondly, “Oh, I uh– I wanted to give you this,” from out of his coat pocket, he pulls a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to you. It must’ve been in his pocket for at least a few hours, maybe even a few days– the ink smudged like he’d been nervously fidgeting with it before he gave it to you.

It was his phone number.

“You know, in case you ever–” he clears his throat again, “in case you ever need anything, or there’s an emergency, or something…” he trails off at the end of his thought like he’s completely regretting the gesture and already trying to figure out a way to back track, but before he can get the chance, you embrace him in a grateful hug.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, slightly muffled by the hood of his coat, “I really appreciate everything you do for Abbey,”

He doesn’t mention how he gave the number of his landline to you in case you ever needed anything, he just takes the win for what it is. You have his phone number, and you’re hugging him. The perfect floral scent of your shampoo and whatever perfume you’re wearing flood his senses, and he immediately misses your touch when you pull away.

“Mommy?” Abbey croaks tiredly from the backseat, “Are we going home?”

“Yes, baby, one second,” you smile apologetically at Steve for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, “I’m gonna get her to bed.”

“Of course, go,” he says as he ushers you around to the driver's side door. As much as he craves to, he doesn’t open it for you. Maybe another time, he thinks.

“Goodnight, Steve.” You say before you pull the door closed.

“Goodnight, drive safe,” he aims his sights for the backseat, “Goodnight, Ab. You did awesome today,”

“Bye, Mr. H,” she waves, eyelids heavy with the exhaustion of being everyone’s favorite five-year-old all day.

Steve waits until you’ve pulled out of the parking lot, hands shoved tightly into his jeans pockets, before walking to his own car across the parking lot.

–

About halfway home and in between bouts of nodding off, Abbey asks quietly from the backseat, “Can Mr. H be like daddy?”

Startled and slightly confused by the nature of her question, you lock eyes with her through the rearview mirror, “What?”

Even though you fully heard her the first time, she reiterates, “I mean like, because we don’t have a daddy anymore,” she pauses– thinking, “maybe he could come live with us?”

“Oh, I don’t know, baby. It doesn’t always work like that, you know?” It breaks your heart to break hers.

���But–” she pouts in that adorable way that she does when she’s trying to lure you into giving her something she wants. Though this time, you can’t tell if it’s genuine or not. “He said he doesn’t have a wife!”

You can tell she’s too tired to have a productive discussion about this, and frankly– you have not a single idea of how to approach this subject, “Tell you what– how about we talk about it tomorrow when you wake up, yeah?” You try to reason, but secretly hoping she’s too drowsy to remember this conversation in the morning.

Mid-yawn she responds, “Okay…” clearly losing her battle with the hypnotic hum of the engine lulling her softly back to sleep.

–

At well past eleven o’clock, you find yourself sinking into the cushions of your thrifted sofa, staring at the faded piece of paper with Steve’s phone number scrawled on it so hard you thought it might burst into flames and disintegrate.

The drone of black and white reruns playing on the television was your only reprieve from the rushing spiral of your rumination, as you fought the urge to call Steve and ask what counted as ‘an emergency or…something.’

You wondered, against your better judgement, what you’d be interrupting if you gave into your temptation. You wonder if he, too, is lying restless somewhere in his house just like you were– if he has someone there to keep him company, and maybe you’d gotten this all wrong. You wonder if his walls are filled to the brim with photos of his life before Maine, and what brought him here in the first place. You wonder if he sleeps with the fan on or off.

You wonder if you should even be feeling this way at all.

But somewhere, in a mostly empty house on Ashburton street, Steve is staring at the white expanse of his popcorn ceiling of his bedroom pondering identical thoughts about you.

divider by @/saradika-graphics @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @tv-girllover07 @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian

[etheraltides]

Safe in His Arms

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Summary: After a grueling day at the Country Club filled with rude costumers and endless stress, you find yourself breaking down in your boyfriend’s bed.

Warning(s): emotional distress, workplace mistreatment and a bit of verbal harassment.

A/N: Can you tell I’ve had a rough day at work..?

The familiar weight of the day bore down on you as you trudged up the long driveway to Tannyhill, your work uniform damp with rain you faced after you lost the buss and the residual humiliation of serving yet another parade of insufferable customers at the Country Club. Your back ached, your feet throbbed, and a lump had been stuck in your throat since your shift began. It had been one of those days – the kind that leaves you questioning if it’s even worth the paycheck.

When you stepped into Rafe Cameron’s big house, the stillness was suffocating. It was late enough that most of the house staff had gone home, leaving the place eerily quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. You kicked off your shoes and set your bag down by the door, barely able to summon the energy to call out for him.

“Rafe?” you said, your voice cracking.

No response. You figured he was still locked away in his office, likely losing track of time over something work-related or more of his dad’s expectations. A glance toward the kitchen clock confirmed it was nearing 10 PM. You shouldn’t have picked today for a double shift.

Your body moved on autopilot as you headed upstairs to his room, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each step. You bypassed the vanity mirror, not wanting to see the tired, blotchy version of yourself. Instead, you headed straight for the en suite bathroom, needing to wash off the grime of the day – physically and emotionally.

The water was scalding, but you didn’t care. The sting against your skin almost matched the burn of the angry tears threatening to spill. Your customers’ snide remarks replayed in your mind on a loop:

“Are all the staff this incompetent?”

“Can you just get the order right for once?”

“I’d like to speak to someone more qualified.”

“You damn pogues aren’t even good enough to clean tables. No wonder why your kind gets nowhere in life.”

By the time you stepped out of the shower, you were trembling. Not from the cold, but from sheer exhaustion. You grabbed one of Rafe’s oversized T-shirts, pulling it over your damp body before collapsing onto his bed. His scent still lingered in the sheets – a mix of his cologne and something inherently him.

You buried your face into the pillow, clutching the covers tightly around yourself as the dam finally broke. Sobs wracked your body, and you curled into a ball, feeling utterly spent.

Rafe was on his third read-through of the same email when the buzz of his phone distracted him. He glanced at the screen – it was just a notification for some pointless app. The house was too quiet for his liking, and it occurred to him that you hadn’t come to find him yet.

He checked his watch, guilt prickling at the edges of his thoughts. He’d told you this morning that he’d be free to spend the evening with you, but work had a way of spiraling out of control.

Shutting his laptop with a sigh, Rafe pushed his chair back and headed upstairs. The sight that greeted him when he opened the bedroom door made his stomach twist.

There you were, curled up on his side of the bed, his comforter wrapped around you like armor. Your shoulders were shaking, and muffled sniffles reached his ears.

“Hey” he said softly, crossing the room in a few long strides. “Baby, what’s going on?”

You startled, quickly wiping your face with the back of your hand as if that could hide the tears. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Rafe frowned, crouching down beside the bed so he was level with you. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me.” His voice was gentle, but there was his usual firm edge to it.

“It’s stupid.” you whispered, avoiding his gaze.

“Stupid doesn’t make you cry like this.” he countered, reaching out to brush a strand of wet hair from your face. “Talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. “Work sucked today.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “The customers were awful. They treated me like I was nothing, like I wasn’t even human. I tried to keep it together, but—” Your voice broke, and fresh tears spilled over.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened – not with anger at you, but with protective fury for you. “They said something to you?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Just the usual stuff.” you said, trying to downplay it. “But today it just… it felt worse. I couldn’t shake it off.”

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. “You’re not nothing, baby.” he said firmly. “You hear me? Those people? They’re assholes. They don’t know shit about you.”

You sniffled, leaning into his touch despite yourself. “I just hate that it gets to me.”

Rafe shook his head. “It’s not on you to be unbothered by assholes. You’re allowed to feel things, okay?” He stood up and climbed onto the bed, pulling you into his lap despite the fact that he wasn’t much of a hugger. You didn’t resist, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrapped around you securely.

“You didn’t deserve any of that,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “None of it. You’re too good for them. Too good for this damn place.”

You let out a shaky breath, his words starting to chip away at the weight in your chest. His hands moved in slow, soothing circles on your back, grounding you in a way only he could.

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled into his chest. “I know you’ve had a long day too.”

