#but then that meant I ended up sitting down and once we sit down it's like our brain stops being able to process that we can leave

[papayainsectorone]

teach me aftercare

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summary: After the heat fades, you teach Oscar the part no one talks about, the quiet, the care, the space after. But what lingers between you might be more than either of you meant to share.

content: emotional intimacy, aftercare, angst, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, teacher-student dynamic, post-smut tenderness, light conflict, slow burn undercurrent

word count: 2,7 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: the shift in dynamic here surprised me as much as it might surprise you. i didn���t plan for it, but it found its way in. i still hope you enjoy it, and i have a feeling this series is heading somewhere special. thank you for being on the ride with me. ♡

teach me series

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Your bodies are still tangled when it ends — skin flushed, breath shallow, the air thick with sweat and something warmer beneath it. You’re both quiet, a silence that isn’t awkward, just full. Like the world is catching up to you.

Oscar is still under you, blinking slow, mouth parted. His fingers twitch once against your back, unsure if he should be holding on or letting go.

You shift slightly, just enough to ease some weight off him, your hand finding his chest, the rise and fall still rapid under your palm. His eyes are on the ceiling, unfocused. You trace one fingertip over his collarbone, slow and steady, until his gaze finds yours.

That’s when you see it: not sadness, not exactly. But something like… disappointment flickering behind the quiet.

You tilt your head. “Talk to me.”

Oscar hesitates. You see him sort through a dozen thoughts and toss most of them out before he finally says, “I thought maybe… I’d get to try something else. Something new. Another lesson.”

His voice is soft, but there’s a tension under it not bratty, not needy. Just… unsure. Like he’s worried he’s being ungrateful.

You let the silence stretch for a beat, just looking at him. His curls are flattened on one side, cheeks still pink, a little smudged from the pillow. His mouth is red. Kiss-swollen. Gorgeous, honestly.

And still, so unsure.

You lean down, slow and calm, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear.

“The lesson’s not over,” you murmur. “This part is the lesson.”

He turns his face to you, confused. “What part?”

You sit up slowly, legs still straddling his thighs. “This,” you say simply, motioning to your bodies — flushed and undone and a little tangled still. “What we do now. What happens after. That matters just as much as what you do with your hands or your mouth.”

You watch it sink in, the way he swallows, the flush that deepens on his chest.

“I didn’t know that counted,” he says.

“Most people don’t,” you answer, reaching for the warm cloth you left nearby. “But it does. Every bit of it.”

You clean him with deliberate care — not sexual, not clinical. Just present. His breath stutters once under your touch, but he doesn’t shy away. His eyes stay on you. Watching. Learning.

“You’ll find,” you say gently, “that different people like different kinds of aftercare. Some need a moment alone. Some like to be held. Some cry. Some don’t want a single word. It’s not one-size-fits-all.”

You glance up. His brows are furrowed. Focused. Drinking it in like gospel.

“And you?” he asks. “You like doing this?”

You raise an eyebrow, not smiling. “I do it because it’s part of the it. Part of the offering. I don’t like to leave someone half-finished. Or worse — used.”

Oscar doesn’t flinch, but something in him draws in a little. Tightens.

He’s quiet for a second, and you let him be.

Then, carefully: “What if I like… this? All of it. Not just the sex.”

You pause in your movement. Your eyes meet his, but you keep your voice level. “Then it’s something you’ll have to learn to balance. Wanting more, but not expecting it. Feeling deeply, but staying grounded. You can enjoy it. You should. But you don’t get to demand meaning from it.”

He swallows, hard. You can tell that landed somewhere deeper than he expected. But he nods.

You set the cloth aside, then reach for the blanket and drape it gently over both of you. You don’t cuddle him. But you lie down beside him, close, letting your legs touch, your shoulder brushing his arm.

“This part is about reassurance. Making sure your opposite feels seen. Safe. Heard. That what you did together ends cleanly, not like a door slammed shut.”

He turns his head to look at you, his voice quiet again. “Have you always done it like this?”

You shrug. “Not always. But I’ve never just… left.”

There’s a beat. Then, soft:

“Can I hold you for a bit?”

Your heart does something strange, like it skips, then comes back steadier. You don’t let it show.

You nod once. “You can.”

He shifts, and you let him wrap around you. Arms sliding under your back, one leg slipping between yours. His hold isn’t desperate. Just steady. Like he’s found something real in all the fog.

And you let him. You don’t hold back or lean in too much. You let him learn.

He nestles into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I want to remember this part,” he murmurs. “All of it.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that — tucked close, barely speaking. Just his breath on your collarbone, the slow calm of two heartbeats returning to something steady.

There’s a shift in him. A subtle one. Less tentative now. Like the permission to hold you gave him permission to breathe, too.

But then, without a word, Oscar pulls back.

You blink as he eases himself away from your body, gently peeling out of your arms. “Wait,” he says softly, catching the edge of the blanket to cover you again. “Just… stay here, yeah?”

He’s flushed and messy and still a little dazed, curls sticking to his forehead. There’s no reason to trust whatever’s sparking behind those big brown eyes — but something in his tone makes you let him go without asking questions.

You hear the rustle of his sweatpants, the quiet pad of bare feet on tile, the creak of the door opening.

Then… the kitchen.

Faint light. The low hum of the fridge. The click of a cupboard opening. A drawer.

You frown slightly. Curious. Not concerned, not quite, but… unsure. The post-high haze is still thick in your limbs, and the absence of him is strange after how tightly he clung just minutes ago.

A soft clatter. Something ceramic. The fridge opens again.

He’s gone longer than expected — just long enough for the first hint of wonder to curl in your chest. What’s he doing?

When the door creaks again and he comes back in, it’s like a scene you weren’t expecting to be part of.

Oscar's arms are full. He’s carrying a large tray, careful and proud. There’s fruit on it — sliced strawberries, a peeled orange sectioned neatly. A couple pieces of chocolate. Two glasses of water. One of them has a lemon wedge on the rim. It’s so him you could laugh.

But you don’t laugh.

He sets it on the bedside table like it’s precious cargo. Then he looks at you — a little shy, a little proud, a little uncertain all over again.

“I… didn’t really know what the right thing was. For after,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I thought — comfort, right? Food. Water. Something sweet.”

You sit up slowly, the blanket falling a little off your shoulders. He looks away quickly, trying to be respectful, but you catch the flicker of heat that’s still not gone.

You take a piece of strawberry, bite into it, and nod once. “That’s thoughtful. Messy, but sweet.”

He grins at that. “Like me?”

You arch a brow. “Don’t push it.”

He laughs quietly and climbs back into bed. This time, he doesn’t ask. He wraps himself around you again, this time behind you, arms snug around your waist. Your back against his chest.

His voice is quieter now, more grounded. “I didn’t know this part mattered so much. But it kind of… changes things, doesn’t it?”

You nod into the dark. “It always does.”

The room is quiet again, but it hums differently now — like a wire pulled too tight, vibrating with everything unsaid.

Oscar’s thumb rubs a slow, absent arc against your side, and your breath stutters, just a little. It’s nothing. A subconscious gesture. But it makes something in your chest shift.

You could say something. Draw the boundary again. Remind him — remind yourself — what this is and isn’t. That you’ve done this before, that this kind of softness doesn’t mean what people think it means. That it’s just care, not commitment.

But you don’t.

Because it’s not just him who’s quiet now, full of questions he won’t ask.

It’s you, too.

You feel the ache of it behind your ribs — not romantic, not even clearly emotional. Just a presence. A pressure. Like something is waiting to unfold if you let it.

You stay still instead, measuring your breathing like it might keep you safe. Like if you keep it even, you can keep things even.

But Oscar’s body against yours is not even.

It’s too warm, too present, too willing. His trust is wrapped around your spine like a vine, slow and steady, and you realize with startling clarity that he’s stopped waiting for you to make him feel safe.

He already does.

And that is the danger.

Because when someone stops seeing themselves as temporary, they start looking for permanence. Even when they don’t mean to. Even when you’ve warned them.

He exhales against the back of your neck, a soft huff that brushes your skin, and you can feel the shape of it — how he’s settling into you like a question answered.

You keep your eyes closed, but your voice is awake now. Low. Careful.

“You should remember not everyone will do it like this.”

Oscar hums behind you, not letting go. “I know.”

“Some won’t stay,” you add. “Some will leave before your breathing’s even back to normal.”

“I know,” he says again, quieter this time. “But you stayed.”

You press your lips together.

For a long moment, the only sound is the slow turn of the ceiling fan and the occasional tick of cooling skin against the sheet. Then, softly:

“I don’t stay because of you,” you say. “I stay because it’s how I like it.”

You feel his breath catch slightly. Just for a second.

Then he nods against your shoulder. “Still means something.”

You don’t answer. You don’t want to answer.

Because if you did, you might have to tell him that he’s not wrong. That something is shifting inside you, too. That somewhere between his hands on your waist and the way he cut the orange into perfect segments like it mattered, you stopped thinking of this as just instruction.

You told yourself this was temporary. You’re the one who made the rules — boundaries, roles, names. Teacher. Student. A controlled environment.

And yet…

His hand squeezes gently at your hip, and you feel the whisper of a smile in his voice when he says, “You think too loud, you know that?”

You blink.

He’s not wrong. But it startles you, the way he’s started reading you back. Not like a script — not like he’s trying to mirror what you taught — but like he’s forming his own thoughts now. Feeling his way through this.

You sit with that a moment, then shift slightly, turning onto your back.

His arm remains at your waist, but looser now. Letting you go if you want.

You look up at him.

His hair is a wild halo against the pillow, and his eyes — soft, but steady — meet yours like he doesn’t need to pretend he isn’t attached anymore.

That’s the thing that knocks the breath out of you.

He’s not asking for more. But he’s acting like it’s more.

You sigh, just quietly. Not annoyed. Not sad. Just… full.

“This will be hard if you start thinking like that,” you murmur.

“Thinking like what?”

“That this means something more than it does.”

Oscar tilts his head. “And what does it mean?”

You open your mouth.

Then close it again.

You don’t have a clean answer.

Because the truth is, it meant one thing when you started. And it’s starting to mean something else now. And that change — that drift — is the scariest part.

You see it in him. You’ve seen it before in others, too — but this isn’t like the others. He’s not folding himself into what you want. He’s becoming in front of you. And you realize you don’t know if you can stop that. Or if you want to.

You sit up fully now, drawing your knees to your chest, the sheet falling into your lap.

Oscar shifts but doesn’t touch. He watches you instead, eyes tracking every flicker of your expression.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say finally. “This was… good. You were present. You gave and received. You listened.”

“But?”

You smile faintly. “You always hear the but, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “You only pause like that when you’re editing something in your head.”

The ache deepens in your chest.

“You’re getting too good at reading me,” you murmur, and it’s not teasing. Not quite.

He says nothing.

You draw in a slow breath, choosing your words. “I meant it when I said the lesson’s not over. That includes this part, too — the confusion, the closeness, the wanting. But you can’t assume it will always feel like this. Not with everyone.”

“I’m not with everyone,” he says quietly.

“No,” you say, just as quiet. “You’re not.”

And that’s the problem.

You feel the rest of the words press against your teeth — things like I care more than I should or you’re starting to make me want things I told myself I didn’t want. But you swallow them.

You press a hand to his chest instead, right over his heart. His skin is warm, soft, still a little damp with the sweat of what you shared. His heartbeat flutters beneath your palm like he’s waiting to be named.

“You feel things fast,” you say gently. “That’s not wrong. But it’s dangerous if you don’t learn to slow it down. To hold space for what something is, instead of what you hope it might become.”

Oscar closes his eyes under your touch, his lips parted slightly — and when he speaks, it’s a breath, not a question.

“So what’s this?”

You pause. Not to pull back. Not to calculate. Just to feel.

You stare down at your hand on his chest and think about the strange, weightless ache in your throat — the one that started when he brought you water with a lemon wedge on the rim. The one that never really went away.

“I don’t know, Osc,” you murmur. “I just don’t want it to… go wrong.”

The words sit between you like a ghost — not heavy, not sharp, just sad. Just real.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment.

You stay like that, your hand on him, your heart thudding quietly against your ribs, until the silence stretches too tight.

Then you shift — slowly, carefully — pulling your hand back.

And before he can read too much into the way you hesitate, you speak again, quieter than before.

“Maybe it’s time for me to go.”

Oscar’s body tenses all at once. He lifts onto one elbow. “No—wait, please, I didn’t mean to—”

You hold up a hand. Not angry. Just steady.

“No, Osc,” you say. “Really. It’s okay. But I have to go.”

You sit up before he can argue, reaching for your clothes without looking at him. Not out of cruelty. Not because you’re ashamed. But because if you do look, you might not leave.

He stays quiet — crushed silence — while you pull on your shirt, tug your jeans over your hips. Your movements are practiced. Efficient. Detached in the way you need to be to get out the door.

He shifts slightly, like he’s about to sit up, maybe reach for you. Maybe say something else.

But he doesn’t.

And neither do you.

Your fingers pause at the doorknob.

Behind you, he’s sitting upright in bed now, the sheet pooling around his waist, his curls a soft, chaotic mess. He looks like he wants to say don’t go. He looks like he’s hoping you’ll turn around.

And for one second — one breathless second — you think maybe you will.

But you don’t.

You don’t because you meant it when you said you didn’t want this to go wrong.

You open the door.

He calls your name once — soft, almost reflexive — and it nearly breaks something in you.

But you don’t look back.

You just step out into the quiet of the hallway, the door clicking gently closed behind you.

v smol taglist

@sealife-for-life @notgirlsummerr

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

To answer the original question- we went to libraries and read books (often encyclopedias) and periodicals. Libraries still exist. Please try them sometime. And sometimes we did the assignment by flashlight while sitting in the back of a tree prop to weigh it down so it didn’t fall forward on a dancer while it was onstage for a daytime performance of your school’s Nutcracker production when that class was next on your schedule. (Specific example but you get the point.)

But to expand on last-minute things - I used to call it “bullshitting (an essay).” And I thought, at the time, that it wasn’t actually useful or good - that it was irresponsible or lazy. But now, looking back on it, it was, in fact, a coping mechanism and a damn good one considering how absolutely awful our public school system (in the US) actually is. (But that’s a topic I’ve already ranted about.)

I was undiagnosed for ADHD and autism and had demand avoidance, anxiety, and short-term memory issues. Those things sucked in an environment where memorizing and regurgitating things on a schedule for a grade that everyone emphasized could affect the rest of your life were the priorities.

So instead of memory and regurgitation, I developed, over time, my own skills in being able to make something up on the spot that contained what I could manage to remember accurately without bringing attention to the parts I couldn’t remember. Bonus points if the essay was part of a test and I could look at the rest of the test and logically pull information from it. (Oh look, research, problem-solving, awareness, and logic skills!) And it turns out that that’s pretty useful even just in everyday conversation. I learned to examine the environment and be aware of everything around me that might be helpful (look around the room for anything that might have a word I can’t remember how to spell or some piece of useful information.) I learned how to communicate through writing quickly and clearly and how to organize my thoughts on the spot.

If it was an essay that required research, I’d gather the materials to do the research then just accept that none of it was going to happen until right before it was due and I’d churn it out at the last minute.

Again, I thought this was procrastination and it was bad but it turns out it was a coping mechanism for poor memory and anxiety. It would have taken so much more effort to break it up over days and basically have to start over every day because I couldn’t remember what I researched yesterday. And it sounds backwards but I was less anxious about getting it done and more anxious about if it was good enough once it was done so it was less stressful to have less time to worry over it after it was done and probably end up screwing it up because of constantly trying to make it better. The procrastination method meant that done at all was better than not done and helped me get over seeking perfection.

So yes, these are learned skills and also good coping mechanisms and they cannot be learned without practice. Having AI do it for you means you are depriving yourself of the incredibly useful skills of research, awareness of the world around you, and of showing what you know/remember in a coherent way while giving yourself grace and privacy for what you’ve forgotten.

Also you’re missing out on the chance to meet people at the library and they often have cool art displayed that you get to see. Seriously, go there. Talk to some fellow humans.

Also the hand drawing thing works. It works for everything in drawing. Anatomy, animals, buildings, etc. If you are bad at it and want to improve, 1000 quick (like 1 minute) drawings of the thing will do it.

