#do I like it better as a Valentine’s fic? yes<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[lcs-library]

A Tiny Love(Sakuya x Reader)

Notes/Tags: Sakuya x reader, except mc only shows up a little bit at the end so I guess it’s technically Sakuya-centric but shhhh, canon compliant, Happy Valentine’s!!!, child oc(?)(idk I just slapped her together so 😗), takes place during act 3 but has no major spoilers

Summary: “Sakuya-sensei, will you marry me?” “Pardon?” A strange request from one of the young girls at the daycare Sakuya worked at sent his entire day haywire. Happy Valentine’s Day!! Have a Sakuya<3

“Sakuya-sensei, will you marry me?”

“Pardon?”

A strange request from one of the young girls at the daycare Sakuya worked at sent his entire day haywire.

It wasn’t uncommon for the kids to play house with him(even if they called him a ham), nor was it strange for them to play wedding with their toys, but for them to ask a teacher? That was new.

Luckily, he knew just how to respond.

“That’s really sweet of you, Ena-chan, but I’m already someone else’s boyfriend!” He replied sweetly, kneeling down to the young girl’s height.

“You won’t?” She looks like she’s about to cry.“But I worked so hard on the wedding! And I love you!”

“Oh, um…”

In that moment, Sakuya had no idea what to do, but having a crying child on his hands wouldn’t be the most fun to deal with.

“How about we have a pretend wedding? I’ll be your husband for that if you want!” He exclaims with a smile.

“Really?” Her face immediately lights up.

“Mhm.”

“Yay!” She cheers, turning back to her group of friends, “Sakuya-sensei said he’d marry me!”

The girls squeal with delight as Ena takes Sakuya’s hand.

“Come on, I gotta show you the wedding spot!”

She’s smiling so bright, clearly super excited about this, while Sakuya can only let out a nervous giggle.

What have I gotten myself into…

She takes him out to the yard, showing off an array of paper chains and glitter, with the small play house serving as an altar, a group of girls surrounding it.

“You gotta go up to the marrying spot, okay?!” She squeals, running to one of the back corners of the fence.

He complies, making his way up to the “altar”, trying his best to stay composed.

At that moment, around a million thoughts and questions swarm his mind, but are interrupted by one of the girls skipping up the the crowd, sprinkling grass in her wake.

A moment later, Ena walks down the aisle, carrying an array of questionable plants from around the space, loudly singing her take on a wedding march. She held her head high, her steps stiff and practiced, as if she were waiting her whole life for this moment and didn’t spring it on everyone half and hour ago.

And, looking at her, Sakuya can’t help but feel an odd sense of pride.

That one day, this will be real for her, with someone she loves, and he would have touched her life permanently at that point. Ah, the wonders of childcare.

“Sakuya-sensei! You gotta kiss me now!”

“Eh?!”

No, it wasn’t a surprise to him that she didn’t know how weddings worked and thought of them as a fancy way to get a kiss, but the fact that she was insistent on getting one was freaking him out.

“Um, h-how about a hug instead?”

“It’s not the same!” She whines.

“But it’s a way to show our love, isn’t it?”

Please tell me I’ll get to live today…

“Hmm…alright!”

Thank God, Sakuya thinks to himself as he breathes a sigh of relief.

And so the two embrace, and they all lived happily ever after.

Until a few hours later.

“Ah, Ena-chan, your mom’s here to pick you up!” Sakuya calls back into the noisy room, welcoming one of the parents in.

Just then, all hell broke loose.

Ena rushed over, clinging to Sakuya’s leg, almost in tears.

“I don’t wanna go! Sakuya-sensei married me, and I’m living with him!” She wailed, gripping tightly to his apron.

“Hey, Sakuya, is your shift over yet?” You asked, opening the door to the daycare.

You couldn’t have picked a worse time.

Sakuya’s eyes widened, a “help me” sort of expression on his face.

“What happened here?”

“Um-“

“I’m not going! Sakuya-sensei married me and we’re gonna be together forever and ever!”

You firmly decided that you didn’t even want to know what happened, but tried to come up with a solution.

“Really?” You asked, frowning.

“I was looking forward to seeing him today!”