Rafe tilted your chin up to look at him, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. “Don’t apologize for this. For needing me, alright?” He sighed, his voice softening. “I know I’m not… great at this stuff. But when it comes to you? I’ll figure it out.”

You gave a weak laugh. “You’re doing fine, Rafe.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you said, the weight in your chest easing a little more.

He leaned back against the headboard, keeping you close as he ran a hand through your hair. “Next time something like this happens, you tell me, okay? I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing. You call me.”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’ll try.”

“No, baby. You do more than try.” he insisted. “You promise.”

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips twitching despite the tears. “Okay. I promise.”

For the first time all day, you felt a glimmer of peace. Wrapped in Rafe’s arms, with his warmth and steady presence surrounding you, the world felt a little less harsh.

“Good.” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Now just stay here. Let me hold you. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

His words were like a balm to your soul, and as he pressed another kiss to your head, you felt your eyes grow heavy. The exhaustion of the day, coupled with the safety of his embrace, lulled you to sleep.

Rafe stayed awake, though, his mind racing with plans to make sure you never felt this way again. Whatever it took – whether it was him storming into the Country Club or just being here for you when you needed him – he wasn’t going to let the world break you.

You were his girl, after all. And he’d do anything to protect you.

There was no doubt in his mind that tomorrow he’d be talking to the club’s manager though.

[scented-morker]

⇢˚⋆ ✎ Three Ways

The three ways sunghoon tells you he loves you before being able to utter the words… 1.6k words, friends to lovers, fem!reader

Park Sunghoon has never been one for flowery words and declarations of love.

In fact, they often made him quite uncomfortable, and he more often than not would be caught responding to the affection with a thumbs up and hardly concealed cringe.

Thankfully, you were plenty comfortable with the words, 'I love you'. An expert, even, at reminding your friends just how much real estate they took up in your heart.

You were the first person that Sunghoon ever truly believed when you said the words. Sure, he knew crushes were real and some girls probably thought their love was true, but you KNEW him. You knew him, and still deemed him precious enough for your favorite three words.

And even though he knew it was in a platonic way, being able to grin softly and ruffle your hair in response was enough for him.

He knew better than to try to reciprocate verbally, fearful of the avalanche that would come if he let himself be truly honest.

The first time Sunghoon said 'I love you' was with a straw wrapper directly to your forehead.

He'd picked you up early in the morning with a blanket in his car so you could nap as he drove the two of you to brunch at an old diner.

You'd been rambling about a new project when his phone rang the first time, and he was listening to you so intently that he didn't even notice it.

It's hard not to blush when you recognize the intensity of his gaze and the way his ringtone fell on deaf ears while watching you.

You're almost glad when it rings again, giving you a quick reprieve to calm your racing heart while he swipes to decline Jake's call.

Sunghoon lets out a sigh as his screen lights up for a third time, and the annoyance on his face is enough to make you let out a bellowing laugh before snatching it out of his hands.

"Today is my Hoon time, you got him yesterday!"

The amusement is evident in your voice, but it still has Sunghoon's heart doing flips.

The fact that you were feeling protective over your time with him, that you wanted no distractions from being in the messy diner with him while he stared at you and offered little to your conversation. It made his heart warm that even in these circumstances, you were focused on time with him.

A stray beam of sunlight chooses that moment to peek through the blinds of the window next to you and he swears it makes you glow like the only person in the room.

The words are on the tip of his tongue when you hang up on his friend, his mouth open like maybe he'll finally have the courage to say it.

You catch him staring, looking up with confusion in your eyes, the twinkle of amusement still there.

You raise an eyebrow at him as a couple beats of silence pass, only to get thwacked in the face with his balled up straw wrapper.

"You monster!" You gasp, and his laughter fills the air.

You're sick with the flu the second time sunghoon almost ruins your friendship.

He finds you curled up under the blanket he'd got you for your birthday last year, the one he got specially made with his face on it.

The sight is ridiculous enough that he would have laughed if you didn't look so miserable.

“I told you this was gonna happen. You should have stayed home yesterday.” He scolds, stepping closer to place a gentle hand against your forehead.

He frowns at the heat of your skin, your fever putting up a valiant effort against the medication you had recently taken.

You pout when he leaves, and it’s still there when he returns with a cold rag in his hand.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He plays it off as annoyance, but it’s really a cry for help because when you look up at him with shiny eyes and pouty lips it makes him want to say things he shouldn’t.

“I thought you were leaving me.”

His squeezes the rag in tandem with the clenching of his heart, and kneels down on the floor next to your bed.

“I’d never leave you like this.”

His voice is soft as his touch when he places the rag on your head, trailing a finger from your forehead down past your temple and along your cheek.

Your fever has you too delirious to question his actions, continuing to stare up at him like he was the cure to your sickness.

His breath falters as his index finger brushes against your lip, and he knows he needs to look away before he does something stupid.

He settles for poking against the corner of your mouth, pushing it up to resemble the grin you so often wear, and he finally succeeds in removing his eyes when you let out a breathy chuckle at his antics.

“There she is,” he whispers.

“Promise to stay?”

He nods, never having the strength to tell you no.

“Promise.”

It’s like a weight lifted off Sunghoons shoulders when you’re finally back to yourself, no longer “on your deathbed” as you’d so dramatically called it.

“You’re not sick anymore yn, so you have no reason not to come.” Jay says into his speaker, and sunghoon just knows you’re whining on the other side of the phone.

The boys had planned a get together for Jake’s birthday, and while you were plenty fond of the Australian boy, so were plenty of others. Which meant that you would inevitably be stuck in a room with FAR too many people for your liking.

Sunghoon always lets you stay by his side, but you could only take so much of sitting on the couch and pretending not to notice as fifteen different girls try to approach him while you pretended to be interested in literally anything else.

Not to mention, the past week had been so draining trying to get back into a routine and catch up on everything you’d missed while sick.

“No excuses, see you in ten!”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes as Jay hangs up on you, your groan being instantly cut off.

“Do you think she’ll come?” Jake asks, eyeing the man that knows you better than anyone else.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, “yeah. that was her groan of acceptance that Jay just hung up on.”

Jay pumps a fist in the air as Jake laughs at the discovery that his friend knows you perhaps a little too well.

Fifteen minutes later you make your way into the living room, seeing your three friends sitting on the couch surrounded by people you don’t know. You’re not in the headspace to meet anyone new tonight, and a quick scan reveals the three boys were the only of your friends present.

You let out another groan, this one being in disappointment.

Almost as if he sensed it, you see Sunghoon’s head turn to where you’re standing.

The smile that graces his face instantly comforts you, and you return it with only slightly less enthusiasm.

He waves you over, and you steel yourself for discomfort as you approach the crowd.

However the only thing you hear when you get there is the sound of your best friend’s voice.

“I saved you a spot.”

You heave a sigh of relief as he scoots over to give you an opening right next to him, and he quickly flings an arm over your shoulders as you settle in.

You breathe in the smell of his cologne and melt into his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Anyone else probably wouldn’t be able to hear you, but Sunghoon has always been fine tuned to your voice.

“Of course.”

He lets you sit in silence against him while the boys continue talking and joking.

You’re on the verge of falling asleep right in the middle of the crowd when his breath tickles against your ear.

“Can I take you home?”

You blink up at him curiously, and he explains further.

“You made your appearance, your friend duties are fulfilled. Let’s get out of here.”

You grin and gladly follow as he takes your hand and guides you out of the room after a quick goodbye to your friends.

His hand doesn’t let go of yours even as he drives to your apartment, and you realize just how lucky you are to have him.

“I love you.” You tell him, voice quiet as he flicks on his turn signal.

His face lights up when you say it, and he gives you a quick glance.

“I know.”

You smile, but a part of you feels like maybe he doesn’t.

“I mean it. I love your smile and your laugh and I love that you’re kinder to me than I could ever deserve.”

Your words are getting faster, and you know they’re on the verge of being a confession but you can’t bring yourself to stop.

“You have this way of making me feel cared for and known and i don’t think I tell you enough how much that means to me.”

You don’t realize he’s pulled to the side of the road until you finish talking and realize both of his hands are now clasping your one.

When you meet his eyes you swear he can see straight through you, and you blush furiously while attempting to look away.