"what did students do before chatgpt?" well one time i forgot i had a history essay due at my 10am class the morning of so over the course of my 30 minute bus ride to school i awkwardly used by backpack as a desk, sped wrote the essay, and got an A on it.

six months later i re-read the essay prior to the final exam, went 'ohhhh yeah i remember this', got a question on that topic, and aced it.

point being that actually doing the work is how you learn the material and internalize it. ChatGPT can give you a short cut but it won't build you the the muscles.

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] You = me?

LIs react to you/MC showing up to a date dressed exactly like them.

(Genre: Fluff; tw: mild suggestiveness)

SYLUS 

You stroll in with a suit jacket worn exactly the way he does- draped like a cape, the crow brooch glinting under the dim ambient light of the restaurant. Sylus raises a brow as he takes in your appearance.

"Kitten," he purrs, standing to pull out a chair for you. "Are you mocking me… or tempting me?" His fingers brush the brooch. "Because if it’s the latter, this game ends with that outfit on my floor." 

It sends an electrifying heat coiling deep within you, but you refuse to let your composure slip just yet.

You mimic his posture, chin lifted. "I just wanted to see if I could pull off power better than you." 

He laughs, low and indulgent. "Oh, you do."  

___

XAVIER 

Xavier freezes mid-sip when he sees you in his signature hoodie-and-tee combo, the tea hovering in front of his face as he looks, or rather, stares. His cup clinks when he sets it down.

 "You're… me."  

You wink, copying his serene smile and slipping into the seat opposite him. "Do I look like a fallen star now?"  

He reaches out, fingertips grazing the fabric. "No. You look like everything… everything I love,"  

Then- rare mischief flashes. “You'd look even better with me. At my place, in my be-”

“Xavier!” You yelp, stopping him from finishing what he had to say.

He beams at you. “I meant, napping in a hoodie is very comfortable. So we should try it together,”

___

ZAYNE 

Zayne’s chopsticks pause over his plate when you slide into the booth, dressed in his go-to all-black attire.

His stare lingers on you.

 "…You even got the correct height for the rolled sleeves."  

You adjust imaginary glasses. "Based on observational data, this was the optimal outfit for unconventional seduction."  

A beat. Then- he leans in, his voice a whisper. "Your confidence interval is 100%."  

Your heart flutters in your chest at the way a hint of a smirk grazes his lips.

"Let's eat now, otherwise the soup dumplings will get cold." He says lightly to remind you to sit, picking one up with practiced ease and placing it into your bowl.

His gaze for the rest of the evening is weighted with a certain intensity, one that promises more to come, once you return home with him.

___

RAFAYEL

“Hey Rafayel,” you greet, your hand brushing his shoulder lightly as you walk in from behind him. “Sorry I'm late,”

There's a short beat of silence.

Rafayel's butter knife clatters onto the plate. "Is that-? Are you? ME?!"  

You do a spin, the white fabric flowing around you. "Who else?"  

He springs up, hands fluttering over your hair and outfit. "Oh, Miss Bodyguard you look absolutely stunning- wait, do a pose! Pose like I do!"  

You flick your hair and angle your shoulder to pose. His jaw drops.

 "I’m OBSESSED! This is art!"  He declares.

Then, suddenly, he takes your hands into his. His tone turns serious as he asks you softly. "But you have to tell me. Am I also art to you, Miss Bodyguard?”  

You grin at him. “Of course, you're the true embodiment of art itself,”

He preens, bringing your hand up and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand. Then another, and another, until you almost have to physically sit him back down on his chair and remind him to stop the PDA and eat.

--- 

CALEB 

Caleb chokes on his water when he sees your handmade sweater. He turns away quickly, coughing and spluttering into his elbow before he spews water all over the fancy steak frites on the table.

You make it to the corner table, a small little alcove that has an L-shaped sofa bench against the wall. With him being closer now, you can see that pink tinges the tips of his ears as he clears his throat. "You- you made this? For our date? For me?"  

You mimic his shy grin, sliding your bag off your shoulder as you slide into the plush bench, knees touching his. You stretch out your arm so that he can admire your handiwork. "Just a bit of stitching with ready-made items. Had to match my favorite person."  

His hands hover, like he’s afraid to wrinkle it. "I… I love it.. And the sweater paws- pipsqueak, that should be illegal,”

“Too cute to handle?” You tease.

He pinches your cheek, then squishes you in a tight hug. “Never, pipsqueak.”

His heartbeat says otherwise.

[coldfanbou]

Paying to Forget

Here we go! So with this idea, it was pretty simple and basic breeding stuff. Considering the plot, which was Mother's Day-based, would be a little late, I changed it. Instead, I shifted things. Previously, this piece was a short thing written for a writer's prompt that you may have seen. I have added to it and made it a little kinkier. Please enjoy fellow Emma lovers.

Length 2K

Emma X Mreader

“How are you doing, mister? You seem down.” A woman asks you, bending over to be at eye level with you as you look up. “I can help you with that.” You meet the woman’s eyes and ask her name. “Call me Emma,” she says, smiling and shaking her head, her red hair shining in the evening light.  The two of you continue the conversation, where you learn Emma was an escort. “If you really want to forget about her, you can come with me.” Emma is proactive, sitting on your lap and caressing your face. “Come on, Daddy.” She says softly. You glance up at her, meeting her smirk. Emma was reading you like a book, figuring out what you’re into just by meeting your gaze. “I’ll let you make me a mommy.” You agree, and Emma climbs off your lap, taking you by the hand and hailing a taxi for the two of you. 

You exit the taxi with Emma and stare at the building in front of you, nervous.“Come on, Daddy. Don’t you want to go inside?” Emma says in a low, sultry voice. She runs her fingernail along your chest, slowly rising to your neck and finally stopping at your chin. “I thought you wanted to have some fun.” You stare at the door to the love hotel, wondering if you should go through with it. “That wife of yours cheated on you. Why shouldn’t you get to have some fun?” She whispers to you like a devil on your shoulder. “I’ll make sure to make all your worries disappear.” Emma grabs your hand, leading you inside as the last of your doubts fades away. 

You pay for the room, enter the elevator, and head to the top floor where your room is. You step out and see it at the end of the hallway. Emma grabs the key card from you before intertwining her fingers with yours as she holds your hands and runs ahead. You follow her, listening to her laugh as she taps the card and pushes the door aside. There was something about the way she led you that was infatuating.

Emma wastes no time, getting you to the bed and pushing you onto it. Emma might be on the smaller side, but her spirit more than made up for it. Once you’re on the bed, Emma straddles you, placing her hands on your chest as she leans over you. “Oh, Daddy, I’ll make sure you forget her. I’ll be the only thing on your mind.” Emma kisses you, her lips lingering against yours as her hands move to your bulge, rubbing it gently. “Do you want me to use my mouth?” She says, pouting. Emma’s plump lips made you think about how skilled she must be. You nod, Emma could do anything to you, and you’d probably be fine with it.

The young woman pulls down your pants and rubs your cock through your boxers, licking her lips as she feels your cock harden. You stare at Emma, watching her smirk grow larger as she pulls on the waistband and frees your cock. It springs forward toward her, nearly smacking her face. It spooks her, making her move back, but she laughs. Emma grabs it gently, her grip slowly getting tighter as she runs her hand up and down your shaft. “You nearly hit me, Daddy. Do you want me that much?” She doesn’t let you answer, rushing forward to kiss you again. “Do you want to see something special?” She asks, pulling the bottom of her top up to reveal her perky tits. Dark brown nipples topped her tanned breasts. Emma felt your cock when she grabbed it again. Your stare and your body told her enough. “Thank you for liking them, Daddy,” She says, shaking her upper body so her tits bounced. Your cock twitched again, “You better not cum soon. You’re going to make me a mommy, remember?” 

You were putty in her hands. Even if you knew it meant nothing in the back of your mind. You wanted nothing more than to put a baby in this young woman. 

Emma bent over, her hot breath hitting your head before you felt her tongue run along the underside. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fit you inside,” She says, flicking the tip of your cock with her tongue. The young woman presses her lips against the head, taking it in and wrapping her lips around the tip of your cock, her tongue gently lapping it. Emma’s tongue was small, but it felt fantastic. It moved over your tip, in small circles, swirling around you as she stared into your eyes.

“Ah, Emma.” You groan, her warm tongue swirling around the tip.

“Yes, Daddy?” She asks, a smile on her face as she takes control. “What is it, Daddy?” She asks when you don’t respond; while she waits, Emma moves her tongue quickly over the head. It makes it harder for you to come up with any words.

“You’re so good at this,” you manage to mumble. 

Emma smiles and pulls away, “It’s my job.” Emma wraps her lips around your cock, forming a tight seal as she sucks it, her cheeks hollowing. You groan, pleasure coursing through your body. When Emma starts to bob her head, you're taken to another world. Her tongue slides along the underside of your cock as she moves toward the base, you feel her lips pressed against your pelvis, kissing it before she moves back. You leak precum onto her tongue. Emma pulls you out of her mouth, giggling as she pushes a finger into her mouth. “You taste so good, Daddy. It feels like you’re getting close to cumming.” Emma reaches down, cupping your balls. “And these are so heavy, you must have so much baby batter in here…and it’s all for me.” Emma giggles, leaning over to kiss your balls. 

Emma stands up and unbuttons her pants, letting them fall to the floor; her lacy black panties were the only barrier now, and they disappeared just as quickly. Emma spun them around her finger, tossing them to the side as you stared at her. You took in Emma’s tanned body, noticing her toned stomach. “I was a dancer,” she says casually before climbing onto the bed and straddling you. Emma grinds against you slowly; she moans softly and grabs your hands, placing them on her tits. “Mmm, Daddy, I want you,” she moans, rocking back and forth over you. Emma’s slick lips glide along your cock. 

“I want you, Emma.”

The young woman smiles. Emma grabs your cock, rubbing it against her folds before pressing it against her entrance and sinking onto it. She tilts her head back, letting her low moans fill the room as you stretch her cunt. “Ah, Daddy, you’re so big,” she moans as she slows down, taking her time as she finishes taking in your cock. Emma leans back, swiveling her hips. Your cock rubs agaisnt her walls, bringing you both the pleasure you desired. You grip Emma’s toned thighs, holding them tightly as she rocks back and forth on your cock. Emma coos at your rough touch and brings herself forward, grabbing your hands and moving them back to her tits, making you knead them. Her hard nipple rubs against your palm as she begins to ride you in earnest.

Your grip on her tits grows rougher as you feel how tight she is. Emma smiles, enjoying the roughness. She begins to bounce on your cock, rising until just the tip was in before slamming herself back down onto it.  Every time Emma bounces on your cock, she becomes a little faster. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room. She leans down, kissing you, her tongue invading your mouth as she continues to ride you. You both moan into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of each other’s bodies. When Emma pulls back, you pinch her nipples, leading to them being pulled taut. Emma cries out, the pleasure beginning to overwhelm her. A tightness begins to form in her core. 

Your hands move down to her waist for a moment before reaching for her ass. You spank her roughly, earning yourself a cry of pleasure from Emma. “You’re being so rough, Daddy.” Her moans grow louder with each subsequent hit. 

“You’re such a naughty girl,” you grunt through the pleasure. “Making me breed you.”

“Only for you,” She whines, continuing to ride as you grab her ass and begin thrusting. Emma’s moans can barely be contained now; if anyone were in a room next to yours, they would hear her easily.  “I’m cumming!” Emma cries out, pleasure overtaking her. You were close to cumming too. You thrust quickly, driving your cock deep into Emma before burying yourself inside and pumping her full of your baby batter. Emma rocks her hips as you cum, letting her walls flex around your cock in different positions, draining you of your cum. She tilts her head back, groaning as she feels your warm semen being pumped into her. You feel months worth of saved cum pour into Emma.

As she returns her gaze to you, Emma rubs her stomach, “Mmm, Daddy.” The young woman savors the feeling. “You were really trying to put a baby in me.” She plants a kiss on your cheek as you rest. You end up falling asleep, the orgasm exhausting you. Emma climbs off of you, your cum pouring out of her. She places hand over the slit, letting your cum fill her palm before bringing it to her lips, and eating it. A bright idea hits Emma at that moment. She searches through your things, grabbing your phone and setting it up on a drawer. She sets a timer and snaps pictures of herself, her legs spread apart to reveal the absolute mess that was her cunt. Globs of cum pouring out of her onto the bed. She knew you would appreciate something like this when you woke up. 

Emma grabbed your phone after, taking time to edit the pictures, putting small text over them. “Daddy came so much. I’ll definitely get pregnant. Daddy’s cock is the best.” She put it all over the picture. Emma giggled, enjoying herself before looking at your sleeping form, your cock still hard. One more idea came to her. She crawled between your legs, grabbing your cock with one hand while she began to film herself with the other. “Hi, Daddy! I hope you had a good time with me. I wanted to leave you a little something. I hope you like this.” She said before using her tongue on your cock, swirling it around the tip before taking the whole thing in her mouth. Emma would glance at the camera as she sucked your cock. Her tongue worked to clean your cock as she bobbed her head. She would occasionally take a small break to compliment your performance, saying things like, “You were so good, Daddy. My pussy feels nice and full after you came in me and your cum is so good. I think I might get addicted.” Emma finished you off soon enough, leaving your cock clean and pulling itout of her mouth with a pop. 

The young woman ended the recording with a peace sign and put your phone back in your pants before using your shower to clean herself up. She smiled as she glanced at your sleeping body when she came out of the shower. She went to your pants, looking through them for your wallet, grabbing a few large bills before putting them back. Emma checked the clock before walking over to the nightstand, grabbed a pen, and left you a note to wake up to before getting out of your room. She made sure to leave a “do not disturb” sign on your door as she went on her way.

 When you wake up, you find the note from Emma. “Thanks for the good time, Daddy. I took my payment. I hope we can do this again; I’ll meet you in the park when you want to have some more fun. Here’s my number, and check your phone for something nice.” A winking face was drawn at the end.

[kovagames]

Demo (TBA) | 18+

WARNINGS: Violence, gore and mature language, general struggling, realism.

Genre: Apocalyptic grimdark horror.

“AND THEN THE WORLD ENDED. Everything came crashing down for my already screwed up life when those... creatures came, infected. Trapping me into another cage that we now call life. Running, fighting, scavenging, hiding… is on repeat constantly. Just a never-ending cycle of fighting for your life. Living is so.... exhausting. Not even living, just surviving.” I cleared my throat.

“I discovered secrets that I still cannot wrap my head around. Secrets that would have ruined everything. I'm sinking into it all.”

“Despite the chaos, there was a shining light in my corner. A group.” I smiled.

“We worked together and fought people, the world, as best as we could with our little but growing knowledge. Being a team was a little rocky in the beginning, but we knew making it through this mess would be easier if we had each other. Or at least by a little.

“But...” I took a long pause. Heaviness filled the air, like there was a pressure drop. It was almost as if we both knew what it meant without words. My eyes fixated on the floor as I felt my eyes watering, just a bit.

“Good things don’t always last. If I learned anything, it was that. And now, I’m here, alone.” A heavy sigh escaped my mouth, and my shoulders weren’t tense for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I should’ve been there....”

My hand reached for his, tight but gentle. “It’s okay. There was so much going on, anyway. What matters is that we’re together now.”

He smiled for a moment before his eyes descended into thought. “But what... really happened? I mean, that was so vague.”

My mind flashed through the events since the outbreak. Faces, sounds, smells, places. All kinds of feelings, even ones I can’t describe, weighed on my chest; so much in only a few seconds. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

The apocalypse engulfed you, and along with the rest of the surviving population, no one knows what’s happening. Or so you think. Infected overran the world, leaving most of the population dead. Streets are quiet, and houses are empty. Sometimes you just want to go home, but then you remember, there is no home to go to. Anyone would go insane, losing everything all at once.

Supplies linger, but they have run thin in the chaos as you survive in conditions you never would’ve expected; leaving behind the expected comforts of what you knew. Everything you wanted you could get with ease, but now you scavenge for food in a world where everyone and everything is out to get you.

People changed after the apocalypse, and that is ever so clear as you fight, not only infected but raiders who will do anything to get what they want. But not everyone you come across will have such nefarious intentions. There are also the compassionate, helpful people, but there are also people who sit in the middle, balancing their morality.

The road of survival will test you mentally and emotionally. Leaving you wondering if trying is really all that worth it. Many more questions linger in your mind, even dark ones that hide in the far corners of your head, gathering and waiting for you to break. But you won’t break, because you’re a fighter; you’ve always been. When an infected comes charging at you, you’ll stand your ground. Why?