“Too bad! He’s mine!”

Woah, a feral one.

Thankfully, Sakuya saw what you were doing and tapped in.

“Ena-chan, didn’t we learn that sometimes we have to share our things? Maybe you should share me with my friend here.” He gently suggested.

There was a moment of internal struggle in her eyes, but with enough pleading gestures from the two of you, she gave in.

“Fine! But you’re still mine!”

“Thank you, Ena-chan.”

“Thanks!”

She let out a small “hmph” as she took her mother’s hand, yet took the time to wave “bye-bye” to Sakuya.

Once the two left, you just had to ask.

“What was that all about?”

“Well,” he replied, taking off his apron and hanging it up, “she tried to marry me, so I suggested we have a pretend marriage to prevent this from happening. I guess she doesn’t know enough at this age, and it’s all real to her.” He finishes with a giggle.

You let out a mock gasp.

“You cheated on me?! Sakuya, I thought you were a good, honest man!” You complain, lightly smacking him on the shoulder.

“Hey, I didn’t want a crying kid on my hands, okay?” He defends, taking your hand in his as you exit the daycare.

The cold winter air greets the two of you, harshly nipping at your skin.

Thank God Sakuya is pretty much a natural heater, you decide, practically draping yourself on top of him, nearly toppling him over.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” He exclaims.

He plants a kiss on your cheek.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[holysupesbatman]

SuperBat Fic Recs

Woaaaah boy. I was in the Superbat tag and saw someone asking for recs and I got about 5 fics in before I realized that wouldn't fit in a reply and decided I should just make a whole post. I feel like I've read half of the Bruce/Clark tag on ao3 at this point and yet I still find more every time I look.

As a note, this post is heavily editorialized. These are all fics I've personally read and are here because I liked them and they come from my ao3 bookmarks. If you want better details about the fic, follow the links and check them out 🤷‍♀️ I'm a picky reader so the fact that it's on the list says a lot, though our tastes may vary.

Onto the recs! I'll organize them by ratings and then by length for simplicity and at the end I'll recommend some of my favorite SuperBat authors for further reading!

🦇

Rated: G

Uno Reverse by WixenBurr (~7k rated G) is really cute and fluffy

Summary: The batkids are trying to set Batman and Superman up. Unfortunately Bruce Wayne wants to date some rando news reporter named Clark Kent.

Rated: T

Know You Better by rotasha (~6k rated T)

super fluffy and cute. I adore this fic. Summary: Clark asks Bruce on a date, not knowing he’s a famous billionaire. Bruce says yes, because this is the first time this has ever happened to him.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173 (~13k rated T)

This one is SO much fun – Nobody believes Clark after he meets the supposed "flirty, stupid, entitled drunk" playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne when he says he's actually "clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive."

Saudade by liodain (~20k rated T)

OK THIS ONE MAKES MY HEART MELT IT'S SO FLUFFY AND SWEET I CAN'T. Like put this on your re-read when you're sad and need to feel like love and goodness exist list. Bruce breaks down in Kansas in 2006 years before BvS and meets young Clark.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (~23k rated T)

It's just 20k of Clark simping for Bruce. That's it. That's the fic. He's a golden retriever and he's in love, Your Honor. Bruce is not unaffected, but the pining is glorious.

summary: Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

Mr. Romantic by Pandamomochan (~24k rated T)

ft Established Relationship SuperBat. Summary: Clark gets tasked to write a Valentine's Day article. The end result has every single women throwing themselves at him. Clark has always been patient with the drove of Brucie fans. Will Bruce be as mature with Clark's sudden popularity?

How to Date a Superhero by @solomonara (~25k rated T)

Technically a series of fics. Pure fluff. 1. Someone spots the Batman kissing Mild Mannered Reporter Clark Kent. Hijinks ensue. 2. Superman kissed Bruce Wayne in full view of several dozen phones. Now the whole world, including Lex Luthor, knows Superman has a boyfriend. But that's okay. Batman has a plan. 3. Deleted scenes from the How to Date a Superhero series, ruthlessly cut in most cases to prevent the Robins from taking over.