Your name on his lips stops you, and you drag your eyes back to his.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He doesn’t expand, but theres certainty in his voice and adoration in his eyes, and you know him well enough to know what he means.

[keferon]

"One missing, presumed dead." 

Blurr doesn't presume.  Blurr knows.

----------------------------------

"Stay a minute," Blurr says, settling back against his pillows.

"You know I need to get back.” Even as he says it though, Swindle is stopping, half-turning away from the door to Blurr's hospital room.

"This is important.  The attack.  You said there were no casualties." Blurr is careful to keep his voice level, without accusation as he speaks. "What aren't you telling me?"  He watches Swindle for any tell that might give away what Blurr already knows to be true.

"I told you everything you needed to know.  There were no confirmed casualties.  Get some rest."  Swindle tries to make for the door again.

But it's not lost on Blurr how carefully Swindle's response had been shaped.  How Swindle is trying to cut off this line of conversation with the assertion Blurr needs rest.  The way Swindle addressed his question without really addressing it.  Deflecting.  Refusing to outright confirm or deny there was more information.  Repeating what Blurr already said.  But with one minor addition. 

No confirmed casualties.

A statement Blurr has already heard once today.  With a significant addition.

"Swindle," Blurr says.  "They had the news briefing of the official incident report on out in the hall.  No confirmed casualties--" Blurr lets the words hang in the air for a moment. 

"—except one missing, presumed dead."  Blurr doesn't presume.  Blurr knows.  Blurr remembers seeing the ghost, vaguely.  But still, he needs Swindle to confirm it.  Needs to know for certain.  "Who was it?"

Swindle mutters something under his breath that Blurr thinks might be a curse and returns to sit on the couch across from his bed.  "One of the mechanics?  Engineers?  Something like that.  Swerve."

"The one who went into the building with me."  Blurr isn't sure whether he's asking or telling Swindle.

Swindle just nods.  That tiny motion is enough to send Blurr slumping back against his pillows, turning away from Swindle to face the wall.  No longer caring how that might look.

No longer caring about any of it, really.  Because what the press says – whatever Swindle says – is wrong.  What Blurr had done that day wasn't enough.  Someone had died.  Had died because of him.

"…Blurr?" Swindle's voice calling his name sounds distantly to Blurr. 

When Blurr looks up, Swindle is hovering next to his bedside.  Swindle shifts awkwardly looking like he wants to say something.  Looking like he has no idea what to say.

"You were right," Blurr whispers, filling in the silence for Swindle. "I should get some rest."  Another time he might have felt guilty, turning Swindle's own words against him.  Now, he is just grateful when Swindle doesn't argue -- doesn't try to find words, instead making for the door, turning the light out when he leaves.

Blurr closes his eyes.  But he does not rest.  His waking dreams are haunted by ghosts.

It turns out that the full details of what occurred that day are far from the only thing Swindle hasn't been telling Blurr about mecha.  A part of Blurr isn't surprised at the confirmation that Swindle's secrets hide secrets.  A part of Blurr also wonders if he'll ever know the full truth of what he's gotten into.  Wonders if he really wants to know.

Those thoughts in mind, when Blurr re-enters mecha for the first time, he is glad to be largely ignored outside a formal, staged welcome.  Blurr smiles his way through the photographs and handshakes.  And is thankful Swindle has had the foresight to keep this short.

They walk out of the lobby arm in arm – as much for Blurr's support as for the image it presents to observers.  And despite the secrets, Blurr is glad it is Swindle standing there beside him.  Because he's not sure he could make it through this on his own.  But it has to be done. 

The gazes from the pilots they pass in the halls of mecha on the way to Swindle's office are a lot less enthusiastic than those of the crowd in the lobby.  Blurr doesn't mind.  He's not sure he could have handled being lauded as some kind of hero inside mecha.  He cannot begrudge them the resentful glances that occasionally flash his way or the whispered words behind his back. 

Not when he knows that every pilot in this building would have done what he did at mecha headquarters that day, given the chance. 

Not when he knows that they are expected to take the same risk that he took every day and they get no recognition for it. 

Not when he knows they do not receive the same level of individualized care and treatment he has when the costs of those risks come due. 

Not when he knows it costs lives. (Because how many of the faces he passes have lost friends, family, partners to crashes like Blurr's?  How many would still have been lost if they had been Blurr?)

Not when Blurr knows that what he did cost a life – a life he had promised to protect. 

Not when he's failed.

Oh god….oh yes. Oh No. Fuck jfjfjfj. YES they all are expected to be heroes daily without any praise. He saves people and gets to brag about it in front of the whole country. They save people - and they just “doing their job”. This is exactly why all pilots hate Blurr even if they barely met him. All they see and know is this already rich and famous guy being praised and paid and cheered for the same fucking thing they do every day without any recognition. I’m okay I’m okay I’m oka

[ultravjiolencee]

Accidently wearing each other’s ties

pairing! fred weasley x different house reader

context! In the bustling morning chaos of the Gryffindor common room, you and Fred accidentally grab the wrong ties while rushing to get ready for the day. Your mistake doesn’t go unnoticed, and soon rumors swirl among their classmates. mention of slytherin reader just so.

The Gryffindor common room was already buzzing with the usual morning energy. Students were shuffling out of the portrait hole, tying their scarves and grumbling about early lessons.

You were sitting on the armrest of the couch near the fire, adjusting your robes and tugging at your tie. You looked slightly disheveled but didn’t think much of it—after all, mornings at Hogwarts rarely allowed for much polish.

Fred Weasley appeared a moment later, running a hand through his unruly hair, clearly having woken up only minutes earlier. He grinned at her in that mischievous way of his, still a little groggy but undeniably Fred.

“Morning, love” he greeted, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of your head before sitting down next to you.

“Morning” you replied with a small smile, stifling a yawn. You reached up to straighten your tie again, feeling like it wasn’t quite sitting right but too distracted to notice why.

Fred yanked his own tie into place, not even glancing down as he fiddled with the knot. “Ready for Snape’s lesson? I hear he’s extra cheery today.”

You rolled your eyes . “If by ‘cheery’ you mean he’ll take house points from Gryffindor just for existing, then yes. I’m absolutely thrilled.”

Fred chuckled, his focus still half on you as you gathered your things and joined the growing crowd heading down to breakfast.

The Great Hall was alive with chatter as students settled into their respective tables. Fred sat at Gryffindor table, sharing a plate of toast with Lee and trading sarcastic comments about the cloudy weather.

It wasn’t until George slid onto the bench across from them, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth, that things started to unravel.

“Morning” George greeted, giving the two of them a long, pointed look.

“Morning” Fred replied, completely oblivious as he poured himself some pumpkin juice.

George tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Fred, mate…” He leaned forward, smirking. “Why are you wearing a Slytherin tie?”

Fred froze mid-sip, lowering his goblet slowly. “What are you on about?”

George pointed, and sure enough, the green-and-silver tie hung neatly against Fred’s chest.

Fred blinked, then looked over at you. “Wait—what the—” His words trailed off as he noticed your tie, which was unmistakably Gryffindor red and gold.

Your brow furrowed as you glanced down at yourself, then back at Fred. “Oh, no…”

“Did you two… swap ties?” George asked, his smirk growing impossibly wider. His voice carried just enough to catch the attention of a few nearby students, who immediately turned their heads.

“We must’ve grabbed the wrong ones this morning,” You muttered, your cheeks quickly turning pink.

“Sure, sure,” George said, his tone teasing as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment. “That’s definitely what happened. Right, Fred? No other explanation?”

Fred groaned, running a hand down his face. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, George, don’t start.”

But it was too late. Word spread quickly along the Gryffindor table, and soon enough, a chorus of hushed giggles and not-so-subtle whispers filled the air.

“Did you see their ties?”

“Switched them, huh? Wonder why…”

“Guess we know what they were up to last night.”

You buried your face in your hands, wishing you could disappear. “This is a disaster” you mumbled.

Fred, however, was less mortified and more amused. He leaned closer to you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “At least they’re creative. I mean, you’ve got to admire their dedication to imagining our nonexistent scandalous night.”