‘Cause that’s just what you do.

Scavenging rabbit hole to gain supplies.

Customize your character's name, gender, pronouns, sexuality, eyes, hair, and more.

Personality and skill stats.

Romance one or two of the four characters in the next section, or just be friends.

Survive against raiders and infected.

FYI your parent's names are Elena and Pedro, if you don't want the same names as them.

| Caleb ??? | 23 | He/Him

Gender: Cis man

Sexuality: Bisexual

Race: African American

Appearance: Dark brown buzz cut, dark green eyes, and dark brown skin tone. Has a heart tattoo with the letter C on the inside of his wrist.

Body Type: Muscular, little to no definition, mass.

Height: 6'0

A brooding leader who leads with rationale and determination. He keeps his heart closed to anyone, fearing his past would come back and haunt him once again. His loner and cold nature holds him back from truly connecting with those around him. At the end of the day, his leadership is strong, keeping his group together like he knows he has to.

| Sudiro | 22 | He/Him

Gender: Cis man

Sexuality: Bisexual

Race: Javanese (Indonesian)

Appearance: Black, slightly wavy neck-length hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin/honey skin tone. Back tattoo, nose and ear piercings.

Body Type: Lean and defined.

Height: 5'7

Loves to live life on the edge and have fun. Jokes are his protection. His dream was to see the world, but it was abruptly crushed. Despite his adventurous nature, he is extremely pessimistic, always thinking of the worst. He can be snarky and rude, but deep down, he is caring and compassionate. Will those walls come down? Either way, he won't be listening to you anytime soon.

(Javanese people don't have last names.)

| Rue Benson | 21 | She/Her

Gender: Cis woman

Sexuality: Lesbian

Race: African American

Appearance: Dark brown shoulder-length dreads, eyes, and skin tone. Double sleeves.

Body Type: Muscular/Ripped, in between definition and bulk, straight waist.

Height: 5'8

A kind-hearted soul who goes out of her way to help others. She knows how to handle herself but prefers to avoid confrontation. Gentle but strong. Her life before the apocalypse was a mess, and that mess only became worse. The world around her collapsed into moral ambiguity, but she stayed true to herself. But sometimes people can be too good.

Dana Léon | 21 | She/Her

Gender: Transgender woman

Sexuality: Bisexual

Race: White

Appearance: Light blonde armpit-length hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Freckles. Earlobe piercings.

Body Type: Toned and slender.

Height: 5'3

Can be mischievous from time to time and is very self-assured. A little flirtatious, too. Doesn't think she needs anyone else and can survive on her own. But doesn't actively push others away, just stays alone as a first choice. Idealism keeps her going as she always tries to see the positive. She tells herself that the world will go back to the way it was all the time, even if she knows it's not true.

~ Playlist ~

NOTES:

If you have any suggestions, corrections, or criticism, feel free to tell me, unless it's something I already cleared up or went over, but I will not accept hatred. I want to grow, not to be put down.

I'll update this post if there are changes regarding anything that is considered a warning.

Anon is off because I will not be dealing with harassment. If you have a funny name or profile, I don't care; it's okay. People get too brave, and I don't have the energy to deal with that nonsense. I have to set boundaries. Sorry to any future askers.

I used AI somewhat for my code. Until recently, I didn't realize how bad that was. My future projects will be free from any AI, and this project will be as well as it progresses. If you want to stay, I appreciate it, but if you don't, I understand. It's something I'm not proud of, to be clear.

@interact-if

[stargirlygirl]

you smell like fish

fisherman!bakugou x siren!fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part six: aftermath

summary: katsuki is lost without you, so imagine his surprise when he gets a knock on his front door late at night from a certain siren.

contains: alcoholic katsuki, fluff, hurt comfort, swearing, happy ending, 2.6k words

Katsuki hands a certain redhead sitting on his porch a sugared-up latte. The waves smash down on the rocks to one side, while the woods croak on the other side. The blonde plops down on the adjacent cane chair and takes a sip of his black coffee.

Eijiro breaks the quiet between them with, “It’s such a shame, man. I know you really liked her.”

Katsuki chuckles shortly, the sound icy, “Yea, I did.” His voice drops to a whisper, close to being swallowed up by the salty gust. “I still do.” The redhead hums, gulping down his coffee.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” He suggests.

The blonde groans, “’Course not.” Silence befalls the space between the two fishermen as they gaze at the beach. The birds chirp, and the white sun filters through the thick cloud cover.

Katsuki grumbles at last, “Just… didn’t think she’d up ‘n leave, ya know? I thought we could fix it. But, I guess she felt differently.” Eijiro nods. A notification pings. The redhead apologises as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Mina,” he says warmly. After responding to her text, he sets his phone down on the little table nearby. Clearing his throat, Eijiro urges the blonde to keep talking.

Katsuki shrugs, “S’fine, really.” He practically inhales his coffee, but the caffeine does little to energise him.

Eijiro asks, “So, what’re you gonna do with your month off?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ start,” the blonde grumbles.

“I mean, yea, it sucks but, what did you expect Tenya to do? Touya’s been hospitalised because of the accident,” the redhead remarks.

“Tch. Deserved it,” Katsuki grunts.

“Come on, Bakubro. I know you hate him, but he didn’t deserve it.”

The blonde sighs, “Yer right. Shoulda been me, I guess.” Eijiro sets his ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug down and claps Katsuki’s shoulder.

“That’s not what I meant,” the redhead clarifies.

Katsuki shakes his head, groaning, “I know… But now I gotta pay all his fuckin’ medical bills.” Eijiro chuckles. The sound is far too warm and light for the darkness creeping up on his best friend. Katsuki shrugs off the redhead’s hand and shifts back in his seat, tipping his head up and soaking in the sensation of the wind biting his cheeks.

Eijiro smirks, “I still can’t believe he had your house searched. That’s fucked, man.” With his sleep-deprived eyes still closed, the blonde hums in agreement.

Buzz buzz.

“Fuck-sorry. Mina and I are going out tonight, so she wants to know if her makeup looks good.”

“S’alright. I get it,” Katsuki mumbles. Once the sun begins descending below the tides, the blonde sees Eijiro out. The front door thuds shut, and as Katsuki turns around, he feels the crushing emptiness of his home for the first time in months.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

The next month off might just be the worst month of his life. When his father had died, Katsuki had of course mourned his loss. The blonde had felt the heart-wrenching pain and worked through it in the years to come. But at least he knew when his father was approaching his deathbed. With you, he couldn’t have foreseen your abrupt departure.

Your face haunts him, as does your voice and fleeting touches. At night, when he’s surrounded by empty beer bottles, all he can think of is you. It’s become a habit of his to trace your teeth marks carved into his hand whenever he’s unoccupied. It comforts him, knowing that you were real.

Of course, you were real.

He’s got your clothes and fishy scent still lingering in his guest room. On the bed sits your discarded night gown with your sandy boots on top. The morning of your disappearance, Katsuki had turned his house inside out looking for you. When he caught a glimpse of something on the sand from your bedroom window, he ventured out to the beach and found your clothes.

To this day, he doesn’t know whether you’ve gone home or if you died trying. That’s what disturbs him the most. What comfort can he seek in your absence if he can’t say that you’re home safe?

Going back to work should have helped. And it did. It helped Katsuki to improve at hiding his hangovers.

Before you were in his life, he was feeling stagnant. Depressed almost with how mundane everything was. And when you were in his life, suddenly he had something, someone, to look forward to every day. But now that you’re gone, he can’t go back to who he was. The blonde tries. So. Fucking. Hard. But it’s like the alcohol speaks to him, urging him to drown out his sorrows whenever he comes home from another gruelling shift.

And tonight is no different. Almost three months after you left, he pops open a beer and is about to take a swig when he hears a firm knock. Grumbling, he sets his bottle on the coffee table and trudges over to the front door. The blonde doesn’t even bother to check the peephole before throwing the door open.

He wasn’t expecting much. Maybe some drunk teen in the wrong neighbourhood was playing a prank on him at 10pm. So imagine his surprise when you stand there, drenched from the sea, glimmering in the full moonlight, oh so bare. His eyes almost pop out of their sockets as he gazes at you, analysing every curve that he committed to memory months ago.

“Katsuki,” you utter. Your voice is like the sweetest nectar, quenching his thirst after weeks in the desert.

“Can I come in?” You ask. His mouth opens to respond, but only stuttered chunks of words fall out. Shaking his head, he opens the door wider and steps back. You slip past him and eye his messy home.

Turning around, you say sarcastically, “I love what you’ve done with the place—” He wraps his arms around you and draws you into a tight hug. His body is like a furnace, incinerating you with its heat. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You sigh as your hands tangle in his greasy, unwashed locks while his palms press you even closer. Your bodies mould together perfectly, like they were made to fit one another. His head rests in the crook of your neck, breathing in your salty musk.

He mumbles into your soaking wet skin, “Don’t leave me again. P-please.” All of the emotions he’s been bottling up and drinking down bubble to the surface. Hot tears swell in his sleepy eyes and spill over onto dark eye bags and three-day stubble. You slide your hands down to his back and gently rub up and down, just like he did for you whenever you were upset.

Katsuki sobs into your neck, “’M so sorry.” You shake your head and gently shush him, tracing circles across his shoulder blades.

“No, I’m sorry. I was such a burden on you and—”

“Don’t. Don’t s-say that, fishie,” he chokes out against your now heated flesh.

“I-I shoulda been hon-honest with you from the start,” he stutters. His sorrow dips down your chest as you scratch his back lightly.

You mumble, “Why don’t we sit down, yea?” He nods and stands up. His hands raise to rub his eyes, but you catch his wrists and thumb his tears away. The gesture elicits even more tears.

“Sorry,” you say, but he shakes his head and leans down to pick you up. Katsuki takes you over to the couch and sits down on it with you in his lap. He grabs a nearby blanket and throws it over the two of you before resting his cheek against the top of your head. The tears keep flowing as you melt into his chest; his arms still encircle you firmly.

You admit, “I really missed you.”

He smirks sadly, “Yea?” You nod.

“I really fuckin’ missed you, fishfreak,” he murmurs into your wet hair.

You giggle, “I can tell. You look like shit. And what’s this?” You point to the open beer on the table.

“Probably why you look like you haven’t slept in two weeks,” you drawl. He chuckles. You grin, feeling his laughter reverberating in his chest.

Burying his nose in your locks, he mumbles, “You keep me up.”

“But I’m not even here,” you pout.

“That’s why.” His hand slips up from your shoulder to cup your cheek. Pulling back, he tilts your head up and tucks a stray strand behind your ear. He leans down, his nose brushing yours affectionately.

He breathes out shakily, “I wish I had told you sooner what I do.” You chastely kiss the tip of his nose.

“I know,” you whisper. Drawing back, your bright eyes find his teary ones.

You say sombrely, “I’m sorry for intruding on your life, and for the mess I left behind after I returned to the sea. It wasn’t fair to you, especially since you’ve done so much for me.” He shakes his head.

“You can always intrude on my life. Fuck it up. And I’ll fix it. As long as you stay with me. Please.” He chokes on that last part.

Inhaling deeply, he leans back down and whispers against your forehead, “Please.”

You meet his half-lidded gaze, murmuring, “If I sacrifice my life as a siren for you, then what will you sacrifice for me?”

“Anything.” No hesitation. He waits patiently for your answer.

Your voice is laced with honey, so charming it makes him all gooey inside as you confess, “I don’t want you to be a fisherman anymore.” His hand cups the back of your neck, his thumb pressing right below your ear as he tilts your head back further.

His lips ghost yours as he mumbles, “Then I won’t be.” Katsuki seals his promise to you with his lips on yours. They’re surprisingly soft. You moan in his mouth as your fingers tug at his blonde locks, pushing him impossibly closer to you. His stubble pricks your cheeks and chin. You pull back and feel his facial hair with one hand.

“This has to go, too,” you mutter.

“Done.” His lips find yours again, wild and hungry for your taste. He won’t approve of your last meal, but what’s a siren to do when she knows it’ll be her last? The blonde groans against your lips, drunk on your tangy flavour and your soft body and sweet touches. He maneuvers your head to the side while lapping at your lower lip.

You break the kiss, giggling, “I don’t think you wanna do that.”

He grunts, “Believe me, I do.” Katsuki draws you into another passionate kiss.

He whispers between gentle bites and licks at your lips, “I don’t care— who you’ve eaten— I love you.” Time seems to fade as you memorise each other’s lips and tongue and teeth. When you nip at his lip, he whimpers, so fuckin’ relieved to feel your teeth once more.

“Harder.” You obey, biting down into the tender flesh. Blood spills out and slips into both your mouths. The iron makes you hum as you kiss him harshly, your grasp threatening to tear his hair out if he doesn’t share your breath. Hands roam, and soon, he’s got you pinned beneath him with his lips exploring your neck.

You pant, “Katsuki.” He groans before sucking the spot below your earlobe. Your back arches, the pleasure foreign yet more than welcome.

“Katsuki.” He pulls off your neck with a slimy pop.

“What?” He rasps out. You run your fingers through his hair before drawing him back to your lips.

You mumble against his awfully bitten ones, “I’m getting the couch all wet.”

He chuckles and gazes at you with a lewd glint in his crimson eyes, “Oh yea?” You slap his heaving chest playfully.

“Not like that, you fuckwit.” He hums and nuzzles you with his nose lovingly before sitting up and pulling you into his arms. He carries you upstairs to his bathroom and sets you down in the shower.

“Don’t want your fish stench in my sheets, fishsticks.”

“I could say the same about you, drunkard.”

“Alright, shut up and start rinsing off, will ya?” He sloppily kisses you on the cheek before turning the taps.

He grumbles, “Just pick whatever temp you want, m’kay?” You nod as you place your hand underneath the running water and adjust the taps accordingly. Meanwhile, Katsuki peels off his dirty pyjamas and flings them into the corner of the bathroom before encasing you in those strong, muscular arms once more. Except, they’re a little squishy compared to the last time you saw him.

You giggle, poking the fat of his arm which makes him grumble.

During your shower, you lather each other up and rinse off. Katsuki washes your hair for you just the way you like, giving your scalp a nice massage as the conditioner soaks. And you do the same for him between slow kisses and tender cuddles.

He even lets you shave his stubble. It’s adorable the way you sniff and lather the shaving foam all over your hands, so curious, before spreading it across his face. Holding your hand, which holds the razor, he guides you to shave one side of his face. Then, he lets you shave the other side by yourself.

Rinsing the white foam off, you giggle while caressing his clean-shaven cheeks and chin.

Afterwards, he dries you off and moisturises your face. The sweet gesture makes your eyelids droopy, and the dopiest grin spreads across your lips. He takes the opportunity to pepper you with heated kisses until relenting when you beg for mercy. You then soothe the lotion into his skin, making sure to tell him how much he needs it before he tugs you into the guest room.

It looks exactly the same as you left it. You turn around and point at the boots and nightgown on your bed.

He stalks over to you and caresses your forearms, murmuring, “I was afraid that you didn’t make it back.” You shake your head and cup his silky cheeks, bringing him into a sweet kiss.

Pulling back, you whisper, “It’s okay. I’m here now.” He nods and gently guides you over to your wardrobe. You end up putting on one of his t-shirts before clinging to his arm on the way back to his room.

You sit on his bed, watching him get dressed, when you ask quizzically, “Am I sleeping with you tonight?”

He shrugs on a singlet as he remarks, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Nodding, you shuffle back on his bed and claim one side for yourself. When Katsuki turns back around, he chuckles upon seeing the lump that is you beneath the covers. He climbs onto the bed and plops down onto you, making you squeal. You thrash beneath the blankets and throw him off, staring at him with wide eyes once you finally get the quilt off as he guffaws.

You shove his arm, pouting, “That’s not funny!” He clutches his tummy as he laughs, joyous tears welling in his eyes. Katsuki can’t remember the last time he’s felt so goddamn happy. He reaches for you and snatches you up, planting you firmly beside him and trapping you in his embrace.