In every sense of the word by froggy-o (bobafiend) (~29k rated T) From the author's summary: Alternatively titled "Why Wonder Woman is on the verge of losing her fucking mind."

I swear this fic is just Diana's eyebrow twitching as she watches Bruce and Clark start dating and she's let in on both their civilian identities meanwhile Superman and Batman are on the watchtower arguing and disagreeing about basically everything on the daily. In the name of Justice, of course. The identity porn is on a whole other level and it was done so well.

Get Over It by rotasha (~32k rated T)

heh this one has plenty of identity hijinks. Sooooo funny. Summary: Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish (~96k rated T)

hehehe... the batkids set up a dating profile for Bruce and catfish Clark. It's more of a blind date for Bruce (not that he had any idea he was going on a date at all), but who has Clark been texting for the past several weeks??? Oh yeah. The kids. What follows is as follows. Still with capes!

Rated: M

Guardian Dog by BombusBombus (~22k rated M)

Summary: There's something wrong with Clark Kent. He has to be a villain, right? A threat? He doesn't behave like a normal person, no matter how handsome or clever he may seem.

grasp his heart (once and for all) by liodain (~32k rated M) soulmate AU fic. Pretty emotional LOTS of identity issues going on there like so much. Kinda high on the drama and angst there honestly but it was a cute read. Summary: Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in fate.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (~33k rated M)

love me a fake dating AU. Summary: It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Strangers When We Meet by Trista_zevkia (~63k rated M)

ANOTHER soulmate AU! This time feat. Kryptonian Biology hehehe. Summary: Clark Kent thought he was straight, until Batman kick started something. The question is what did Batman start? Is Brucie Wayne able to explain it to him?

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat (~77k rated M)

OK NO LISTEN this is one of my all-time favorite fics EVER. It's so meta and so funny. Clark is us. We are Clark. Clark is writing RPF for the Bruce/Batman ship and he's very convinced it's real EVEN THOUGH he has a huge crush on the Batman... let the hijinks BEGIN.

Rated: E

Embracing Destiny by Mithen (~8k rated E)

This one is just really really cute. Summary: As a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st century, a teenaged Clark learns a stunning secret about his own future: he and someone called "Batman" will be legendary lovers.

perfect strangers by susiecarter (~15k rated E)

like. bruh. susie did it again. This tag says it all: communication failure. I love this one though. Summary: Batman and Superman are fucking. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are a great cover for fighting crime, and also might be dating. Bruce and Clark have no idea what they're doing; but they definitely aren't going to be able to talk themselves into stopping.

Relinquishing Control by foxyk (~25k rated E)

afsfwsdfhishdfksj no words. Read the authors summary and then just go read the fic:

Superman worries that if he lets go he'll injure his partner. Batman knows better. Batman worries that if he lets someone else in, he'll hurt them. Superman knows better.

Picture Perfect by TheSaltiestDog @the-saltiest-dog (~26k rated E)

this one is cute and then horny on main but also just so fluffy. Clark sees Bruce in a new light through candid shots, then proceeds to take lots of candid shots as they begin a relationship. Cue schmoop, fluff, smut, and – you guessed it! –Miscommunication!

A Night Off and sequel A Day Off by Mawiiish (~37k combined; first part is E, second is T)

One of my all-time favorites. My bookmark says 10/10 would read again soooooooo... 👀🤷‍♀️😅🥵

Bruce is enjoying one of his few nights off when a very persistent young man offers to buy him a drink. At first he's apprehensive; he's just here for a good time and this Clark seems to be looking for more than that. Then again, what harm can one drink do?

Clark wakes up to an empty bed and despite Bruce being honest from the start, he's still disappointed.

The Downsides to a Secret Identity by liodain (~42k rated E)

I'm currently reading this one – the summary from the author says it all, it's so good but sooo drama:

Bruce Wayne has taken a shine to Clark Kent, but Clark is more interested in the Bat of Gotham. The Bat, however, has it in for the Superman in a big way. Clark should probably have considered that before falling quite so hard. They're working together to track down some missing Kryptonian weaponry, after all...