You gave him a sharp look, though your lips twitched despite yourself. “Fred, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” he corrected, grinning at you. “But only because they’re completely wrong. If they only knew the truth…” He trailed off with a wink, his tone clearly teasing.

Before you could retort, Ginny appeared behind you, arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. “What on earth did you two do?”

“Nothing!”You said quickly, though your flushed cheeks didn’t help your case.

Fred, ever the troublemaker, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and smirked up at his sister. “Nothing we’d admit to in public, anyway.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but didn’t push further, though her expression suggested she was filing this moment away for future teasing.

As the day went on, the whispers didn’t exactly die down. Even in Potions, you caught a few knowing smirks from both Gryffindor and Slytherin classmates.

“Ignore them,” Fred said during a brief lull in class. He slipped you a note across the desk, grinning when you opened it.

It read: If we’re already being blamed for it, maybe we should make their rumors true?

You shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat, and scribbled back: You’re impossible.

Fred read your response and winked at you. “But you like me for it.”

And, despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but smile.

[ylangelegy]

what the fuKCKENFR IM SO MAD I CANT REBLOG YOUR POSTS OR MSG U ON MY SIDEBLOG RN COS ANOTHER??? HOZIER??? FIC????

(work song next WHHAT WHO SAID THAT)

so full of love (i could barely eat) 🍒 seungcheol x reader.

★ established relationship, pet name ['baby'], inspired by hozier's work song. viv, i know this was supposed to be in response to worship in the bedroom (and not really a serious request), but the thought of cheol x work song did not let me go. a little gift for u. <3 word count: 755.

It’s nearly two in the morning when Seungcheol gets home. 

One of those days, he likes to call it. He had been out of the apartment before the sun rose up, had jumped from one schedule to another with something akin to reckless abandon. Fan meet. Radio show. Practice. Meeting.

When he’s busy, the exhaustion is kept at bay. There’s no time to think about the phantom ache behind his knee, the pesky soreness of his thigh.

But then he walks through the front door and it all comes crashing down on him. Suddenly, he is Atlas, bearing the heavens on his shoulders. 

He toes off his shoes with a soft sigh. Evidence of you is apparent from the entryway. The kitchen light has been left on. The humidifier is spewing one of his favorite scents. A collection of sweet nothings, none of which he thinks he deserves.

Had he even texted you today? Seungcheol isn’t certain. He remembers seeing your texts light up his screen, though. Gentle reminders from morning to evening. 

Don’t forget your vitamins. 

Grab lunch. 

Bundle up. It’s snowing, and your bones are weak to the cold. 

Seungcheol had listened at each turn, whether or not he realized it. A multivitamin from Seungkwan. A sandwich hurriedly eaten on the way to the studio. The scarf you had given him, the one that still faintly smelled like you.

He knows there’s probably food waiting for him in the microwave, knows you’ve likely set aside a plate in anticipation of his late arrival. Seungcheol bypasses it in favor of heading for your shared bedroom. 

Sure enough, you’re already asleep. He’ll realize a little later that you texted about that, too— a message of might be asleep when you get home, I love you— but for now, he only lingers by the doorway as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. 

He feels everything then. The gnaw of guilt. The overwhelming affection. The urge to protect and provide. 

As quietly as he can manage, Seungcheol crosses the room. He can already predict how you’re going to react to him sinking into bed and sliding underneath the covers with you. 

You stir in your sleep at the feeling of Seungcheol snaking his arm around your waist. Despite being half-awake, you have the wits to mumble, “You’re still wearing outside clothes.” 

Bingo. 

Seungcheol knew it, and the thought of that— of correctly predicting what you might do or say— fills him with an odd sense of pride. He doesn’t give voice to it, though, not wanting to rouse you more than he already has. 

“I’ll change.” His voice is a murmur even though there’s no other soul in the apartment besides you two. Something about the early hour and the low light makes him feel like he should tread carefully, like the moment is as fragile as ice on a lake. “Just wanted to hold you for a bit, baby.” 

You grumble something incoherent, the words lost to the way you bury your face into the front of Seungcheol’s shirt. And suddenly Seungcheol can’t help himself. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then one to your forehead. Then one to your temple. Then—

“Cheol.” You whine out his name, your tone edged with exhaustion. You never did take kindly to your sleep being interrupted. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he huffs. 

He kisses the tip of your nose for good measure. 

It’s one of those days. Seungcheol is bone-tired, and home late, and he missed you. If he were a stronger man, a better man, he’d let you sleep. Stalk off to eat his microwaved dinner and change into his pajamas so you don’t gripe about dirty sheets in the morning. 

Seungcheol decides: He’s not a good man. And so instead he holds you a little tighter, leaves a couple more kisses across your face, allows his body to let go of the day’s weight. 

After his nth kiss to your face, you let out another low grumble. He’s about to apologize, about to tell you that he’ll finally, finally let off, when you tilt your head up to lazily slot your lips against his. You’re barely coherent, and yet you’re still giving him exactly what he wants needs. 

Soft, sleepy, sweet. His, his, his.

Seungcheol’s eyes flutter close. He makes no move to deepen the kiss, to ask for more than what you can offer. 

In your arms, he feels a little less like Atlas. 

In your arms, he’s just Seungcheol. 

There's nothin' sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

[amirasainz]

Could you make younger girlfriend x Lewis Hamilton. Maybe there are some rumours and then she visits the paddock with Lewis. The wags and drivers aren't to sure about this at first, but in the end see how happy the couple is. I know this isn't what you usually write, but it is my birthday today and it would make me ver happy. 🤭💗☺️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💜

Love has no age

The first time Yn had stepped into the paddock as Lewis’s official girlfriend, the buzz had been deafening. Rumors had swirled for weeks about Lewis dating someone new, and when the truth finally came out, it was all anyone could talk about.

“Did you see her? She’s so young!”

“Twenty? Isn’t there, like, a fifteen-year age gap?”

“What do they even talk about?”

Yn had tried her best to block out the whispers, clinging to Lewis’s hand as he guided her through the chaos. He’d been her rock, as always, his calming presence grounding her in the midst of all the speculation.

“They’ll come around,” Lewis whispered in her ear as they walked to his garage. “They just don’t know you yet.”

---

Yn hadn’t expected her first encounter with the other WAGs to feel so…awkward. She sat at the hospitality table, surrounded by the glamorous women who had known each other for years. They were friendly, of course, but Yn could sense their hesitation. She was the youngest by a mile, and the age gap between her and Lewis hadn’t escaped their notice.

“So, Yn,” Carmen began with a polite smile, “how are you finding the paddock life?”

Yn straightened in her chair. “It’s exciting! A bit overwhelming, but everyone’s been so welcoming.”

“Everyone?” Kelly raised an eyebrow, her tone light but pointed. “The media hasn’t exactly been kind.”

Yn hesitated, unsure how to respond, but Rebecca jumped in. “The media is never kind. Trust me, you’ll get used to it.” She offered Yn a warm smile, her hand briefly brushing against Yn’s arm in a reassuring gesture.

“Thanks,” Yn said, her voice soft but grateful. She appreciated Rebecca’s kindness, even if she still felt like an outsider.

Carmen leaned in, placing a gentle hand on Yn’s shoulder. “We’re glad you’re here. Really.”

Yn’s heart swelled at the gesture, and for the first time that day, she felt like she might actually belong.

---

By the end of the day, Yn found herself laughing with Rebecca and Carmen like they’d known each other for years. The initial awkwardness had melted away, replaced by an easy camaraderie. Carmen had an arm draped around Yn’s shoulders as they walked through the paddock, while Rebecca kept a hand on Yn’s waist, guiding her through the crowd.

“You’re stuck with us now,” Rebecca teased. “Hope you’re ready.”

“I think I can handle it,” Yn replied with a grin.

Alexandra watched them from a distance, her jaw tight. It wasn’t that she disliked Yn—she just didn’t understand how someone so young and seemingly perfect could fit in so effortlessly. The other WAGs adored her, the fans couldn’t get enough of her, and even the drivers were charmed by her sweet demeanor.

---

“Yn!” Lando called out as he approached the group, a wide smile on his face. “Finally, someone who makes me feel less like a baby here.”