“It was pretty funny,” he chuckles while tugging the blankets over you both. Holding you tightly, his legs entangle with yours, and his lips rest against your ear. He’s mesmerised by the moon’s delicate glow illuminating your complexion and frame.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, making you smile. You wish him a good night, and he does the same as you drift out of consciousness.

masterlist

images are not mine

a/n: hello, so this is officially the last part of you smell like fish. i know it's coming to an end, how sad. next part will be an epilogue, hopefully with smut (if my writers block evaporates). thanks so much for reading! i hope y'all liked it <3

taglist - @ettesxythia, @sins-over-tragedy, @windyremedy, @beabamboo, @holobean, @lilac-heartz, @mp3nai, @v3n7s, @napbatata, @yannvi, @ilovemushroomss, @dienamiight, @cielito--lindo, @bakunianadecorazon, @waddafaknik, @chibiduck, @dragonictales

[dreaminofdixon]

Seventeen.

I could keep changing this up and trying to perfect it - I'd never stop. SO many versions of this specific scene written and saved in notes. Here's what I settled on... "Felt right, might delete later?" :)

So long, but hopefully you think it's as worth it as I did!

We’d settled into the house last night. Everyone found a place to land like it was routine—like we hadn’t been running, trying to find something resembling security. But this morning, I was alone. Wrapped in a silence that felt too big for the world in its current state.

Crickets chirped in the distance. Leaves whispered overhead. The wind nudged gently at the old bones of the house. Somewhere, a bird called out—sharp, sudden, gone.

The kind of quiet I used to crave. The kind I used to think meant peace.

Now, it felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. A hush too thick to breathe through. Like the sky was holding its breath with me.

I leaned against the sun-warmed siding, knees drawn up to my chest, arms locked tightly around them like I could somehow hold myself together. I didn’t know if I was trying to protect myself from the world—or from whatever was unraveling inside me.

I’d teased him about that comment he made. Just playing around—on my end, at least. I knew Daryl wasn’t ready for things to change. Hell, I probably wasn’t either. But knowing that didn’t soften the truth: my feelings were already dangerously involved.

That little confession between us had been a live grenade. Pin pulled. Left sitting there.

It hadn’t gone off yet, but it ticked in the silence, waiting. And I didn’t know if it would end in fire—or something worth surviving for.

Valhalla?

Valhella.

My mouth tilted at the thought, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

Daryl had gone out hunting, disappearing into the trees the way he always did when we found a place safe enough to pause. The farmhouse we’d stumbled into was a place secure enough to exhale, even if only for a few days, and I’d used the pause to distance myself from everyone else.

Carol and Lori were inside, nesting—rearranging things, wiping down cabinets with threadbare cloths and determination, pretending this place could be something more than just a stopover. Andrea and Shane were off scavenging. Glenn and Rick patrolled the perimeter like restless ghosts, eyes sharp, shoulders tense, like they could hold the apocalypse back with willpower alone. Dale sat perched on his RV like a lighthouse keeper, scanning the horizon. And T-Dog had taken watch over the kids, keeping them distracted, safe.

And me?

I was here. Finally still. Letting the quiet seep into my bones like sunlight. The air smelled clean—just dirt and dry grass and distant pine. For once, the world didn’t feel like it was pressing in on me from all sides. For once, I wasn’t thinking about death, or defense, or hunger. I wasn’t thinking at all.

Then I saw him.

Just a shadow moving at first, between the trees. The shape of him was unmistakable—bow slung low, stride sure, head down like he had too many thoughts to pick it up. Even from here, I could feel him. The weight he carried. The purpose in every step.

I looked away too quickly. Like I’d been caught.

Because everything in me wanted to watch him. To call out. To touch him.

God, I wanted him to touch me.

A shiver rolled through me, sharp and involuntary, and I buried my face in my arms with a low groan. What the hell happened to me? I used to be so good at being alone. So at peace in my own skin. That girl could go weeks without needing anyone. That girl didn’t chase, didn’t ache, didn’t want.

Now?

One glance from him and I was a mess of nerves and want and barely-tethered restraint. One look, and I was unraveling. 

The porch creaked behind me—slow, heavy, familiar. I didn’t need to look up. I already knew.

He sat beside me, close enough that his body heat brushed mine. He mirrored my posture, knees drawn up, arms resting on them, his back pressing lightly against the wall. 

“Find anything?” I asked, my voice muffled against my arm.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good.”

Silence settled between us again, heavy and thick with things unsaid.

Then I felt it. A light brush against my arm. Barely there.

I looked up.

A rose. Small. Pale pink. Its petals soft and open just enough to show it had bloomed recently. Just enough to make my breath catch.

“What…” I breathed, blinking in confusion.

“Princess’s gotta have flowers, right?” he muttered, still staring straight ahead, like the gesture didn’t mean anything. Like he wasn’t holding something sacred in his calloused hand.

Daryl’s fingers curled tighter around the stem as he handed it to her, already bracing for her to laugh. Or worse—look away.

He felt ridiculous the second the words left his mouth. Merle would’ve laughed him straight into the dirt. 

He didn’t know what possessed him to pick it. But when he saw that flower—wild and soft by the fence—he thought of her. There was nothing poetic about it—he wasn’t good with that shit. But she was that flower. Tough. Beautiful. Something that didn’t belong in a world like this and somehow still survived.

So he picked it.

Stuck it in his pocket.

Carried it back.

And gave it to her with his heart thudding in his throat.

I stared at the flower. Then at him. That unreadable face. Stone and steel, but somehow soft around the edges. A flicker of vulnerability.

“For me?”

He nodded once. “Mm-hmm.”

I took it carefully, brushing my fingertips across the petals. Something inside me folded. Tightened. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in ages. Not because it was perfect.

Because it was from him.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a breath. “It’s beautiful.”

He didn’t respond, but I caught it—that tiny shift in his posture. The breath he let out like he’d been holding it for hours.

“You know,” I said, glancing at him sideways, “you’re kinda sweet when you want to be.”

He grunted. A sound halfway between discomfort and denial.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I added, lips curving into a teasing grin. “Promise. It’ll be one of those secrets I keep for you.”

He didn’t look at me, but the corner of his lips twitched. Then his hand moved—casual, unhurried—and landed on my knee. Warm. Rough. Heavy in a way that made everything inside me sit up and take notice. His forearm rested comfortably across my thigh.

Butterflies exploded in my stomach. My whole body went buzzing like he’d flipped some hidden switch.

He wanted to say it didn’t mean anything. That he hadn't meant to touch her. Hadn't thought about it.

But it did. And he had.

She looked up at him. His gaze locked with hers.

And suddenly the air was thick and electric.

“I ain’t no romantic guy,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “An’ I can’t be what ya deserve.”

His thumb brushed lightly over her denim-clad knee, his eyes falling to where their bodies touched. His voice was low, almost ashamed.

“I don’t got nothin’ t’ give.” 

I hesitated, then traced the rough line of his knuckles with my fingers, soft and slow. Drawing shapes that didn’t mean anything, just to keep touching him.

“What makes you think I want anything but you? Just like this.”

I leaned into him, my head resting on his shoulder. Like I belonged there.

Daryl nearly forgot how to breathe.

She was soft against him. Warm. Real.

And all his instincts screamed to pull away. To shut this down before it broke him open.

But he didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

She turned his hand over in hers, and he let her. Her palm was warm, delicate. Trusting. His fingers curled slowly around hers, unsure, then firm. Needing that anchor.

He dropped his chin to rest against her head. Closed his eyes. Just breathed her in. 

He knew he was in too deep. That he’d walk through hell, burn the whole world down to protect her if it came to it.

She was a glimpse of something good. Something he thought had gone when the world turned to shit.

“Can’t lose ya,” he murmured, barely audible, but every word hit like a hammer.

I looked up, and suddenly we were eye to eye—so close I could feel the heat of his breath. He looked at me like I was the only thing in the world, and my heart slammed against my ribs.

“You won’t,” I whispered, meaning it with everything in me.

His hand rose—slow, careful—and his thumb brushed over my lips, parting them slightly before he leaned in. I gasped, barely, just enough for his breath to catch too. His thumb lingered.

Then he kissed me.

Soft. Hesitant. Honest. The kind of kiss that every little girl dreams of with her Prince Charming. 

I kissed him back—and everything inside me sighed in relief. Like my soul had been waiting forever for this.

Daryl’s thoughts vanished. 

Everything narrowed to her—her lips, her scent, the warmth of her mouth moving with his. He’d kissed before. But never like this. Never with everything in him. Never like it meant something, like it might undo him completely.

She kissed him like she knew him—like she’d always known him. And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel broken.

He pulled back because he had to. Because if he didn’t stop, he’d fall all the way in.

He turned his gaze to the field, jaw clenching tight, heart hammering like it might explode from the inside out. He tried to breathe. Tried to think. Tried to make sense of it all.

He was shaking. Not visibly. But deep in his bones.

That kiss had undone him. Broken through a wall he hadn’t realized was still there. He wasn’t built for soft things, but she made him want to be.

She felt too right. Too close. Too dangerous.

He’d built his world on silence. On solitude. And one kiss—one gentle, devastating kiss—had rewritten everything.

He wanted to believe this was real. That she meant it. That she wouldn’t disappear the second she was alone with her thoughts.

Everything in me was on fire. His kiss lingered on my skin like sunlight. 

We’d been close to each other before—on the bike, during quiet nights at camp—but not like this. Not like it mattered.

Maybe that’s what scared me the most?

If I let myself fall into this, I wouldn’t come back the same. Daryl wasn’t a man you flirted with and walked away from. You either meant it or you didn’t get to have him.

But then I saw it—that tension in his jaw. The way he looked away like he’d already decided this couldn’t last. The regret already creeping in around the edges. 

And panic seized my chest.

“Look,” I began gently. “I don’t want things to change.”

I looked down, our fingers still twined.

Then, slowly, I let go.

And I regretted it instantly.

He turned toward me like he wanted to say something.

I shook my head.

“I like you, Daryl,” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “And I think you like me too. But I don’t want to lose what we already have just because this gets… complicated. Not for something uncertain.”

I reached up, brushing my thumb across his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes.

“You’re the only person I have,” I whispered. "And I can’t lose that just because I haven’t been touched in, like, a decade."

The laugh that followed caught in my throat. It was too close to breaking.

Her words hit him like a gut punch.

It wasn’t just about needing to be touched. It was her. It had always been her. She was the only thing that made this world feel like more than survival. She was hope.

And she scared the hell out of him.

Because he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.

He wanted to tell her all of that.

But he couldn’t.

He froze. Paralyzed by the fear that if he spoke, she’d vanish. If he reached, she’d slip through his fingers.

I leaned in once more, kissed him slowly, memorizing the way his mouth fit against mine, the way he tasted. Our lips matched like opposing molds, like they were made for each other.

Then I stood.

“We can forget this happened, okay?” My voice cracked as I tried to smile. “I’ll catch up with you later?”

And I walked away before I lost the nerve.

The sun hit my face as the first tear slipped free.

Maybe this was the right thing to do.

But it didn’t feel like it.

Daryl didn’t stop her.

He watched her go, every step carving a deeper ache in his chest. The way she wiped at her face when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He should’ve said something. Stood. Reached out. Anything.

But he didn’t.

He just sat there.

Silent. Still.

Wondering how the hell he’d managed to fuck up the one thing he dared to care about.

****

The first kiss is in the books! Initially, I had this idea for something super intense and physical. And then I realized that I didn't want "them" to start like that. That after so long of the flirting and growing closer and getting to know each other, it had to be something a little scary. A little hesitant.

Do we want to risk ruining this?

Can we risk losing each other?

Can I survive losing you?

Side note: Can I find myself a Daryl? Please? Geez.

@imadisneyprincessiswear

@knight-of-the-doctor

@lisluvstwd

[pigeonentity]

my piece for the fic exchange w @breadbut3d @cas-is-queer @codex-arcene !!

Prompt 15: ‘"We can lay awake for a while and talk to get your mind off it.”’

Gallifrey is burning.

The Doctor is sure she went to sleep, but somehow she's ended up here again, staring out at the city she grew up in as it dies and it dies and it dies.

It calls her.

Gallifrey is burning.

The Doctor sits on the floor of an old barn, and there's a box in front of her, with a red jewel stretching from the top.

“Press it,” whispers the Master.

He takes her hand and raises it.

Gallifrey is burning.

The Doctor doesn't know why.

She saved them. She thought she'd saved them, she was meant to save them, she tried--

Gallifrey is burning, and she knows it's, somehow, her fault.

The Doctor wakes up.

It's been five hours since she saw Gallifrey’s destruction. It's been four hours since she went to bed to bury it. It's been twenty minutes now of staring up at the ceiling with her head screaming at her and the pre-emptive taste of vomit in her throat.

Sleep is never a good idea.

She doesn't do it much, it's not necessary, but she loses enough sometimes that even her eyelids cannot bear the weight. The trouble comes in the dreams.

She's never known what to do with those.

The fire’s still in her head when she closes her eyes, dug in behind enemy lines-- that's from a poem, that's Remains-- poetry-- poetry is good, words are-- something to hold to. She’s been losing a lot of that, solid things, with a past she pushes away and friends she keeps at arm’s length and him.

O.

Not O, but-- once upon a time. Once, twice upon a time, they were close. She wishes they could go back to that-- before she left and he became a monster, or before they boarded that plane and she learnt who he was.

She could go back.

She could.

It's a horrible idea, but she could. She has a time machine, and a headache, and no clue what she wants, and a penchant for making bad decisions, and a nightmare she has to shake.

She shouldn't.

Thoughts like that leave no survivors.

Gallifrey is burning, and she can see the ghosts. They know it's her fault. They know, they know, and she can't--

It's midnight and it's London and it's raining and the Doctor is standing in the cold outside a block of flats, pressing the bell again and mentally begging O to let her in, because she knows the Master won't be asleep, a crack of light flaring out behind the curtain of his apartment. At a third ring, there's a burst of static and a voice-- his voice, frittered through the recording and softened by deceit.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” The Doctor shoves her voice up into bright cheer, because she's good at that, and because she would for O and she knows how to match his lies. “It's me! The Doctor! New voice, but I promise it's still the same person. Just fancied some company. I'd let myself in, but I didn't want to be rude.”

She can hear him breathing. It takes a moment.

“Doctor, it's the middle of the night.”

She stares at the panel, and she's glad he can't see her out here, trembling still. This isn’t a good idea. It’s his fault she’s how she is.

“I had a nightmare,” she says.

There’s a click, and she opens the door.

The Master meets her on the second flight of stairs, heading down.

“I’m another floor up.”

She wonders why she’s been let in. If it’s because he still cares-- though she doubts it-- or because she’s vulnerable and he’s cruel, or if it’s just that O would, or something else, or something in the middle, if it’s for the same reason she’s here-- because they’re both stupid and the option was there.

“I know.”

His fingers tap four times on the banister.

“Right. Um, let's go.”

She hopes he can keep his disguise in control tonight. She doesn't fancy acting stupid just to preserve continuity. 

The Doctor follows O up the stairs, more lights bursting under door cracks the further they go. Each catches her eyes, tears through her. Burning. She keeps her gaze forward.

O’s door is open at the end of the corridor, a bright rectangle, white-hot.

She can't look away.

“Tea?” he asks.

“I'm good, thanks.”

Something properly warm would unbalance her right now. She doesn't need to actually throw up.

They step into the light, and it claws at her ears and face and hands to her fingers and legs to her feet to her toes and chest to her lungs to her breath and O takes her hand and she wants to kill him, right here, she should and she shouldn't for-- for every reason both ways, but mostly she wants to know, why-- why?

Gallifrey was their home.

That was a long time ago, she supposes.

His home now is two rooms and a bathroom, twice as cluttered as his place in Australia. She pulls away and turns to his table.

“Working late?”

“Ah. Yes. Sorry, I wasn't expecting-- company.”

She catches Barton's name scrawled on a file before he gathers them up from her sight.

“I can go,” she rushes, because the vomit-feeling is back. “It's fine.”

“No, no!” He smiles at her, and dumps the papers in a pink plastic box. “Don't worry about it. You said you had a nightmare?”

She throws herself into his sofa. “Yeah. Didn't want to bother my fam over it, and figured-- we haven't spoken in person since you helped me out on that case. Might as well take the chance and visit an old friend!”

“Right.”

“Yep.”

He shifts his arms about, swinging by his sides and clasping in front of him.

“What was the nightmare about?”

“I,”-- burning, his fault, he should know-- “I don't really wanna talk about it? Just need to distract myself from things.”

She grins self-consciously, and digs in her pockets for something to fiddle with. She hates having her hands empty like this, especially when the conversation is hard. Especially now, especially with him, especially when they’re both lying.