50 Shades of Wayne by susiecarter (~161k rated E)

No but listen, this is actually so full of plot and emotional depth and not as much smut as you might think. It's a full-scale retelling of Batman v Superman but without them knowing each other's secret identities. I read it in one go... the reveal? Maybe the best I've ever read. Soooo many emotions. It's one of the few times I've read BDSM in a fic and it actually felt in character. I wasn't sure I would read it when I started, but it was a compelling read and extremely well done. Honestly, I'd read it again.

SuperBat Author Shoutouts:

susiecarter @susiecarter

liodain @liodain

Resacon1990 @sassyresacon1990

shipyrds @burins

Mawiiish @superbattrash

rotasha

Mithen

[abbyshands]

abby drabbles for vday <3

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

a/n; hey, all, happy valentine’s :) i was originally gonna have a fic for this but i was only able to do a few drabbles today &&& i don’t like any of them but it’s fine. also, woeeefully i have carpal tunnel, so with that and me needing to focus more on speaking out on palestine, fics will be more inconsistent (dw btw i am very much fine, just need to rest my hands <3 [which i obv did not do when i wrote all of these so quickly!])

♡ INCLUDES: sub!cam girl!abby bench pressing w/a vibe between her legs, dom!rival prosecutor!abby fucking you in her office, sub!football abby x dom!nerdy!reader

P.S.; please keep in mind that palestine is very much still bleeding. please look at the below links to learn of ways that you can help the people in gaza, and how you can learn more about this ongoing issue overall. please don't stay in the dark about this: like each post, reblog them, etc. if you like my work, then i am asking, demanding you to take the side that i'm on. free 🇵🇸, always.

LINKS: ways you can help | 🇵🇸 masterpost | MORE ways you can help I places to boycott, and families you can help escape | learn more

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

a/n; ib by this post! <3

♡ imagine cam girl!abby, 185 pound barbell in her veiny hands as she pumps the load up and down, muscles flexing under the pressure. her face is red, body slick with sweat as her figure caves. you’re looking at her from the end of the bench, poised between her legs as you watch her workout. you crank the setting of the vibrator up for a third time, feeling your own heat build up as you listen to her whine and whimper. “come on, baby. just a few more reps for me, you got it,” you coo, knowing how close she is, hands weakening as the pleasure bubbling up in her core battles to take control. her filming camera’s in your hands, the one she used to go live and make videos with on a daily basis. you pan it to the wet spot that’s visible on her gym shorts, the smirk on your lips widening as the view nearly makes you drool. “look at her. so pretty like this, such a desperate girl,” you whisper more to yourself than to abby, earning a whorish whine from her lips as she pushes the bar above her head again and again. “mmm, s’that feel good, baby?” you coo as you bring a finger up to rub her over her soaked bottoms. abby’s face scrunches as she throws you a bit of an attitude. “y- you know it does,” she nearly snapped at you, and you can’t help but laugh. “hear that? she’s getting bratty with me,” you say, making sure to zoom in on her shaking legs as you give her thigh a small slap, earning a yelp from abby. you know full well her fans are going to go wild for this video, perhaps even more than you. when abby finishes her reps, body too weak to go on, you prop the camera up beside yourselves and place your hands on the sides of abby’s thighs. “good girl. did so well for me, didn’t you?” you ask, the only other noise being the buzzing of the vibe and the sound of abby’s little whimpers. “y- yes, ma’am, i did. n- now please let me cum,” she begs, and you feel merciful. you crank the vibe to the highest setting, and apply more pressure to her pussy with your fingers. you thumb her clit in circles, and watch as abby’s abdomen begins to tense. you push her shorts out of the way for better access, and remove the vibe to pump your index and ring into her soaked pussy, fingering her like a fucking pro. “f- fuck, so close, please, don’t stop,” she whines, and it’s not long before you’ve got the cam girl drenching your fingers in her cum, hips bucking for both you and the camera as it captures every little second <3