Yn laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “Glad I could help.”

“She’s not that young,” Lewis interjected, stepping up behind Yn and wrapping an arm around her waist. His tone was playful, but there was a protective edge to it.

Lando raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no offense! I think it’s great. You two look happy.”

“We are,” Lewis said firmly, pressing a kiss to Yn’s temple.

The other drivers gradually joined the conversation, each of them making an effort to include Yn. Oscar cracked jokes that had her in stitches, while Charles teased her about her taste in music after overhearing her playlist. Even Max, who was usually reserved, made a point to ask her how she was finding everything.

“They like you,” Lewis whispered later as they walked back to his motorhome.

Yn looked up at him, her eyes shining. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, leaning down to kiss her softly. “But even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. All that matters is us.”

---

Despite the initial skepticism, it didn’t take long for Yn to win over the entire paddock. Her kindness and genuine nature were impossible to ignore, and soon, she was at the center of every conversation. The fans adored her, flooding social media with messages of support and admiration.

“She’s like a ray of sunshine,” one fan tweeted.

“No wonder Lewis is so smitten,” another wrote. “They’re perfect together.”

The attention didn’t go unnoticed by Alexandra and Kelly. Alexandra couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy every time she saw Yn surrounded by people who seemed to worship her. Kelly, on the other hand, was struggling with the fact that Yn’s presence had overshadowed her pregnancy.

“I don’t get it,” Alexandra muttered to Kelly during a quiet moment in the paddock. “What’s so special about her?”

Kelly shrugged, though her expression was tight. “She’s nice, I guess.”

“Nice doesn’t make you the center of the universe,” Alexandra snapped. But even as she spoke, she knew her frustration was misplaced. Yn hadn’t done anything wrong—if anything, she’d gone out of her way to be kind to everyone.

---

Over time, even Alexandra and Kelly couldn’t resist Yn’s charm. During a group dinner, Yn had complimented Kelly on her outfit, sparking a conversation that lasted the entire evening. By the end of the night, Kelly was laughing along with Yn and the others, her earlier resentment forgotten.

As for Alexandra, it was a quiet moment during a race weekend that changed her perspective. She’d been feeling particularly stressed, and Yn had noticed, pulling her aside to ask if she was okay.

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Alexandra admitted, her voice soft.

“Well, someone should,” Yn replied. “You’re always looking out for everyone else. It’s only fair that someone looks out for you.”

Alexandra had been taken aback, but she couldn’t deny the warmth she felt in that moment. From then on, she made an effort to be kinder to Yn, and before long, they’d developed a tentative friendship.

---

Lewis couldn’t have been happier. He loved seeing Yn thrive in the paddock, surrounded by people who cared about her. But more than that, he loved Yn herself. She was everything he’d ever wanted—kind, intelligent, and full of life.

“You know you’re amazing, right?” he told her one evening as they sat on the couch in his motorhome.

Yn looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I’m just me.”

“And that’s more than enough,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

Their love was obvious to anyone who saw them together. Lewis was always touching her in some way, whether it was a hand on her back, an arm around her shoulders, or a kiss on her forehead. He was protective but never overbearing, always making sure Yn felt safe and loved.

“You’ve got yourself a good one,” Valtteri told Lewis one day, nodding toward Yn, who was deep in conversation with Carmen and Rebecca.

“I know,” Lewis said, his voice full of affection. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

---

By the end of the season, Yn had become an integral part of the paddock family. She was no longer just “Lewis’s young girlfriend”—she was Yn, the girl everyone adored. The WAGs were her closest friends, and the drivers treated her like one of their own.

As for Lewis, he couldn’t have been prouder. Every time he looked at Yn, he was reminded of how lucky he was to have her in his life. And if anyone had doubts about their relationship at the start, they were long gone now. It was clear to everyone that what Yn and Lewis had was real.

Age was just a number. What mattered was the love they shared, and that was something no one could deny.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Personal Trainer!Toji Fushiguro—”Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

req by: @sumbarbietingz tyty hope u like <33

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 6 AM.

By now, working out is muscle memory—a chore you tick off your list without much thought. You’re not aiming for an Olympian’s physique, nor do you dream of flipping tires or crushing quadruple-digit squats. For you, fitness is about balance, not obsession. The gym is filled with the usual suspects: frat bros showing off one-armed pull-ups, bodybuilders flexing between sets, and athletes moving like they own the place. You don’t envy them, nor do you aspire to join their ranks. In truth, their antics are more intimidating than inspiring.

But lately, something’s shifted. You’ve grown restless with your go-to routine: treadmill sprints, a quick core workout, and stairmaster till failure. It gets the job done, but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, daring you to try something new. Maybe it’s time to add weights to your regimen. Maybe it’s time to sculpt those glutes and finally chase the coke-bottle figure you’ve been daydreaming about.

For weeks, the squat rack has been your Everest. You’ve watched others load up the bar, their muscles taut with effort, and wondered if you could do the same. It’s not fear holding you back—more like the memory of too many gym bros turning innocent glances into unwelcome conversations. At this gym, you’ve perfected the art of blending in. Headphones in, eyes down, immersed in the personal concert blasting through your ears. The only human contact you entertain is a nod and a quick smile for the woman at the front desk.

Today, though, is different. After your core workout, you finally approach the empty squat rack. Your heart races—not from exertion, but from the thrill of trying something outside your comfort zone. You set down your water bottle, lift the bar experimentally, then add two 20-pound plates on either side. It feels doable. With a deep breath, you duck under the bar, letting it rest on your shoulders. A hype Sexyy Red track thunders in your ears, spurring you on as you knock out your first set.

The burn in your thighs intensifies with each rep, but you keep going, driven by the mental image of your future self: confident, curvy, unstoppable. Sweat beads along your forehead, catching the fluorescent lights above and glistening on your skin. By the time you hit your second set, you’re locked in, laser-focused—until a firm hand lands on your shoulder, breaking your concentration.

You freeze mid-rep, your eyes snapping to the mirror in front of you. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looms at your side, leaning in close enough to be unavoidable. Your stomach twists with annoyance. Of course. Another unsolicited interruption.

Lowering the barbell with a controlled motion, you let out a sigh, already steeling yourself for the usual spiel. You tug your headphones down to your neck, the music fading into background noise as you prepare to deliver a polite but firm rejection. Why is it always men who think mid-squat, drenched in sweat, is the perfect time to chat? And why, without fail, are they never the gym’s best-looking prospects?

Before you can speak, a gravelly voice cuts in.

“Damn, ma, you tryna go deaf? I could hear your music from all the way across the gym.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. The irritation brewing in your chest falters, giving way to reluctant curiosity as you turn to fully take him in. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, collecting the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, letting your gaze rake upward. 

Crisp white Air Force 1s. Baggy black sweatpants slung low on his hips. A fitted white compression shirt stretched tight over a chiseled torso. Broad shoulders, thick biceps—his entire frame is a testament to strength, and the shirt does little to hide it. You swallow, willing yourself not to gawk, though it takes effort.

When your eyes finally reach his face, restraint becomes even harder. Fine as hell doesn’t do him justice. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the scar slicing through the corner of his smirking lips paint a picture of rugged perfection. Jet-black hair falls messily over his forehead, accentuating dark, brooding eyes that seem to hold an unspoken challenge.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to respond. Too many seconds have passed, and you hastily clear your throat, scrambling to collect yourself.

“And that compelled you to approach me?” you ask, arching a brow of your own. A teasing smirk plays on your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re a fellow Sexyy Red fan?”

His smirk deepens, and he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the squat rack like he has all the time in the world.

“Me?” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an almost teasing edge. “Nah, can’t say I’m also bumping F My Babydad. In fact, that song’s been used against me in the past. Strongly recommend shuffling your playlist.”

The implication makes you blink. He’s someone’s baby daddy? You glance at him again, and yeah, it tracks. His whole aura screams DILF.

You laugh, breathless from both exertion and his audacity. “My heart goes out to you, but that’s not enough to turn me off the song. It’s keeping me pumped.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His eyes sweep over you again—this time lingering on your two-piece set, the biker shorts and zip-up jacket hugging your frame. You feel a flicker of pride, knowing the pump is definitely doing its thing. But you quickly remind yourself not to encourage him, no matter how good he looks.