She comes out with her sonic, a Tesco receipt, two ballpoint pens, a fountain pen, some ginger sweets, a blank piece of paper, Yaz’s TV remote, and a hair bobble. She gathers up the itchy screaming parts of her hair and uses the bobble to hold them back, then starts shoving the rest back in, bar one pen and the paper. She uncaps it and scratches four short lines into the page until the ink agrees to come out.

O just stares at her, like he’s trying to figure something out. The Doctor’s sure he is. She probably popped too early into his timeline. They weren’t quite onto the long-oversharing-texts stage yet.

But he shrugs, and takes the win. He must be thrilled to feel he has her in her pocket, his character right up there behind her fam in people she trusts. The thing is, she might have done, given more time.

She should probably do something about that throwing-up-feeling soon.

“Alright. We can lay awake for a while and talk to get your mind off it.”

He smiles. She smiles back. A star explodes on her paper.

“Go on, then,” she says. “Let’s lie down properly, if that’s what you want.”

She plops back and collapses across the sofa. O raises his eyebrows.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean literally. I’m good, thanks.”

“Oi, come on, O. I’m miserable so you have to do what I say.”

“You took the sofa and the floor’s dirty.”

“Oh, fine. Boring.”

She drums her fingers, and sits back up after five seconds of realising she can't scribble well lying down.

“Seen your family lately?” she asks. It feels weird to encourage his lies, but she's lost for conversation. It's better to dwell on weaker lies than to obsess over-- that.

“No. My parents wouldn't want to see me even if I managed to get the time off to go up and visit.” He glances down, then back. “What about you? Do you have any family you're still in contact with? I imagine it's a bit more complicated with Time Lords.”

It would be so easy to strangle him right there. After what he--

“Nah, I don't really talk to any others like me. Well,” she corrects, just to hit back, “there was this friend I had, but she doesn't count. Probably got herself killed since I last saw her. No interest in checking.”

O nods, and sits down beside her. He raps his fist on his knee. He doesn't look at her.

“Friend?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Used to be.”

“What happened?”

“She lied to me and left me to die,” the Doctor tells him, like it’s no big deal.

“My friend did that too,” he tells her.

“What, left you to die?” she says. “I thought you were an analyst. Aren't you supposed to be one of the safe ones?”

“Yeah, ah, our building got attacked. Set on fire. Me and a friend were trying to get out, and another friend went off to help some of our colleagues, but I got caught in the fire and nearly died. Only survived by chance. My friend never came back or checked on me since. Too busy helping strangers.” He smiles. “Not that that's a bad thing, I just… wish he could've helped me too.”

She keeps her face clear. It bothers her, how easily he pulls a full story from nowhere.

It's nothing new.

“I didn't hear about a fire.”

“Yeah, well, MI6 are good at covering stuff up. For better or for worse.”

“Someone's losing their faith in them.”

“I work for the government. It was never going to be perfect.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Have I?”

The Doctor looks down at her paper. Someone's sprawled pen-drawn flames across it.

She leaps to her feet. “Do you have a shower? I could do with a shower. Haven't had a good shower in ages. The TARDIS mixed up the pipes so ours just spews lemonade. Gets your hair sticky.”

“Doctor,” says O, getting up and reaching half-out to her, “Doctor, are you sure you don't want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“The nightmare.”

She can't do this.

She can't lie about what she sees, can't come up with something else bad enough to drive her here without baring a piece of herself she doesn't want to show. Especially now, especially to him. The lamp cuts her out and throws her shadow to the floor. It's always behind her. The light ahead hurts, and she's scared, and she's angry, and she's proven by now that she can be very, very stupid.

“Why do you bother?” she asks, dully.

“Because I'm your friend,” says the Master, sincerely, and it makes her laugh. He frowns, like he's worried, which makes it funnier.

“Is it the shower? Is that it? You did get up all of a sudden. Oh, I'm right, aren't I? Come on, let's take a look.”

“Doctor, the shower’s broken. There's a leak.”

“Lucky you've got a good mechanic, then.”

She charges into the toilet, against the Master’s protesting. The shower has a heavily clouded door, that light green-blue colour that bathrooms seem to love, and she can only catch the vaguest impression of a floor and some sort of tube. It's humming, just enough to tell, just enough to catch him. She pulls out her sonic, and the Master takes her by the arms, turning her to face him and looking her set in the eyes, hands firm by her shoulders. 

“Doctor, calm down. What's going on?”

She glares, then grins, dropping the screwdriver in her pocket and easing into his grip, a laugh in her nose and eyes.

“Oh, come on, catch up, you can do it. Come on.”

The Master’s face folds in to a frown. He looks at his TARDIS, then at her, and then his expression falls out to nothing.

“Oh.”

He smiles. Half mock guilt, half challenge.

It digs at her brain. Gets its claws in.

“That's your name,” she grins.

“It's nobody else's.” He lets go of her, wrinkles his nose, and straightens his sleeves with a laugh. “The real O was long gone by the time anyone at MI6 could know him well enough to call him that. Are you from the future?”

“You're one to talk. Shoving O into my past--”

“--oh, Doctor, bad Doctor, oh, wow. Thought you knew better than to mess with time. Are you here to stop me?” He exhales with glee, getting in her face. “What did I do to get you to risk the timeline? Come on, I'm curious. Did I kill one of your friends? Oh, I hope I killed one of your friends. Was it tissue compression again? It's just, if it was-- I was thinking of starting a collection. We could play dolls with them.”

“You know what you did.”

“Oh, Gallifrey?” He frowns, dismissive, then smothers it in a laugh. “Oh, well, you're a bit late to stop that one, love. Did you really think I didn't destroy it as soon as I could?”

She flinches.

The light from the doorway outlines the Master, a terrible halo. His edges flicker in her eyes.

“I have to say,” he says, opening a cupboard and flicking through the towels, “I am a bit disappointed to see you alive. What went wrong?”

“Spoilers.”

“Oh, come on, we're past that. Do I at least get to know your plan now? It's only fair. I've told you enough of mine before. Are you going to kill me? It’s not like you, but if you've come all this way…”

“Don't tempt me.”

He laughs, reaches back behind the towels and pulls out a familiar device. The Doctor presses against the TARDIS door. It doesn’t give, of course. Of course. Of course, he came prepared, and she stares at his tissue compression eliminator with a dangerous fear.

“You’re not gonna kill me,” she scorns, wishing she believed it.

He smiles, and his eyes dart around once in a loop. They focus back on her.

“On your knees, love.”

She laughs back. “No.”

“Don’t test me.”

He steps closer, and her mouth dries.

She lowers her shoulders in a performance of surrender, and then meets him partway, forcing her feet across the floor. She thinks of extending a hand, just a little, the way he's done before to her, this bridge they keep trying to build before they go back to burning. But she can't make it, so she just looks at him, hoping this face is enough of a stranger to him, the way it shifts and acts and moves, that he won't know where the anger hides when she smiles.

“I didn't come here to fight you,” she says, and she hopes her honesty gets under his skin, the way his did to her. “I had a nightmare. Like I said. And I--”

He meets her eyes, and his hand trembles.

“I missed you,” she says, and he searches her face and his hand falls as he tumbles into her half-lie.

She almost wishes it was as clean-cut as that.

“What was the nightmare about?” he tests, quick and furious, shoving his weapon back in her face again as she stays level. “What was it about?”

“Gallifrey.” She measures her breathing, to a count of four. “I can't get it out of my head. And you-- why would you do that?”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.” She nods. “It does.”

“But you missed me?”

He lets too much hope into his voice. She seizes on it.

“Always. I just… I wish we could have another try. We don't always have to fight.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You haven't seen what I've seen. You don't know.”

“I could. If you'd show me.”

The Master sneers. “You didn't come here for that. You came here for O. Do you actually care about him? Even now? Wow. That's… that's sad.”

“You weren't gonna talk to me otherwise.”

“Mm.” He shrugs.

“Please. I don't have anywhere else to go.”

“And you thought I'd give you sympathy? I made you this, this desperate, I killed them-- you think I'd want your nightmares to stop?”

She shifts. “I just wanted to hang out. Like we used to.”

She's aware she's running out of words, different ways to phrase the same sentiment and act like it's some new point each time. She doesn't know how long and far she needs to go to get a chance to get out. Coming here was a mistake.

Coming here was a mistake.

They're burning before her eyes. All the children. It's always the children. She doesn't know if this is a vision of the war or of what the Master did, but she's sure they might be running in unison, superimposed over each other. There's always some sort of cycle with them, isn't there? Playing the same games, letting the bodies pile, always feeding off each other and devouring until there is nothing left but fractured mirrors, cutting cruelly up the light.

She misses him. She does. She does, but she's so tired of this, and she's so tired of him and what he did and what he does to try to get her attention, blowing them out of scale, blowing everything up, blowing it all away. And she's sick, and she's angry, and she can't touch him here, in his past. And she sits down, on the floor. Against the shower. And she sighs.

“How did you regenerate?”

He glares down at her, chewing. She's levelling them in the conversation, she knows, she knows it's dangerous. But she tries. He looks away.

“Regenerated twice, actually,” he says. “Since we met. Once on the ship. Once… doing stuff. Stabbed in the back both times. By myself.” He kicks the shower mat. The edge curls up. “I was going to come back for you. I was going to kill him and come back.”

“He got to you first?”

The Master sniffs. “I thought you might come back for me. You left me, Doctor.”

Again.

“Yeah, well. I died too.”

She grimaces. It would be so easy to call him a liar. He would do that, wouldn't he? Pretend this was all her fault just to get at her, knowing she could never check. He knew how to get in her head. But she believes him. She had been so certain of where they were now, sure that Missy had chosen her side, and now, fuck, they'd both made the same mistake. Fighting alone, without hope, without witness, without reward, virtue in extremis, and what had that brought them? They died. They got worse, and Gallifrey fell-- and that made that her fault too, didn't it?

The Doctor laughs. The Master joins.

“Do you want me to forgive you?” she asks him, bitterly.

“No.”

“Good.”

“I'm not sorry.”

She turns her face a little away from the light. 

“Why did you do it? Gallifrey was our home.”

“You'll find out.”

“Yes. I will.”

She stares at him. He groans.

“This can't be happening.”

“What?” The Doctor sneers, her plan of appealing to him clearly short-lived. “You think you can-- do that and I won't want answers?”

“No.” He glares back. “You’re alive. You shouldn't be alive.”

“Your plans aren't as good as you think, Master.”

“I know not to try anything now!” 

The Master steps back. He is finally still, hands still, eyes still, only breathing. Only breathing.

Right.

She doubts he cares about the timestream that much. It’s fixed. Their timelines are all over the place but still, on a regular day, immovable, stretched too tight to edit too much. The universe loves to sort itself out. What that would mean for him would probably be acting out his schemes knowing they would fail. It would be a bit more forced than Time liked to be, but it would work, if he was given a more personal motive to go along, and he would hate it.

“You had to come now,” he hisses. “You never care, you never bother to come see me, except now, now you have to ruin everything, you couldn’t stay away!”

“You sound like a child.”

“Is that how you see me?”

His voice is hollow. Just a little wet around the edges. He is like a child, scared and sad and wounded.

And lashing out farther than he should.

“Yes,”-- just to hurt.

“Make me forget this,” he says, trying at an order, ending up with only half a snarl and no bite. “Sort it out. It’s your mess.”

She snorts.

“Do it!”

The Doctor stares off at the wall.

“If you’re going to forget this,” she says, “can’t we just have one night where everything is quiet?”

“No.”

Her lips thin. “You look tired. MI6 overworking you?”

He heaves a sigh and takes the distraction.

“Paperwork. Plotting. Got my hands full.”

“Fancy telling me about those plots?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?”

His breath ripples, like a growl.

“Look,” says the Doctor, picking up her knees and leaning forward, “when did you last sleep?”

“You’re not the only one who gets nightmares.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Since when do you care?”

“Since we were kids? Have you really forgotten so much that--”

“You left.”

“And you changed. We’re even.”

“We are not even. We don’t get that luxury.”

She snorts.  “Fine. I don’t care. Happy?”

��Then why are you asking?”

She throws her hands up. “It’s polite! I don’t know! I’m trying.”

“Trying what? To fix me?”

“Yeah.” She sniffs. “Giving you a last chance.”

His fists curl and uncurl.

“What are the nightmares about?” asks the Doctor.

The Master heads out into the main room.

“We can lay awake for a while and talk to get your mind off it,” she says, half-teasing.

He sits down.

“Fine,” he says.

“Fine?” she asks.

“One last night,” he tells her.

“One last night,” she echoes.

She sits down.

She raises an invisible glass.

“To a quiet night,” says the Doctor, “and to hanging out at your ex’s place thanks to several moments of bad judgement.”

It falls flat. The Master raises his own, and looks her dead in the eye.

“To tugging out your spine the next time you see me.”

She meets his eyes, set, and they both pretend to drink.

The stupidity of the moment isn’t lost on them. It still weighs on their shoulders.

Morning is announced by the Master’s phone ringing loudly, and a voicemail telling him he has to come in early to show the new hire around. The Doctor sits on the floor against the fridge, drinking some sugar concoction she claimed was tea.

“Better hurry, O.”

All in all, she’s had better nights.

And she’s had worse.

He doesn’t answer, just goes in the mirror to straighten his shirt and pulls a new pair of socks from a drawer. He’s been wearing the same clothes all night. She wonders how long he’d been wearing them before.

He changes his socks, and she finishes her drink, placing the mug in the sink.

They meet at the door.

“Have a good day at work,” she says.

“I’ll try not to kill anyone,” he replies.

“If you do, I know where you live.”

He laughs, empty.

“See you around,” he whispers, voice low.

The Master bows his head, letting her reach up and press her fingers to either side. She brings his forehead down to hers, and their minds explode together at the touch.

She does it messily, violently, because she doesn’t care enough to bother with precision. His fears and hopes gets shoved aside, the sick decaying sweetness around the day purged as she lets her own emotions wander off among his. She tears through the skin of his memory, seizes the flesh of what happened and devours it, debones it and destroys it, and leaves his mind to bleed as she severs their tie.

He falls into her arms.

Coming here was a good choice, she decides, as she drags him onto his bed. She got her answers on Missy. Things feel more complete now. Final. It wasn’t her fault, though. Even if she left. She didn’t cause all this.

He did.

Whatever made him destroy Gallifrey was only a motive. It was his decision in the end and his action. Only his. Which means there is no return and no redemption to be spared.

He chose his side.

She won’t forgive him. She doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t want it, so she won’t. She crosses the threshold of his flat, and closes the door.

The Doctor runs until she’s downstairs, until she’s outside, until she’s down the street, until she’s in the TARDIS. Her fingers glance across the controls, until she’s dancing around the console, leaping from place to place, until she’s heaving the lever up, until she opens the door and breathes in the damp air of another day in Sheffield, and nobody notices but a dog, and he barks at her and she laughs and everything’s okay and she wants nothing, more than ever, more than to cry.

[thethingything]

I'm fatigued, my back hurts, I accidentally spent like 3 hours sat downstairs in a chair that made our back feel worse because our executive dysfunction prevented me getting up and going back upstairs even though I only went down there to get one thing, and now I really need to lay down but if I accidentally fall asleep again I feel like I'll wake up, realise I fell asleep and also that I feel like I wasted a big chunk of the day, and I'll end up feeling even worse again

[scorpiosbite]

when drew watched actress!reader’s sex scene for the first time

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── drew’s been binging game of thrones ever since that fateful day madelyn forced him to watch the show, what was meant to be a normal binge session turns into him being the horniest he’s ever been. making the anticipation of meeting you even heavier.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place during the filming of obx 4, before madelyn informed the obx cast that they were going to meet you when you came to LA.

drew could not tear his eyes away from the screen of the tv in his moroccan hotel room. he thought that after watching game of thrones consistently, now nearing the end of the first season he would become accustomed to see you in costume, but every time you came onto the screen his breath was taken away. seeing you in that the sliver waist length wig that looked like it was your real hair, the sheer fabric floor length dresses with the daring cuts that exposed more and more of your soft skin, and the intricate dornish jewellery with the subtle targaryen detailing made him feel like a teenager once again with how quickly his pants tightened. and it wasn’t only how you looked, it was also your performance. you were an astonishing actress, he would forget that you weren’t actually visenya in real life, that this world didn’t actually exist and that you were just acting. he was so captivated by you.