“I noticed,” he says, straightening. “That’s actually why I came over. Hope I’m not overstepping, but your form could use some tweaking. You’re targeting hamstrings more than glutes right now.”

Oh. So he wasn’t hitting on you? Maybe he’s just one of those older gym vets who genuinely want to help. Reluctantly, you concede, eager for the guidance. “Damn, is it that bad? I’m tryna build a dumpy for real. Any tips would be great.”

His brows knit briefly. “A what?”

You grin. “A dumpy. A dump truck. A fat ass. Come on, oldhead.”

His scowl deepens, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Toji. Use my name, not that.” He rolls his eyes, moving to strip the weights from your bar. “But that explains the Sexyy Red. You’re out here tryna Skeeyee or go to Pound town, huh? Don’t worry—I got you. Grab the bar.”

Snickering, you follow his instructions. “Absolutely not. Just help me with my form, Toji.”

Satisfied with your correction, he places a hand on your back, guiding you into a squat. “Wider stance,” he instructs, nodding as you adjust. His hand trails lower down your spine, encouraging you to drop further. “Lower. If you don’t hit a 90-degree angle, you’re not getting the full range of motion.”

You comply, biting back a shiver at his touch. He stays beside you, squatting to observe your form. “When you rise, drive through your heels and tense your glutes—lightly. Not too much.” His hand rests briefly on your hip as you rise, and your focus wavers dangerously.

Somehow, you power through the adjustments and complete your next set, his guidance making all the difference. By the time you finish, you’re drenched in sweat, thighs trembling from exertion, but the burn feels… good.

“You’re a quick learner,” Toji says, lifting the bar off your shoulders and racking it. His tone carries an edge of approval that makes your chest swell. “How’s it feel?”

“Sore, but good.” You glance in the mirror, a grin spreading as you take in your reflection. The pump is real. “You’re a lifesaver. You could seriously be a personal trainer.”

His smirk returns, and for a moment, he almost looks proud. “Good thing I am one. Imagine if you’d said I was trash.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Hey, doll, this might sound out of line, but I’ve never trained someone on a glute-dominant program. Most of my clients are bodybuilders or boxers, but this could open doors. If you’re down, I’ll train you for free so I can develop a structured workout regimen. What do you say?”

You blink at him, stunned by the offer. Free sessions with this hunk of a man? The decision is a no-brainer. 

“How could I say no to that big guy?” You swat playfully at his arm, earning a chuckle. You retrieve your phone from the ground handing it towards him, “I’m in. Here, give me your number.”

Toji takes the device from your hand, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. His grin is almost teasing as he hands it back. “Demanding,” he murmurs with a grin. “I like that. I’ll text you over the weekend. We’ll start Monday. That work for you?”

Though you agree, the wait over the weekend feels endless. You check your phone obsessively, half-convinced you’d imagined the whole interaction. But finally, a notification pops up while you’re leisurely sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your timeline.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Wassup, ma. How about 6 AM on Monday? Tues-Fri, I’m booked mornings, but anytime after 2 works.

You grin, slightly confused by the contact name he’d given himself, but already planning your reply.

You Bet, I’ll be there. We can do 3 PM the other days—I get off at 2.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Bet.

You I gotta ask… what does YHPT mean in your contact name?

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) 🤣🤣🤣  Young Hot Personal Trainer

You Young?! Sorry I asked. Lemme fix that.

Toji Fushiguro 👴🏼 (PT) Not too much on me, ma. 😒

On Monday, you start to wonder if Toji even needs to develop a new glute routine. He seems to already have it down to a science. When you meet him outside the locker room, he’s surprisingly professional, carefully explaining the plan for the day.

He considers your current fitness level but warns that he won’t go easy on you. “If you want results, you’ve gotta work for them,” he says.

Back at the squat rack, you steal a glance at his backside, confirming your suspicions: Toji definitely practices what he preaches. His ass is… impressive. Bubble butt levels of impressive. If this workout built that, you’re sold.

The session starts with barbell walking lunges. Toji adjusts the weights slightly heavier than you’re used to, staying close as you move through each step. He’s comfortable in athletic shorts and a pullover, barely breaking a sweat while you’re already glowing in your two-piece set. His hands are steady and deliberate when tweaking your form, his words always encouraging.

By the time you’re on weighted step-ups, you’ve shed your zip-up and tee, left in just your sports bra and shorts. When you transition to hip thrusts, you play coy about your familiarity with the exercise. It pays off deliciously as Toji demonstrates.

He drags a bench over, slides a barbell onto his lap, and gets into position. His thighs flex, the barbell pressing into his hips as he slowly thrusts upward, his voice low as he explains the importance of balance and control. But honestly, you’re too distracted by the sight of him—muscles taut, skin glowing under the gym lights, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

“Got it, ma? I’ll hand it over to you in a sec—might as well finish this set myself.”

That breathy ma and the half-lidded look he shoots your way? It’s lethal. You fidget on your feet, suddenly aware of how warm the gym feels.

When it’s your turn, you do your best to mimic his movements. To dispel any awkwardness, you wink at him. “How’s my form, big guy? I’m giving you all I’ve got.”

Toji chuckles, his grin playful. “Someone’s catching on quick.” He places a firm hand on your knee, his voice dipping, returning your wink. “That thrust is second to one.”

You end with sumo squats, a challenge given their deep range of motion. Determined to achieve those coveted “Megan knees,” you complain to Toji, who looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

“Alright, hold up. I know you can nail this—let me help.”

He positions you in front of the mirror, his presence towering behind you. When he steps closer, your breath hitches, his chest brushing against your back as he adjusts your stance.

“Open your legs wider. Angle your feet out,” he murmurs, his hands warm on your thighs. The heat of his breath on your neck nearly sends you spiraling, but you focus on the squat, sinking lower under his guidance.

“Atta girl,” he says softly, his tone making your heart race. “Just like that.”

It hits you then—there’s no way this is just standard training. Especially as you’re keenly aware of the firm press of his body behind yours.

“Toji, how many more? ‘M so tired,” you mumble, struggling through another rep.

“Two more. Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

His hands guide your hips, and you somehow manage to finish the set. Resting your hands on your knees, you catch your breath while he smirks, handing you a water bottle.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your brain short-circuits.

By Tuesday, you’ve settled into the routine, though Toji remains as hands-on as ever—literally. His physical guidance feels less like training and more like testing your resolve, especially when he throws in casual touches that linger just a bit too long.

The workouts are brutal, but Toji’s encouragement and relentless banter keep you going. You learn snippets about his life, mostly centered around his middle-school-aged son, Megumi—a tech-obsessed, angsty tween with whom Toji is actively struggling to connect with.

You start caring about how you look for these sessions—styling your hair, spritzing perfume, even picking out your cutest gym fits. You tell yourself it’s just motivation, but deep down, you know you’re becoming weak to Toji’s charm.

And Toji? He’s an enigma—a hot, muscular DILF who knows exactly what he’s doing.

On Friday, you meet Toji outside the locker room as usual. His unusually upbeat demeanor is paired with an announcement: he’s reserved a private room upstairs, equipped with advanced machines and, most importantly, a touch of exclusivity to let you experiment with new moves in peace.

“If you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve just said that,” you tease, poking a playful finger at his cheek.

He smirks, catching your hand mid-air before letting it drop. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman and save his moves for later? But if you’re looking for forwardness…” He leans in with a wink, the grin on his face equal parts charming and incorrigible. “I won’t hold back.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Sure, big guy. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I took your advice,” he says, leading you up the stairs, his hand warm on your back. “Set up Discord for Megumi. Now the kid can actually game with his friends without me being the middleman. Thought I’d reward you with an advanced workout for that stroke of genius.”

You scoff, withdrawing yourself from his grip to cross your arms. “Reward? Sounds more like a punishment.”

He grins wider. “You’ll thank me later, mama. And if you’re not satisfied, you can choose your own reward.”

Inside the private room, your eyes roam over the space. Polished mirrors line one wall, reflecting sleek machines—a leg press, rowing machine, power bike, and more. A faint scent of disinfectant lingers, blending with the promise of an intense workout. Toji tosses his duffel bag near a large speaker in the corner.

“Look at that—a speaker. Gonna cut on some throwbacks so I can put you onto some real music.”

“Still not helping the oldhead allegations,” you quip, shaking your head as he connects his phone.

His smirk widens. “I’m whatever you want me to be, doll. That’s the business I stand on.” He points skyward with dramatic flair.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Toji, your usage of slang is deteriorating by the minute.”

Stretching side by side, his 90s playlist humming through the speaker, you fall into the familiar rhythm of the glute routine. The effort is paying off; you swear you’re already seeing results. 

Between sets, you’d even started pestering him for diet tips—anything to build that elusive shelf.

But as always, your attention drifts. During hip thrusts, your eyes wander to Toji’s defined arms, the way his shoulders shift as he mirrors your movements. During squats, you can’t help but notice his hands lingering on your hips, guiding you down with whispered encouragements.

“Drive through your heels, mama,” he murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your neck. You’re panting by the final rep, equal parts exhausted and electrified.

When the set ends, Toji steps back, his absence leaving a surprising chill. He crosses his arms, eyeing you with that ever-present smirk. “You’ve mastered this routine. How about graduating to mine? Fridays are upper body days. What d’ya say?”

You trail a finger down his arm, tracing the veins. “And get jacked like you? Obviously.”

His grin softens into something almost fond. “Bet. Just try not to distract me too much, yeah? It’s hard enough maintaining my professionalism around you.”

You laugh as he pinches your cheek, only to retreat and yank off his tee, leaving him in a fitted black tank. He leads you to the dumbbells for bicep curls, and you challenge yourself with heavier weights to avoid ogling his sculpted frame.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly as you curl the weight. “Getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you reply, though your arms burn with effort.

Toji hoists a 45-pound dumbbell with ease, and your curiosity gets the better of you. “How much can you bench, anyway?”

He pauses mid-rep, considering. “Good question. Haven’t checked in a while. Wanna find out?”

Before you can answer, he’s clearing the bench, stacking plates with casual efficiency. Three 45s on each side—a total pushing 300 pounds—makes your jaw drop.

“Damn.”

He meets your stare, the bar balanced on his lap. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Come spot me.”

You circle behind the bench as Toji reclines, gripping the barbell above his chest. His muscles coil with tension, veins slightly raised under his skin. As you hover your hands just above his for support, you give a small nod for him to start.

Toji pushes the bar upward, arms locking at full extension before lowering it with precision. The rhythm is steady, his breaths growing heavier with each rep.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice low and strained.

A laugh bubbles up from you, and you instinctively place your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid swell of muscle shift beneath your touch.

Toji glances at you, eyes narrowing with playful admonition. “What’d I say about distracting me, huh, ma? Cut me some slack.”

Setting the bar down with a controlled thud, he looks up at you, dark locks falling across his face. His smirk is wolfish.

“I don’t think anything could really distract you,” you counter, grinning. “You’re benching 300 pounds like it’s nothing. Feels a little… superhuman.”

“Damn right.” Toji sits up briefly, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder and striking exaggerated poses in the mirror, whistling at himself.

You snort. “Alright, don’t let it go to your head now, big guy.”

He lays back down to begin his second set, but you’re feeling bold. Moving swiftly, you straddle the bench, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap.

His eyes widen briefly as he lowers the bar back to his chest, but he recovers fast, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Guess you’ve got a better view from there, huh?” he murmurs. “You don’t mind counting these out for me, do ya?”

“Not at all.” You plant your hands on his stomach, the fabric of his tank top taut against the solid expanse beneath.

He starts again, pressing the bar up with ease.

“One… two… three… four,” you count, smirking. “You think you can hit twenty?”

“Easy work,” he grunts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

But you’re feeling mischievous. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs. The contrast of warmth and strength makes your breath hitch.

“Five… six… seven…eight…” Toji’s steady rhythm falters as you increase the pressure of your movements. His eyes narrow at you, daring yet pleading for restraint.

You relent—for now—your hands sliding to rest firmly on his hips as he recovers.

“Nine… ten… eleven… twelve.” His reps slow significantly, the strain visible in his taut muscles. 

Sensing an opportunity, you lean into his weakness, grinding your hips down against him deliberately, the friction drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“Shit, ma,” Toji mutters through clenched teeth, sucking in a deep breath before lifting the bar again.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, your voice laced with mischief. You rotate your hips in a slow circle, reveling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his breath hitches.

“‘s not fair—you’re playing dirty,” Toji rasps, lowering the bar with a groan. For a fleeting moment, you envy the steel weight—it holds all his focus while you fight to claim just half of it.

But it doesn’t matter; his body betrays him. You feel him harden beneath you, the friction growing deliciously intense through the thin layers of clothing separating you.

“Toji,” you gasp, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound as heat pools low in your stomach. Your movements become instinctive, grinding against him in search of relief.

And yet, Toji—ever determined—continues his reps, each lift of the bar accompanied by a subtle grind of his hips into you, fueling the dangerous tension.

“Sixteen—shit… seventeen—mhm… ah—eighteen… n-nineteen…” Your counting falters as you ride the edge of control, each syllable more breathless than the last.

“Mf—ma… I can go to thirty,” Toji growls, his voice thick with desire. “Take it out. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you scramble to shed one leg of your shorts, fumbling with his waistband. Relief blooms when you find him bare beneath his sweats. You flick his chest, the movement playful yet teasing.

“Slut.”

Toji’s eyes darken, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race. “And what does that make you?” 

His voice is a low rumble as he lifts the bar again. “Keep counting, doll.”

“‘Kay,” you breathe, positioning yourself above him. The thick head of his length presses against your clothed center, and the sensation draws a near-whimper from your lips.

“Twenty… fuck—twenty-one… Toji—shit… twenty-two…”

You grind down harder, your movements desperate as you pump him with trembling hands. The feel of his shaft, hot and solid, against your slick sends you spiraling. Toji twitches under your touch, his breath ragged.

“Twenty-three—ah…”

A sharp, obnoxious buzzing cuts through the air, snapping you both out of the haze. The speaker blares with Toji’s ringtone, and he fumbles to set the bar down safely. The sudden motion sends you toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of the abrupt interruption as Toji curses under his breath. He hauls you back onto the bench, his movements rushed but gentle, before striding to his phone.

“Fuck, it’s Megumi,” Toji grumbles, glancing at his phone connected to the gym’s speaker. He picks it up, the ringtone still blaring. “Kid’s got the worst timing.”

You nod in acknowledgment, adjusting your shorts and ignoring the visible wet patch at the crotch. Toji answers the call, his tone shifting to frustration as he paces.

From his clipped responses, you catch snippets about school, carpooling, and a very annoyed Megumi. Toji sighs heavily, muttering a half-hearted apology before ending the call with a gruff, “See ya soon.”

“Mama,” he starts, turning to you with a weary look. “Forgot it's my turn to pick up Megs and his friends this week. In my defense, he deliberately didn’t remind me this morning just to get me caught up.”

You laugh softly as he digs through his duffle bag, pulling out another pair of sweats. Approaching you, he presses them into your hands.

“Here. Can’t have anyone else noticing the strong… impression I left on you,” he teases, his grin cocky. “Next time, I’ll double it.”

You step into the loose pants, tying the drawstring snugly around your waist. “Next time,” you echo, smiling up at him.

Toji hesitates as if it pains him to leave. He briefly embraces you, firmly squeezing your ass, and planting a wet, lingering kiss against the side of your neck before jogging toward the door.

Hooking up with your personal trainer. Immoral? Yes. Professional? Not even close. Hot? Absolutely.

But hey, it’s still exercise. Gotta see it through.

don’t try that freaky bench press position at home, take spotting seriously—not everyb got a heavenly restriction LOL

[heartandbow]

Midnight Blue

BUCKY BARNES X FEM!READER SMUT

summary: Bucky hated you in many different ways, and tonight was no exception. tw; smut, choking, dom!bucky.