“the last dragon, that’s who you are visenya, the last targaryen left in the world, perhaps if you favoured your mother in looks, you would escape the pressures of the targaryen name, but you do not, you look just like rhaegar only with the tanned skin of elia.” you rolled your eyes and drew felt his heart jump. surrounded by the hanging gardens of sunspear in dorne, you paced with aggression, your sliver hair swishing behind you, your dress billowing as you stared down your costar. “have you come to lecture me of my responsibilities as the last targaryen, jaime? all while your bastard son sits my throne? and your sister puppets him from behind.”

“we are only married because your father knew that once i take back my throne i will come after the lannisters for your family’s hand in my mother and brother’s murders. he thought that if we were married that i would not harm you and your name would live on through my womb. but i am no fool, targaryen women have been known to kill their husbands, who is to say my coin wasn’t flipped on the side of madness. that is the saying is it not? when a targaryen is born the gods flip a coin, greatness or madness.” you now stood face to face with the man, staring him down with a smug expression and drew was once again struck with your talent as an actress, your body displayed the anger and frustration that your character felt despite the facade of arrogance on your face. then suddenly your lips connected with his, the actor who played jaime slid his hand around your waist, the cuts of your dress allowing him to touch your bare skin, your hands went to his hair and drew had never felt so jealous of another man.

jaime picked you up with ease, walking backwards to a chair sitting down with you spread on his lap, and drew thought that he would do anything to have you like that. the camera filmed you from the back, jaime’s hand caressing your exposed back down to your ass, and drew squeezed the covers of his bed in response. the camera cut to a mid shot of both of you from the side, you broke the kiss your face still so close to his, lips brushing together as you spoke in a hushed tone. “i want you to fuck me, jaime.” drew groaned at the lust in your voice, and wondered if that was what you sounded like in real life. jaime’s actor groaned in response to your statement and drew felt sympathy for the man, because he knew that if he was in that position instead of him he would be unable to stop himself from cumming in his pants, professionalism be fucked.

jaime’s hands trailed to the back of your neck and the camera cut to back to the shot of your back, closing up on his hands as his hands pulled at the strings holding your flimsy dress together the camera seemed like it was handheld making the shot feel all the more intimate, the material fell and jaime tugged the dress off of you leaving you completely bare but drew could only see your back and up, but then, the camera cut to a wide shot, and drew gasped as your entire body from the back was exposed. jaime’s hand coming down to squeeze the supple flesh of your ass and drew felt his cock harden at the sight. the camera cut to an over the shoulder shot from jaime and your bare chest came into view, this time drew couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him, your hands tugged at the strings of jaime’s pants although the camera kept on you, your hands out of the shot.

you sank down on jaime’s cock and a whine-like moan escaped you, drew felt like he was going insane, he couldn’t stop himself as he tugged his boxers down, his hard cock springing up to slap against his stomach. his hand wrapping around the thick length, squeezing, pearly beads of pre cum leaking out. drew flicked his eyes back up to the screen and you had your head thrown back as you bounced on jaime’s cock, drew knew that the pleasure on your scrunched up face was fake, that the melodious moans that were escaping your pretty lips that were hung open were fake, but the way your tits were bouncing was real and drew couldn’t stop himself from tugging his cock in time with the movements of your hips, your head tilted back down to gaze down at jaime your eyes so fucked out and drew wished that it was him you were looking at. that it was him that could run his hands all over you.

you spoke breathlessly “targaryens used to feed their enemies to their dragons, i don’t have a dragon yet, perhaps i shall just eat you myself, husband.” jaime groaned in response, connecting your lips back together and drew sped up his movements his hand stroking with fervour, the squelching sounds echoing through the room, his other hand coming down to squeeze at his balls, his eyes still glued to you on the tv. drew was close he could feel it and as your body shuddered and you collapsed into jaime’s lap, drew came with a deep groan. cumming all over his chest and stomach. drew threw his head back against his headboard, he felt just a little bit pathetic, that he didn’t have the courage to message you but he could jack off to you doing your job, but god what he would give to have you like that.

TAGLIST: @sunnybunnyy2 @percysley @wearemadeofstardust0 @idgasb @pinkpantheris @emmaaas-posts @grace-sully @chimmysoftpaws

you guys are not believe the fucking writers block i suffered while writing this for it just to turn out so shit but nevertheless I hope you enjoyed!

[leechqnsgirl]

ᓚᘏᗢ your lips, my lips, apocalypse

notes: based off of this ask | can be read as a part 2 to this

-- niki comes home drunk one night. drunk and desperately horny. or in other words, your first time making him cry out for you.

18+ | niki x fem!reader | wc: 1.7k | smut, mini fluff/crack at the end | masterlist

warnings: language, jake makes a small appearance, niki's drunk and kinda subby??, kissing/making out, use of good boy, piv, overstimulation

****

your boyfriend was out with his friends the whole day.

he had let you know a few days earlier about the planned celebration that they would be having. so when the day came, you didn't mind his absence.

but you couldn't help but get a bit worried. it was nearly eleven pm and he still wasn't home.

you shot him a text.

no response.

was his phone dead? did he not have it on him? you had no idea.

you had just finished your night routine, sitting down on the couch with some snacks to watch a movie as you waited for niki.

twenty minutes into the movie you heard harsh knocks at your door.

"what the hell?" you muttered, standing up to peek through your peephole.

it was niki. and he was...hanging off of jake's shoulders?

you opened the door and jake was just about ready to throw niki at you.

"god, take him." he huffed out.

you giggled as you pulled niki into your apartment by his jacket.

"good luck, he's a mess. all fucking night we've had to hear about how much he misses you and shit." jake rolled his eyes, "never allow him to drink freely again. please." jake pleaded with the most tired expression and tone one could have.

you nodded, "okay...let me get him inside."

after you locked the door, and niki was practically falling over trying to get his shoes off, you took him over to the bathroom.

"okay, honey, take a shower and i'll be right outside waiting for you."

he was sitting on the toilet seat, staring at you as you placed his clean clothes on the sink for him to wear after his shower. he groaned and shook his head.

"c'mere." he said in a quiet voice.

you made your way over until you were standing right in front of him.

he pulled you into him for a hug, his hands wrapped tightly around your back as his face was resting right in your chest.

he breathed out contently. you brought a hand over to rest on his head.

you felt flustered, a bit shy even. your boyfriend wasn't usually this clingy or affectionate. he preferred to show his love for you in other ways.

you felt him press a kiss against you through your thin sleep shirt, "mm...I missed you." you smiled to yourself, one hand still in his hair and the other rubbed circles on his back.

"I missed how you care for me.." he turned his head, so now his cheek was resting on your chest instead of his forehead.

when you looked down at him, you could see his eyes were glossed over. he seemed like he was silently pleading for something.

"what's wrong?" you asked, the hand that was in his hair traveled down to his jaw, pulling his face away from you.

his eyes were everywhere but looking at yours.

"riki..." you urged gently. soon enough his eyes met yours. he sighed through his nose softly.

"I..." you knew he was drunk, so you gave him his time to speak. "ineedyoureallybad." he hastily whispered in one breath.

you chuckled, "niki, what?"

he dropped his head, rubbing his face with his hands. "I didn't just, like, miss you. okay? i-i missed you."

you hummed, understanding what he meant now.

"so..you're horny is what you're trying to say..?" he nodded his head.

"can we go to your room?"

--

he gave you no chance to breathe once you made it to the room, he pushed you down onto the bed and went straight for your lips.

he took one of your hands, still kissing you, and brought it down to the front of his jeans.

he wanted you to feel what you do to him.

he broke away for just a second, eyes darting all across your face, "fuck, I can't wait." he gave you one more kiss before pushing back to take off his clothes.

fully naked, he moves to your body now, taking off your clothes. starting with your shirt, slowly at first before getting impatient and eventually tugging down your pants and panties.

he ducks his head down to your tits, sucking on one while his hand gropes and tweaks the other.

you moaned out, arching your back. he switched his mouth to the other side, you put one hand into his hair, tugging at it.

soon enough he pulls away, dragging a hand down to your cunt.

he rubs your clit gently at first, his hand shaking a bit.

he puts that hand on your thigh now, muttering something under his breath.

"w-what?" you asked breathlessly.

"said I needa taste you, sweetie." he brought his head between your legs, both arms hooked around your thighs.

he wastes no time, sucking your clit harshly. your hand, yet again, finds its way to his hair. moaning when you would occasionally pull his hair.

"f-fuck, niki, hold on-" he cut you off by sticking two fingers into your pussy.

"mm, no." he said quickly, going back to making out with your cunt.

you could feel your orgasm building up, but you didn't want to cum. not yet, at least.

"fuck! niki, baby, please," he finally lifted his head, meeting your heavy eyes.

wordlessly, he stood on his knees, lining himself up with your hole.

he had one hand beside your head, and one on his cock, leaning down to whisper into your ear, "all day..." he pushed his tip into you.

"the whole time i'm out with the boys, I couldn't stop thinking about your sweet fucking pussy, baby." he was halfway in now.

"popped a fucking boner in the middle of the bar 'cause of you." he groaned when he bottomed out, "y-you know how I am, don't you? you know I can't last a few fucking hours without my girl." your nails dug into his back.

he trailed rough kisses on your neck when he started thrusting into you.

"t-tried to rub one out in the bathroom...but it didn't work. I felt like a fucking horny virgin, getting hard at the thought of my pretty girlfriend."

his words only egged you on, feeling yourself get closer. he started moaning, knowing he wouldn't last too long either.

he pulled out of you for a second, rubbing his tip against your clit. "w-why'd you stop?" he didn't answer you right away, catching his breath.

"can you ride me? fuck baby, please, i-i can't stop thinking about last time."

as soon as he said that, all the pieces connected in your head.

every time the two of you have had sex from that moment on, it always seemed like he wanted to ask something of you. like he was holding something back.

now you know what it is. and now you know that your boyfriend only has the confidence, or willingness, to tell you when he's drunk out of his mind.

you quickly switched position, sliding back down onto him now.

niki threw his head back, moaning loudly. it was like he didn't care anymore. and god, did you love that.

his hands were gripping your waist as you fell down and came back up on him.

continuing, you never let up, it wasn't until you felt a twitch in his legs that you knew he was getting close.

"I'm so close, so close." he whined out. "yeah? come on, baby, I'm c-close, too.” you moaned, pressing your lips against his.

even in the kiss he was whimpering and moaning.

who knew that niki, who's always so composed, would only need alcohol and your tight cunt around him to be so loose.

you did your best to move your hips faster, feeling like you're seconds away from your climax.

he gave your ass a light spank, groping the area of it afterwards. felt yourself cum, relief washing over your whole body as your hips came to a slow stop.

niki came at the same time you did, his orgasm hitting him hard.

you were about to move off of him when he suddenly held you down by your hips.

"j-just a little more, o-okay?" he sounded like he was convincing himself more than you.

you furrowed your brows, "baby, you don't wanna at least take a break?" he shook his head, "p-please?" he stuttered out, "you just feel too good baby," he raises your hips up a bit now, thrusting upwards.

you gasp, you didn't actually think he would start again.

he's moaning the whole time, loudly too.

you still couldn't believe that this was your boyfriend, your niki. he never showed himself to you like this.

barely a few minutes passed when he dug his face into your neck, spewing out nonsense into your ears. half of it you're hearing and the other half you can't hear over the pleasurable pain of your own overstimulation.

"fuck, you're so warm baby. I can't," he nearly sobbed out. "I love you, s-so much, f-fuck!" he groaned, his hands having a bruising and unmoving grip on your hips.

your heart warmed, "oh, baby, I love you too." your nails were running up and down his back, "are you gonna cum now? hm? you wanna be my good boy and cum?"

and that's what made him shoot his sticky load right inside you, both of you moaning and whimpering at the feeling of your second climax.

he dropped on his back, pulling you down to lay atop him.

--

it was niki's alarm that woke him up.

he reached for his phone to turn it off and put his head back on the pillow, he threw an arm at the opposite side of the bed, seemingly searching for the warmth of your body.

but, you weren't there?

he opened his eyes a bit, scratching his head as he sat up.

"y/n?" he called out, voice still deep with sleep.

you walked back into the room, a glass of water in your hand.

"morning, ki." you said quietly, unsure how bad his hangover headache is. "come on, be a good boy and drink up, okay?" you said, biting back a smile.

he looked at you confused at first, before he widened his eyes. "shut up." he grumbled, covering his face. but that did nothing for him as you could see the tips of his ears turn a shade of red.

"come on! take a joke." you laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly before placing a kiss to the crown of his head. 

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dog Tags (3)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> When a mission goes wrong, Bucky gets his Dog Tags back.

Disclaimer: This is part three for one and two. Mentions of serious injuries, blood and being hospitalised. Angst, bit of fluff here and there, hurt/comfort, Bucky stays by reader's side. Sam giving Bucky his own reality check, platonic!Wanda, swearing. Left kinda open ended in case I decide to write part four? Not Proof Read.

Bucky stared down at the dog tags in his hands, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the blood stained letters. He had to take a deep breath before the tears started flowing again. 

You were meant to be on a simple recon mission. You’d done them a thousand times. Maybe you’d come back with a bruise or two, but you still came back. 

This time, his phone had rung throughout his room just as the clock turned 4:00 am. An agent had found the tags on her person. They knew they weren’t hers, but they were definitely someone’s. 

Bucky had gotten to the hospital in under an hour. You’d still been in surgery by the time he arrived, but the nurses had brought out your personal belongings in a large plastic bag. 

Your clothes; blood stained to hell. Your Shield issued weapons were empty of bullets. Whatever had happened, you’d emptied your clip, plus your three backups. Your knife lay at the bottom of the bag, stained with blood, too. 

Bucky couldn’t work out if it was yours or someone else's. But he did know one thing for certain. The blood that lay splattered over his tags, as he pulled the chain from the bag, was yours. You never wore them outside of your uniform. You kept them close to your chest. It couldn’t be anyone else's. 

Bucky had left a message at Hill’s desk, as well with Sam explaining what had happened. What he knew, at least. Hill was sending someone to the mission base to find out more. 

“Mr Barnes?”

Bucky took in a deep breath as he stood up, clasping the tags in his palm. Maybe if he squeezed tightly enough, he’d be able to feel you. 

“Yes.”

“Your wife is now out of surgery. We’ll be keeping her under observation for the foreseeable, but once she’s situated in a room, you’ll be able to sit with her.” The Doctor told him. 

Bucky just nodded. “Do you know what happened?”

“I know it’s not common, but I’ll bring you her more detailed medical chart.” They told him. “There was too much extensive damage to talk about off the top of my head.”

Those words hit Bucky in the chest, harder than anything else had ever done. 

“But she’ll-” Bucky couldn’t bring himself to talk. 

The Doctor just nodded. “She’s going to need a lot of physical therapy. Thankfully nothing broke within her legs, but the damage to her muscles will make her training a lot harder than it should be for a while.”

Bucky nodded. 

“But she’ll be okay.”

“Thank you.”

The Doctor nodded. “Thank you for the tags.”

Bucky was a little confused as he followed the doctor’s finger, pointing to his hand. The dog tags? Why was she thanking him for the dog tags?

“If your wife hadn’t been wearing them, we wouldn’t have known who to contact.”

Wife.

Bucky felt himself chuckle inside. If you were awake and could hear the doctor now, you’d have probably made some disgusted eye roll and comment over being even associated with him. 

“Oh, yeah.”

The Doctor smiled. “I’ll come and get you when she’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

She just nodded with another soft smile before walking away. Twenty minutes later, he was being walked down the hallway where he stood outside of your room for ten minutes before opening up the door. 

You had at least a dozen wires hooked up to you, aside from the standard hospital gear. Bucky just stared at the monitor for a while, watching your heartbeat print onto paper. 

Eventually, he sat in the chair beside your bed and looked at you. In that moment, he’d give anything to have you yell at him. Cuss him out, threaten him, roll your eyes…anything. 

“They…” Bucky cleared his throat, looking down at the tags in his hand. “They told me you should still be able to hear me…and that talking helps. I know you’re probably mad it’s me who’s here, but you can’t blame me for this one, doll.” 

A weak chuckle escaped Bucky’s lips as he looked from his hand and to your sleeping frame. “They think we’re married, by the way. Mostly because of the dog tags they found on you. I’ve…I’ve got em’ right here. They’re safe. You’re safe, doll. Just…just kinda need you to wake up soon. Maybe tell me to piss off. Not that I’d leave you anyway, but that’s kinda our thing, right? Fighting?”