Despite Bucky's reputation of being big, bad, and dangerous, there is yet to be a time he ever scared you. Even now, where he was in the very building somewhere to kill you, you knew his only weakness — he couldn't sneak around.

It's not surprising when you think about it. With his death stare and metallic arms, anybody would spot him coming from a mile away. You just have to make sure you're faster than him, which happened to be your specialty. Being a thief for the last few years taught you everything there is to know about blending in with the shadows.

Which was a shame, you thought, because I look nice today.

You did look nice. You were currently in a gala for some valiant cause or other, hosted by some rich businessman you hadn't bothered to catch the name of. You had on your midnight blue gown, embedded with pearls that reflected off the champagne glasses and Rolex watches.

"Excuse me," one of the attendees said, tapping your shoulder. "Are you Miss Malley?"

"No," you smiled broadly, knowing the guy was about to hit on you any second.

"Oh, my mistake." He had a sheepish grin. "I'm Shane. Can I buy you a drink?"

"The drinks are free," you said, grinning right back.

"I know."

"Aren't you busy trying to find Miss Malley?"

"Who?" The smile hadn't worn off.

This particularly uninteresting conversation was cut short by sudden silence at the gala. The foolish sack of a man had diverted your attention just enough that you saw a metallic death stare at the end of the gala — a stare that seemed just for your particular demise.

Don't panic, you thought, staring right back. He wouldn't dare hurt you with this many people present. Even then, he was making his way towards you. You moved away, silent as a ghost.

With each turn of crowd, you realized you might quite possibly be stuck. Bucky had brought in reinforcement ranging from Natasha Romanoff to Captain America, all of them in regal formal attire and in different corners. No one except Bucky had spotted you, possibly because he was the only person who actually had a personal vendetta against you.

Get out, your brain said clearly. Get out before they bring you to Stark. You had enough beef with that man to last for a lifetime.

You grimaced, then looked for the exit. Not the one that the attendees use, no, that would be too easy. You headed for the staff exit, the one behind the kitchen.

---------------

Half an hour later, you were walking through the dark alley, your heels clinking against the pavement. You were exhausted from all the walk, but you were used to this dance by now. Move until the target is off your back. That's how it's always been.

You wondered if you'd ever get tired of the steps.

Someone whistled. You turned to see a man around his late 40s, clearly drunk out of his mind.

"How much for the night, sweetie?"

You squinted. He looked harmless enough. You kept on walking, ignoring his continuous calls behind your back.

"Don't be like that! What, I'm not young enough for you? I thought your kind took money from anyone with a dick!"

You had half a mind to punch him in the face with the hidden knife.

No, walk on. Last thing you need is a corpse on the street.

A second passed, then two. The man's immediate silence ticked off your senses. You turned around to see him on the floor, unconscious. Somehow, it did not look like it was the alcohol that took him out.

You were almost impressed when a knife appeared at your throat from behind.

"You're getting better at sneaking around," you said proudly. "You didn't have to knock him out though. Chap was not laying a hand on me."

"Shut the fuck up." Bucky's raspy voice sent a jolt of adrenaline down your spine. His anger was controlled, but you still could hear it.

"Your wish." You stepped on his shoes. He let out a pang of hurt, not expecting your heels to feel that sharp.

One moment of distraction, that's what cost him. You whipped your gun and faced him, smile on your face.

"How did you find me?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"That hardly matters." He put his hand out, grabbing the gun, or trying to anyways. You stepped out of the way just in time and he grunted.

"You need to loosen up. Like the night we did the Catherbury mission, remember?"

That only seemed to rile him up more. You didn't think he even cared that much about the fact that you were in Avengers a good deal of time before you sneaked into Stark's office, got his card, stole a great deal of gadgets and sold them off the black market. You didn't think he even cared you were the biggest thief in the city, one that fooled even the avengers.

His vendatta against you was personal, because he considered you his friend. The cold, cruel Bucky was duped for the world to see.

"I really think we should sit down and talk," you said, the gun still held high. "Everything I did was business Bucky, stop taking it so personally."

Bucky's face showed just a tinge of hurt, but then he hurled — no weapons, no hesitation. Just full-on pounced on you, and your back hit the wall.

"If everything wasn't so fucking personal, shoot me," he practically spat out those words.

You realized you hadn't even thought of using the gun that lay hanging lifeless from your hands. You tried to grip it, but Bucky pushed his hand on top of it, bending the metal seamlessly in a way it was upside down. You let it go and tried to move.

Bucky clapped his hands on the wall on either side of your head. His eyes were smeared with charcoal and he smelt like musky cologne.

"Where's your disappearing act now?" he whispered, making you feel all sorts of things.

"Let me go," you said, gritting your teeth. God, he was standing too close.

He bent his head down and brought his lips near your ears.

"You've no clue how long I wanted to have you like this," he said, making your heart skip a beat. "Unescapable, vulnerable, scared."

"I'm not scared."

"You should be." He put his hand — the non-metallic one — over your throat. His touch was gentle, but the message was clear; he could kill you in a touch.

Though it didn't help that you liked it a little too much.

"How did you find me?" you asked again, calmly.

"Shane is my friend. He put a GPS tracker on you. I knew you'd run so all I had to do was wait."

You were impressed yet again.

"How did Shane find me? I was blending in the crowd well."

Bucky's eyes shone brighter. "You weren't going to blend in with a dress that beautiful," he stopped, removing his hand. It was as if he just realized how close he actually was to you. His eyes slid down to your lips just a second. His hands started lowering from the wall to your waist.

Then his lips were on yours, and you could have sworn he put all his anger into it. One kiss and he was prying your lips open, making out with you in that dark alley with a knocked out man five feet away.

"James," you whined between kisses, pulling him closer. The moans did things to his brain. He slid his hands through the slit of your dress, grabbing your thigh with a force that had you unnerved.

"Can I—"

"Yes."

He closed your mouth with his other hand. "No, listen to me first. I want you to mean it. Completely. Because I don't know the things I'll do to you when you say yes."

In response, you took his hand from your thighs and slid them higher, right into your panties. You pressed your body against his and you could feel him being hard.

"I hate you," he said curtly, then picked you up with effortless strength. Two minutes and you were in a secluded part of the alley, and he was setting you down on an old bench. He bent down, keeping eye contact with you all the while.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, placing a kiss on your neck. You moaned, but didn't move. He dragged your lips from your collarbones to the edge of your neckline, and pulled the dress down.

Without waiting a beat, he took off your bra and kissed your nipples.

"Bucky," you whined, and all he did was bite down harder. He let his hand drag down and pushed two fingers right into your pussy. The pain was immediate and pleasurable. His pace was slow and you started grinding on his fingers for more friction.

"Shush," he said, taking off his fingers and setting you up straight. "Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?"

"Yes," you said, moving in for a kiss. He turned his head away.

"Beg."

"Fuck me Bucky, please." You moved your hand to his pants, and he looked like he might lose all control. A few seconds of unbuckling and he took you in his arms, pressing you down to the bench and spread your legs wide.

You were wet already, and the sight of his big, hard cock hadn't helped. You were dripping down your panties.

"Beg," he said again, taking off your panties and throwing them away.

"Please fuck me, James, fuck—" you gasped when he thrust his dick in you. A moment of holding onto his hand and he was fucking you like you were his. He leaned over and bit down on your neck. A kiss and a few sucking and you knew that was going to leave a mark.

You didn't care. You were being dicked out of your soul and you were taking every second of it.

Then it stopped. He pulled away from you, his dick still hard. You were confused to see that big smile on his face, even more so when he started zipping his pants.

"You left me three months ago," he said, straightening his hair. He leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Next time you think of me, I want you to think of me fucking you like you're my bitch. How having my hands on your throat was enough to make you wet."

Revenge. That's what it was?

"You wanted to fuck me to make me regret lying to you?" you asked breathlessly, feeling ashamed that it already worked.

Bucky smiled. "I wanted to fuck you for a whole lot reasons Y/N, but I also want you to knock on my door and apologize, preferably on your knees and begging. On all fours. I'd sacrifice the rest of the night to see that."

He pulled you up and put the dress on tidily. "Goodbye. And, you really do look beautiful."

Motherfucker, you thought to yourself as he left.

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commissions info

kofi

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