Bucky went silent for a while as he looked at you. 

“I need you to fight me, sweetheart.” Bucky told you. “So you’ve gotta mend and pull through all of this. Whatever happened out there in the field…that’s not the end of your story. It can’t be. I won’t let it.”

Bucky could hear your voice in his head. “You’d don’t have a choice in it, Barnes.”. 

Bucky told you a few more things, like how he’d called both Hill and Sam. He told you that he’d text Wanda, “She’ll get it once she lands. I’m sure she’ll be flying through that window soon.”

But, eventually, he stopped talking. He just let the sound of your steady heart fill the room. It was proof you were still alive. You were still here. 

On the days where Bucky couldn’t sit with you, Wanda took his place. Or Kate. Or Sam. On the odd occasion, Joaquin sat with you. Bucky had walked in on plenty of PowerPoint presentations of how his suit was better than Sam’s old one. 

But when he did sit with you, his mind would wander to memories of you and him. Like the training room when he’d told you he knew you had his dog tags, or when he’d helped you when you got hurt a few months back. 

But one stuck out to him in particular. Plenty stuck out to him as time ticked by, but he was reminded of this one as he looked at the side table beside your bed. Your knife lay on top, still in its protective covering. 

Less than three weeks before you’d landed in hospital, Bucky had been training with you. 

The main noises being made were grunts. As you hit his chest, as he knocked your legs down, as you twisted his arm, as he flipped you onto the mat, as you kicked his legs from beneath him, as you both rolled across the mats before you landed on top, trapping him in place. 

“Give in yet?”

“Do you?”

You were about to question what he meant, but then you felt it. Cold and sharp; he had your knife, again. But this time, it was pointed against your side. 

“What?” You hesitated for a second and looked away. Bucky took his opportunity. 

In two simple moves, you were on your back staring up at him with your own knife gently pressed against your skin. 

“Give in.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes at his glowing smirk. “Yes. Fine. Now get off me.” 

Bucky chuckled and stood up, lowering his hand down to help you up. At first, you swatted it away. But he held it out again, “Come on.”

Reluctantly, you accepted it and he helped you stand. “You’re focusing too much. Too in your head. You need to relax.” 

Bucky flipped the knife over in his hand so he was pinching the sharp blade. He handed it over to you and you swiped it up. “Thanks.” Your voice grunted a little before you placed your knife back in its place. 

“You know, if you wanted to, you could train with me more often.” Bucky offered as he walked away. “I know you and I are…whatever we are. But I have training that isn’t exactly found in a Shield manual.”

“I’m fine.” You said, avoiding looking at him as he stood with his back to you. You had stared at him in this fashion one too many times. It was only a short time before someone caught you doing so. Even worse if it was Bucky. 

“It’s not an issue. Hell, we don’t have to even talk-”

“I said I’m fine.” You didn’t mean to raise your voice when you spoke to him. You regretted it instantly. You sighed. “Look, I know you mean well. And, thank you. But I’m okay.”

Bucky watched you, over his shoulder. You walked away from the mats, grabbed your water bottle and sat down on one of the opposite benches. 

“What is it?” 

“What?”

“Do you have a problem with me or something?”

You sighed. “Bucky.”

“I get you and I don’t exactly get along-”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” you cut him off. “I just-” 

You gave a short sigh. There were so many reasons why it wouldn’t work if he was the one to train you. He wouldn’t know it, but you’d become more distracted by him. And for some reason it was written into the heavens that if you and Bucky spent more than ten minutes alone together, things in the air started to get…close. Too close. 

But the main thing was your undisclosed feelings for the super annoying, massive pain in your ass, super soldier. The longer you spent around him, so close to him, the harder they were getting to manage. 

It was only a matter of time before he figured out the truth. 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Can we just leave it at that? Please?”

Bucky watched you for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Forget I ever mentioned it.”

You just nodded. 

Later that evening, Bucky had been with Wanda. And he’d been avoiding the topic of you ever since he walked through the front door. 

“Did something happen between you two?” Wanda just flat out asked him. 

“No. Nothing happened.”

“You’re sulking, so I know something happened.”

Bucky shrugged. “She just doesn’t want my help. I’ve tried being nice. But she’s just so…her. It’s annoying.”

Wanda nodded. “Yeah, I’m gonna need more information than just…you not handling your school boy crush very well.”

“I don’t-” Bucky shut his mouth as he whipped his head around to look at Wanda. “I don’t like her like that.”

“Doesn’t like who?” Sam asked as he walked through the door. 

“Bucky. Not liking Y/n.”

Sam just barked a laugh as he opened up the fridge and put his groceries away. “Ha! That’s a bullshit lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What-”

“Bucky,” Sam was practically laughing. “You’ve had a crush on her for god knows how long. I don’t know what twisted bullshit you both have going on that prevents you from talking like normal human beings, but even I know you saying you don’t like Y/n is nothing but a complete and utter bullshit lie.”

Bucky looked at Wanda for backup but she seemed to be on Sam’s side. 

“You know, maybe if you…I don’t know…talked to her rather than fight her-”

“She fights me!”

Sam just looked at him. “You fight each other.”

“Maybe you should just try and talk to her,” Wanda told him. “Might just clear a few things up.”

Sam sat down on the arm of the chair. “You’ve had feelings for her for a long time, Buck. Maybe it’s time you did something about it.”

Bucky just sighed. 

“How long have you guys been married?”

Bucky hadn’t noticed the nurse walk inside to your hospital room, at first. “Sorry?”

“I’m sorry to ask,” she apologised as she changed out your IV and drew some blood. “It’s just…I’ve seen a lot of couples pass through these doors and I’m yet to see ones with a connection like yours.”

Bucky sat up. The nurse could read the confusion on his face from a mile away. 

She just stepped to the side and pointed at the print of the heart rate. 

“See these spikes here?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“These are from when you’ve been with her. It’s good they’re going up. It means she’s recognising her surroundings. At the very least, the people in it. You’re healing for her.”

Bucky just looked at your still sleeping frame. He was helping you heal?

He was helping you heal?

He was helping you heal?

He was helping you heal?

The nurse smiled again. “How long have you two been married?”

“Not long,” Bucky answered. “But we’ve…we’ve known each other for years.”

The nurse smiled. “Who made the first move?”

Bucky thought for a moment. “She did. She saved my life.”

And you had. 

You’d been one of the new agents placed with the team. In the middle of a forest, Bucky had noticed every tripwire save for one. As something came flying over head, you’d swiped his legs from underneath him and pinned him down. 

“You’re welcome,” you whispered. 

That had been the first time Bucky had met you. It had also been the first time he’d looked you in the eyes. He could have happily drowned there and then. Which scared him. More than he knew what to deal with. 

“And now you’re here saving hers,” the nurse smiled. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Is there anything I can get you? Blankets, pillows?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

“She’ll be okay, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky just nodded and watched as the nurse left. As he turned his head, that was when he noticed your chart. They still kept you as Y/n Barnes. Nobody, including Bucky, had bothered to correct them. If anything, it meant Bucky still learnt about your injuries and your healing process. 

It also meant he got access to stay with you for as long as he wanted. Which, if he didn’t have to work and if Sam didn’t come and drag him outside every few hours, he’d stay the whole time. 

It was a month or so more before you finally woke up. 

When Bucky had gotten a text from Joaquin telling him to get to the hospital quickly, he’d dropped what he was doing and came running down the hallway of the hospital ten minutes later. 

“What’s happening?”

“I-I don’t know.” Joaquin told him. “I was just holding her hand and she moved. Like, she squeezed my hand.”

“What?” Bucky moved past Joaquin and to your side, leaning his hand on the side headboard. 

“Y/n? Hey, doll? Can you hear me?”

Bucky held your hand in his. Nothing happened. “I know you don’t like me all that much, but if you can hear me, can you try and squeeze my hand?” 

Again, nothing.

Bucky looked at Joaquin. 

“I didn’t dream it.”

Bucky looked back at you. For a split second, he pushed some of your hair from your face. “Doll, if you’re awake, please. I just need you to squeeze my hand.”

Again, nothing. 

Until there was something.

“Go and get a nurse.”

“On it!” Joaquin practically flew out of the room. 

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Joaquin had been talking to you, telling you that you were gonna be okay. Then you heard Bucky’s voice which was quickly followed by a rough hand gently holding onto yours. 

And when you finally opened your eyes, you saw him. Standing beside your bed, holding your hand, looking like the world had finally started moving again. 

It was a few hours before you came around properly. And when you did, it felt a lot less hectic. Everything was peaceful and quiet. You had time to look around. There was a steady beeping somewhere. 

A heart monitor. 

You had different wires and tubes sticking out of you. The lights weren’t as bright as they’d been when you’d first woken up. 

But the thing that caught your eye the most was the sleeping frame of Bucky, hunched over your bed. Then you felt it. His hand, still in yours. 

You tried to squeeze his hand but eventually it hurt a little less and he stirred awake before shooting up. 

“Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“How long have I been out?”

Bucky answered you honestly. “Almost two months. The damage was extensive. Can you remember anything?”

You just nodded. “I think I blacked out after the building collapsed because I don’t remember anything after that.”

Bucky stood and pressed a button on the headboard of your bed before sitting beside you, clasping your hand in his. If it had been any other time, you would have taken your hand right back. 

But in that moment you needed comfort. You needed to feel safe. 

You felt safe with Bucky. 

But then you gasped. “Shit.”

“What? Are you hurt? What is it?”

You sat up and touched your chest and neck. “Your- your tags. I-”

Bucky just pulled the chain from his shirt. “There’s right here.”

You visibly relaxed but then you tensed as you watched Bucky remove them. “What are you doing?”

A small chuckle left him, “Just stay still, would you?”

“It’s not like I can exactly run away right now.”

Bucky smiled to himself before lifting the chain up and over your head. “There.”

You looked at him, wondering what he meant by all of it. “They’re your tags, Bucky.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I know they’re safe with you. They always looked better on you, anyway.”

Once Bucky knew you were okay, he’d wiped the rest of the tags clean. He’d been waiting to lay them back on you. He didn’t want to do it while you were sleeping. He needed you to fight him first. 

He needed proof you were alive. 

That was when the door opened and a nurse walked inside. “You’re awake! I must say, you nearly gave me and your husband a fright earlier. The doctor hadn’t predicted that you would wake up this early.”

You looked at Bucky and whispered, “Husband?”

“Just go with it,” he whispered back. 

It wasn’t until an hour or so, when both the Doctor and nurse had left, that you spoke to Bucky again. 

“You wanna tell me why we’re married?”

“They found my tags with you. They called me and…”

“You never corrected them?” You’d asked that question a lot calmer than Bucky had been expecting. 

“It meant I got to stay with you longer. And that they’d tell me what was going on.”

“You didn’t need to do that, Bucky.”

Bucky was honest with you. “I’m glad they called me first.”

You hand clutched the tags dangling from your neck. “They really thought you were my husband?”

Bucky chuckled. “If anything, the tags made sure you came home.”

In the silence as you and Bucky looked at each other, you felt the coolness of the metal in your palm. His tags had brought you home. His tags had brought him to you. His dog tags made sure you weren’t alone. And something told you Bucky had the same idea. 

Which was only confirmed when he attended almost every physio appointment with you. 

“How’s she doing, doc?”

The physio smiled as they held their arms up, in case you fell. “She’s doing great.”

“She’s tired and pissed off.” You answered truthfully. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I brought your favourite snacks from that store you and Kate found.”

Your hand gripped the two parallel bars as you slowly walked from one side to the other. “How the hell do you know about that store?”

“I asked Kate. She told me.”

As the phyio’s pager went off, Bucky offered to take over for a few minutes to help you. And, considering the medical staff still believed you and Bucky to be married, you’d both decided to just keep the act up. 

So, slowly walking beside you in case you fell, Bucky helped you turn around and walk back down the parallel bars. 

“How’ve you been feeling?”

“You mean other than tired and pissed off?”

“Yeah.”

“Sore,” you admitted. “Bored. I can’t wait to get back home.”

If Bucky was being honest, he would say the same thing. Even if you did spend more time fighting each other, he missed it. He missed you. 

“Neither can I.” The honesty slipped out from Bucky before he could think about any awkward consequences. 

You paused and looked at him. “What?” Your voice was a little softer than usual. 

“What?” Bucky shrugged. He’d said it. There was no taking it back. “It’s boring without you. I get we might fight the whole time, but without you I’ve got no one to keep my ego in check.”

Bucky earned a laugh from you as you looked away to keep walking. And he laughed, too. 

You had to admit. Laughing with Bucky rather than groaning was a nice change. 

And it only got easier from there on out. Your groans had turned to laughter, your scowls had turned to smiles and the roll of your eyes had turned to tears of laughter. 

And slowly, the same things happened for Bucky, too.

Eventually, the ten minute window you and Bucky spent together turned into twenty, then forty and before either of you knew it, hours had passed. 

You were both together and, surprisingly, still alive. 

Part Four

[callsign-fox]

Space to Breathe - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings, lots of fluff!

*Could be a continuation of Dance with Me, but can also stand on it's own*

Thank you for all the love on my first one! It's SO much fun to be writing again! xo

Y/N was no stranger to chaos. 

Being the Phoenix meant living in constant unpredictability, and getting close to people like Bucky Barnes and Yelena Belova only sharpened her instinct to brace for the worst. 

She’d faced monsters, corrupt governments—but nothing prepared her for him. He wasn’t a threat she could fight or a mission to complete. He was something else entirely. And that made him dangerous.

Y/N didn’t look back as she walked into the kitchen, but she felt the newcomer Bob’s eyes on her. That invisible thread tugged at her spine—persistent, undeniable. She’d felt it the moment they met, and it terrified her.

Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, her gaze drifted to him. Bucky was already talking, something about Valentina and a plan to take her down for good, but Y/N wasn’t listening.

Beside her, Yelena nudged gently. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N replied. It was automatic. A lie dressed in calm.

The meeting moved fast—intel, threats, movements. The kind of stuff that used to make Y/N’s skin buzz with adrenaline. But now, it felt muted. Distant. Her focus kept drifting, always back to him.

Bob didn’t say much, but he listened. Closely. His hands were folded in his lap, but they weren’t still—his fingers moved constantly, a nervous habit or something deeper, like he was trying to ground himself.

Once the debrief ended and the others trickled into different rooms, Y/N lingered behind, pretending to refill her coffee. She could feel him behind her before she heard him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

She turned. “What are you sorry for?” 

He shrugged, gaze lowering. “I don’t belong here. I’m making you uncomfortable, I can see it in your face.” 

“That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

He brushed his fingers through his hair. “I…I just don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You could never be a burden, Bob.” She whispered, smiling up at him. 

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a curious expression etched on his face. He hesitated for a moment, but finally asked, “Why can I feel you?” 

“I have no idea, but I can feel you too.”

He took a small step closer.

Y/N reached out slowly, her fingers just brushing against his. He started to pull away, then froze. For a moment, neither of them breathed—caught in the quiet weight of something unspoken. But when a door creaked open down the hall, they both flinched, the moment shattering like glass. 

“Alexi, if you touch my toothbrush I’m going to kill you!” Bucky yelled from the hallway. 

Y/N reached behind Bob and grabbed a set of keys that were sitting on the counter. “Come on, I know somewhere we can go.” 

He followed her out the apartment, up the stairs and out the side door that led to the rooftop. The city stretched wide and glowed below, lights flickering like the stars.

Y/N sat first, pulling her knees to her chest. Bob settled beside her, a safe distance apart-but not too far. 

“You don’t like being touched,” Y/N said quietly.

He tensed. “Not usually.” 

“But you let me.” 

“I didn’t want to move,” he admitted, “didn’t want it to stop. It feels…right.” 

That thread tugged again, deep and low in her chest. 

Y/N looked over at him, “Me either.”

The wind was soft up here, cool against their skin, and the sounds of the city below felt miles away. Up here, it was just them—two people weighed down by too much power, too much memory, and a connection neither of them could explain.

Bob leaned back on his hands, his gaze drifting over the skyline. “It’s quiet here.”

Y/N eyes drifted. “That’s why I like it. No questions, no pressure. So much space to breathe.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood. “I don’t remember the last time I felt calm.”

She didn’t speak—just shifted closer, her knee brushing his.

His breath hitched. 

“You don’t have to be anything up here,” She said, voice low. “No powers, no stress. Just…yourself.” 

Bob looked over at her then. Really looked. His eyes were soft now, less guarded, like he was letting her see behind the walls. Her pulse fluttered at the way he studied her—like she was something he didn’t know he needed until she appeared.

“I have to tell you something,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m scared that if I do… you’ll leave.”

Y/N’s brows knit together, and she tilted her head, her voice steady and warm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He hesitated, eyes dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze again. “I would really like to kiss you.”

For a second, all she could do was stare, her heart thudding against her ribs. Words tangled in her throat, but one slipped free—quiet, certain. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed. “Yes… what?”

A small smile curved her lips as she moved just a little closer. “Kiss me.”

Bob leaned in slowly, like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he rushed it. His fingers brushed her neck before cupping her cheek gently, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. She didn’t move, just let him take his time, let him choose her. 

His lips brushed against hers, and an immediate pulse of power thrummed through her body. They had barely touched, yet something inside her ignited—hot and electric.

Y/N gasped, the air catching in her throat, but Bob didn’t move. His lips hovered just above hers, breath mingling with hers in the fragile space between.

“Do you feel that too?” he murmured.

She nodded, unable to speak, her hand finding his chest, fingers curling tightly into his shirt like she needed something—anything—to hold on to. Her body was aching for him, hungry for more.

“Please,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I need more.”

When his lips finally met hers again, it was soft—reverent almost—but beneath it, desperation burned. He kissed her like he was trying to memorize her, like she was the only thing anchoring him in the world. He lit something inside her, a fire that roared to life, and she never wanted it to burn out.

He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against hers, like he was anchoring himself there. 

“This feels like...” he exhaled, voice shaking, “home. I don’t feel like I’m breaking anymore.”

Y/N smiled, breathless. “That’s because you’re not.”

Her fingers brushed slowly along his jaw, lingering before her thumb swept across his bottom lip with a teasing softness. Her voice was a whisper, thick with longing. “I don’t think I could ever let you go now.”

Something shattered behind his eyes—walls crumbling, fears dissolving.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to say that. And now that you have… I won’t let go. Not unless you ask me to.”

And for once, the chaos quieted.

Not gone. Just... stilled.

They were just two people finding something they didn’t know they were missing.

[lvl1l1]

Heyy!! Can i please request LADS guys' reaction when you try to pay 50/50 on a date ^_^

LaDS men when you offer to split the bill

pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader(separate)

content: fluff, suggestiveness in zayne’s

a/n: oh to have a rich boyfriend. working through reqs rn sorry if they’re taking a while TT

Xavier

You and Xavier were out on your first date night in a while.

You’d both been busy with work, spending time together on missions and at home but you started missing going out with him.

Finishing up at your regular hotpot place, you and Xavier were just talking to now.

Before a waiter could come check in, you took your chance,

“Xavier, let’s do half-half.”

You saw the confusion pass on his face,

“Half-half? But we just finished eating, did you want to get dessert? We can do that.”

A laugh escaped you and his face lit up at the sound as well,

“No, I meant let’s pay half-half.”

The man sitting opposite of you furrowed his brows, still not understanding,

“Why? I can pay for us both.”

You shrugged,

“You always do. I feel bad.”

He quickly shut that down, shaking his head,

“Don’t. I like treating you. I want to pay, I’m your boyfriend.”

You smiled at his words, feeling lucky to have such a sweet partner,

“All right. But the offer’s on the table.”

His eyebrows were still drawn together,

“Well, that’s not necessary.”

Before you could say anything else, he got up, heading to the front of the restaurant to pay.

Zayne

Zayne had wrapped up a week of surgeries back to back.

To relax, you two went out to eat.

You were enjoying each other’s company, happy to finally spend some time together.

Once you two were done eating, you told him.

“Zayne, I want to pay half.”

At that, he frowns,

“Please, don’t. I invited you out.”

You cocked your head, looking at him with big eyes,

“You’ve been working so hard, you won’t let me treat you, so at least let me pay half!”

The frown stayed on his face,

“I appreciate everything you do for me but I’m more than happy to pay for you. I insist, actually.”

You flashed him a sweet smile but reached for your purse regardless.

Though, before you could even pull your wallet out, he called a waiter over and handed them his card.

You went to protest but he quickly reached for your hand, intertwining it with his.

“Darling, I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness, but considering how our quality time together is cut short sometimes due to my work, allow me to spend the money I make from my job on you.”

The sincerity reflected in his eyes makes your heart swell.

You nod, defeated, before a mischievous grin comes onto your face,

“Fine then, I’ll just repay you later tonight.”

The tips of his ears turned red and his eyes widened slightly but before he could respond, the waiter returned with his card.

Zayne could barely focus on anything for the rest of the night, you didn’t miss the shy looks he shot you throughout.

Rafayel

A new art exhibition of his work had been published, to celebrate, you two went out tonight.

Rafayel had it all planned out, a candlelight dinner, a lone table on the balcony, just the two of you.

He was having a great time, until you dared to utter the words,

“Let me pay half.”

He looked like you had personally insulted him.

“You’re asking your rich boyfriend who just had a new art exhibition, if you can pay for your own food?”

Letting out an awkward laugh clearly wasn’t the right course of action, as he started again,

“I love you. You know how much I love you. So, why would you ever ask me that. Was that supposed to be a joke? Because I don’t think it’s funny.”

You scratched your head, unsure of how to respond,

“I didn’t know you were so passionate about this…”

He put his hands on the table, leaning over,

“I’m passionate about providing for my lover.”

You felt surprisingly moved by your boyfriend’s, albeit strange, declaration of affection.

Rafayel sighed,

“I might’ve gotten a bit carried away there at the end but my point stands! Don’t even suggest something like that again. I want to give you nice experiences, that doesn’t include you having to worry about paying.”

You rested your chin on your hand, smiling at him softly,

“Thanks, Rafayel.”

He smiled back at you, his eyes glittering as he looked at you,

“One last thing, if I ever accept that, shoot me on that spot. It has to be a clone, can’t be me.”

He didn’t hide the satisfied look on his face as you laughed.

Sylus

You had been gushing about this new restaurant that had opened near your place.

Sylus had taken you there tonight and it lived up to all your expectations.

Seeing your content expression as you munched on your dessert, left him feeling fulfilled.

You two were engaged in a conversation, before you dropped the bomb on him,

“Sy, let’s split the bill.”

He immediately looked offended,

“Why would we?”

Spoon in mouth, you blinked at him,

“It was my idea to come here, it’s only right.”

His eyes narrowed slightly,

“I brought you here.”

You hummed, still not backing down,

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been paying for everything lately…”

His look of disapproval almost made your lips curl up,

“As I should. Sweetie, what’s the point of having so much money, if not to spend it on you?”

You ate another bite, feeling charmed.

He smirked and you knew he was onto you,

“Also, while I do think it’s sweet you offered, if I’m not mistaken, you didn’t bring your wallet.”

You stilled, spoon midair, before looking up at him, bashful.

You fluttering your eyelashes at him, not answering.

His laugh that sounded like it could buy the whole building brought a cheeky grin to your face.

“You should really try this, it tastes great!”

“Very smooth, kitten.”

Caleb

Caleb finally took his vacation days and you two went on a trip to a nearby town.

It was your last day there and you decided to have a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant.

You were sitting across each other, Caleb was done eating before you, so you made him eat the rest of your food, that you couldn’t finish.

He was listening to you talk with a lovesick look on his face.

You kept yapping until he was almost done eating,

“Alrighty, let’s do 50/50.”

He stopped, eyes flickering up to your face, his smile dropping,

“What do you mean, pips?”

Giggling, you elaborated,

“Let’s split the bill 50/50!”

He squinted at you,

“No.”

You looked taken aback by his blunt response,

“Why not?”

He stacked the plates over one another, before his gaze met yours again,

“For one, I ate half your food. And even if I didn’t, I don’t want you to pay for anything when I’m with you.”

A chuckle left you as you leaned back in your seat,

“You paid for the whole vacation, Caleb. Let me take this one.”

That charming, boyish grin he flashed you caused you to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

He was so good at winning you over,

“I like taking care of you, honey. You’re not paying for anything.”

You sighed,

“You’re too good to me.”

He looked at you, like you had just said something outlandish.

“Yeah, let’s get you three servings of dessert for that. You deserve everything, pipsqueak.”

You whined his name, feeling shy.

He always looked at you like you had hung all the stars in the sky.

He’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to give you the whole world.

[bloomseishiro]

itoshi rin x fem!reader. suggestive content, implied smut, not explicit but still mature???, mdni, timekskip!rin, rin loves thighs :), just a lil drabble of rin drooling over how u look in his shirt

Rin has never seen anyone wear his clothes before today. 

Other than his parents accidentally switching his and Sae’s shirts around as children, Rin has never willingly shared his clothing with anyone. 

Even now, it was done out of necessity. 

The two of you have only been dating for a few weeks and he brought you to his place for a baking date after you begged and pleaded with him to have one the moment you got together. Little did Rin know, right when the date finally started, you would spill his bottle of cooking oil all over your pretty dress. 

Your eyes were wide as you looked at him in shock and he wordlessly gestured for you to follow him into his room and change into one of his shirts while he washes your ruined outfit. He had always known you were a clumsy one, it’s one of the things he liked about you, so he can’t say he’s too surprised that something like this happened.

Rin is fully prepared to tease you endlessly about your ungraceful accident, but the moment you step out of his room, his throat dries up and all thoughts leave his brain. 

The sleep shirt he lended you engulfs the frame of your body, landing softly at your supple upper thighs. It hits the perfect length— One that covers your underwear when you are in a neutral standing position, but the second you make any strained movements, you would give Rin a front row peek at your lacy garments. 

He forces himself to look away from the smoothness of your skin, drawing his gaze up to meet your amused one. 

“Like what you see?” you tease, toying with the hem of your shirt. 

Rin can’t help but notice how a hint of your baby pink underwear is exposed at your endless twiddling. He wets his lower lip at the sight. 

“I’m beginning to think you meant to spill all over your dress,” he manages. “You’re putting this show on for me too well.”

You shake your head with a giggle. “It wasn’t on purpose, but what can I say? I always make the most of a bad situation.” 

As you walk past him and head to the kitchen, you grin and motion for him to follow along. For once in his life, Rin was perfectly happy being behind someone. 

“What else do we need for the cake? Just the dry ingredients left, right?” you ask, skimming through the printed recipe. 

Rin nods, gesturing towards his pantry. “I have the flour in there.”

Dutifully, you nod and open the door of his cupboard. The bag of flour sits near the top shelf, high enough that you have to stand on your tip-toes to be able to reach it. 

You stretch your arms over your head and your shirt lifts in unison. The hem glides from your thighs to your hips, exposing the curves of your ass along with your thong—oh, fuck, your thong—that it was so scantily clad in. The small strip of fabric that Rin did see was silky and pink and inviting. 

The moment ends too soon as you swiftly bring the flour down from its shelf. Rin doesn’t bother to hide the dejected look on his face as you spin around. 

“Got it!” you chirp. 

Rin huffs in annoyance. 

“What’s the matter now, Mr. Grouchy-Pants?”

“I don’t want to bake right now,” he states. No, Rin would much rather be doing other things with you at this very moment. 

Your eyes widen as you pout, “But our cake…”

“You already have enough, we don’t need to make some,” he says dismissively. “I’d rather have yours, actually.”

“M-mine?” you stammer in surprise, but a pleased look graces your features. “Well, perhaps you can have just an appetizer before we bake.”

Placing the bag of flour down, you walk over to him, granting his wishes as you slowly wrap your arms behind his neck. Instinctively, Rin’s own hands rest along the small of your back, pulling your body closer to his. 

As he leans in to kiss you, you pull away.

Rin frowns. 

“After this, we have to finish baking though! Promise?” you ask sweetly. 

He nods. In this moment, Rin could be persuaded to do whatever you have ever wanted. 

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 2)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff (smut in the next part)

part 1

It's been three days since the unfortunate misunderstanding with Charles and you haven't heard from him at all since.

You were overthinking the whole situation that happened on Sunday and couldn't come to any proper conclusion. At the same time, you were sad because he thought you would bring someone else into your bed, even though it wasn't your shared bed anymore, but you couldn't believe that he thought so little of you after all the years you'd spent together.

And yet on the other hand, you were thinking like any woman, you were glad that he was jealous and that the very thought of someone replacing him bothered him because that only meant he wasn't over you and that he still wanted to make things right between you two. Basically, you were torn between your brain and your heart once again and it was just a matter of what would prevail between the two this time.

Even though deep down you knew you couldn't fight yourself. You broke up over some disagreements that when you look at things more closely weren't worth destroying your relationship and your little family. You were both stubborn, he was a little too possessive, you were lacking in understanding, parenting, you spent most of your time alone with Lou and everything came together and exploded.

Now that you look back on the whole year you spent without him, you know that as hard as it is sometimes to be with him, it's ten times harder to be without him. You realize that you both made a rash decision, but then again maybe it had to happen only to make you realize how much you need each other in every way possible.

It's Wednesday night and while you're preparing tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch, Lou is sitting at the dining room table drawing. Soon your cooking is interrupted by the ringing of your phone on the kitchen island. A strange feeling comes over you as you wipe your hands on a dish towel and look at your phone only to see Charles' name on the screen.

You want to answer the phone, but you don't want the conversation to end in an argument so before you pick up the phone, you take a deep breath and try to calm down and strengthen your voice so it doesn't sound shaky.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." He says it in a completely normal, calm tone and you're grateful for that.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Umm, I'm leaving tomorrow for the race so I was wondering if you could put Lou on the facetime so I can see her since I won't be able to have her for the weekend?" He asks.

"Sure, just let me switch to facetime."

Once you did, Charles face appeared on the screen and he smiled when he saw yours too. You tried to hide the blush on your face and quickly walked over to Lou putting the phone in front of her.

"Baby, daddy wants to talk to you" You said setting the phone in front of her and leaving them alone to talk.

Since the kitchen and dining room were connected, you went back into the kitchen and could hear everything the two of them were saying. You didn't want to eavesdrop, but you kinda did.

"Hey, daddy!" Lou exclaimed excitedly.

"Mon ange, what are you doing?"

"I'm drawing and-and mommy is cooking" She says.

"Yeah? What are you drawing?"

"I'm drawing you in a red car. See" She says putting up the paper in front of the camera for him to see.

"Good job, baby. It looks great!"

"It's for you, I will give it to you when you come get me" She says forgetting that she won't be spending the weekend with him.

"Thank you, baby, but unfortunately we won't be together this weekend because papa has to work, but we'll see each other next week, okay?"

"Oh.." She pouts.

"Don't be sad, we'll see each other very soon, okay? I miss you so much and I'm thinking of you all the time."

Your heart is completely softened by his words and the immeasurable amount of love he has for your daughter.

"I miss you too, daddy"

"Okay, baby. I'll talk to you soon, I love you."

"Bye, I love you too." She says waving her hand as he blows her a kiss.

You watch her from afar and see how her mood immediately changed when she heard that she wouldn't be seeing him. Shaken by emotions, you move closer to her and squat down next to her.

"What's wrong, bug?" You ask her.

She doesn't look at you but frowns looking down at drawing on the paper in front of her.

"I miss papa" She says, hear eyes filled with tears.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" You say and she nods. "I miss papa too." You whisper making her look at you.

"Would you like to watch him race this weekend?"

"You mean on the TV?" She asks.

"No, I mean how about we go and see him?" You suggest and her eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes! And I can give him this!" She says excitedly and you chuckle at how sweet she is.

"Then we have a deal. Now, finish up your drawing and go wash your hands because dinner is almost ready okay?"

"Okay, mommy. Thank you"

Nothing can compare to the happiness you feel when you see your daughter happy. Both you and Charles would do anything for her, and that's why you decided to quickly run upstairs to your bedroom, turn the hoodie right side out.

When a print of an F1 car was visible on the black hoodie, you took a picture of it and sent it to Charles without any additional explanation, because you knew that everything would be clear as a day to him once he saw it.

After just a few minutes, your phone vibrated in your hands.

'Been looking for it for a while now..' Charles' message said.

'I really fucked up this time, didn't I?' He added.

'You kinda did.' You replied.

'I'm so sorry, y/n..'

'You're lucky your daughter adores you so much and you better send a plane for the two of us so we can make it to the race on time.'

part 3

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