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

♡ imagine rival prosecutor!abby, who you just won a huge case to, grabbing you by the wrist the second she could, and yanking you into her office. she was bending you over her desk at a rapid speed like she had so many times in the past, forcing you to take the seven inch strap that’s considerably a part of her at this point. “fucking whore. always fucking up my cases. let me show you how that, fuck,” she says as she thrust into you, deep, “fucking feels.” you only get to feel her when you make her lose a case, being the only way she can properly get her anger out. sometimes, you almost want to lose your cases on purpose. “well, maybe you should do your job better,” you challenge her, and, god, she does not like that. she grabs you by the neck as she pounds into you from behind, thick fingers digging marks into your skin. “don’t talk to me like that,” abby remarks as she pushes herself as deep inside you as she can possibly go. she’s so down and dirty with you, using your body like a toy, then discarding you until the next time she loses a case. “f- fuck, a- abby,” she’s got you stuttering soon enough, brain foggy with your own arousal. abby quickens her pace the second she can feel you getting closer to your high, chuckling. “yeah, you like that, huh? get so cockdrunk off this dick every time,” abby grunted. when your moans get too loud to the point where she thinks you’ll make the whole office hear, her large hand covers your lips, muffling those sweet, little noises. “shhh, shhh, baby. you’re my whore, mine alone. don’t want anyone else to hear those cute moans of yours,” she teases. soon enough, she’s got you soaking her cock in your cum, a whiny mewl of her name muffled by the hold she has on your lips. once you’re finished, she very briefly cleaned you up. but then, once she was done, negligence. “abby—“ you begin, ready to beg her for a little more of her attention. but she cuts you short. “none of that. you know this, sweetheart. i’ll fuck you when i lose.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

a/n; very much inspired by this :3

♡ imagine sub!football!abby (x nerdy!reader) winning the last game of her season. there’s an after party, of course there is, but the buff girl who’s dominant in every aspect of her life, almost, can’t resist spending some time with her girlfriend first. “yeah, honey. played so well for me, didn’t you?” you coo as abby grinds her pussy desperately into your body, your hands digging into her hips. abby’s gorgeous nipples are bouncing up and down before you, perfect, and you make sure to take one of them into your mouth whenever one’s close enough to your face. “mmm, f- fuck, i did, baby, i did,” she moans, voice needy as she thrusts her naked body into your own. the friction she feels from the denim material of your jeans drives her crazy, rubbing up on her clit in the best way possible. your glasses fog up each time you pull her down for a sloppy, wet kiss, tongue dancing with hers as she grinds her pussy into you, desperate. “such a good girl. that’s it, reward yourself, baby,” you encourage her as she goes on, rutting herself into you. she moans as your pants brush up on her clit, burying her face into your neck to bite it, stifling the whiny moans falling from her lips. your hands grab her ass, gripping it as she pushes herself against you as hard as she could. “f- fuck, i love you so much, love you so much,” abby lets out in a whiny moan, easily making you smile. when you’ve got her on the brink, you take one of her breasts into your mouth, tongue swirling skillfully around her nipple. you give her a few small slaps on the ass as she chases her high, cumming all over your jeans in the end. you smile as you cup her reddened cheek, kissing the tip of her nose as she panted out heavily above you. “there’s my football star.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

[juyeonszn]

I WANNA TIE THE KNOT

PAIRING lee hyunjae x f!reader

WORD COUNT 1.70k

GENRES fluff ﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, established relationship, it escalates pretty fast ngl, fingering but there’s honestly no real foreplay, u tie hyunjae up with ribbon, dry humping, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap besties), cowgirl position, marking lowkey, scratching, hyunjae is a master at pillowtalk, creampie :P

SUMMARY that coquette bow trend on the internet really isn’t for the faint of heart. at least, that’s what you think when you decide to do it with hyunjae.

MORE 😂😂😂🔫 anyway. i actually wrote this in one sitting. in one night. bc i was insatiable for the coquette trend after a Very Passionate discussion with @kimsohn and @zzoguri <3 delusional sapphics 1, 2, and 3 back at it AGAIN! if u noticed, all 3 of us wrote something involving these godforsaken bows. this fic was a long time coming seeing as i wrote it a month ago but i remembered it was valentine’s day so,,,, here u go! pls dont forget to reblog if u enjoyed <3

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel @ericlvr @sunwooverse @kimsohn

“Can we try this?”

Hyunjae raises an eyebrow at you when you shove your phone in his face, scooting up higher from where you were laying on his lap. He watches the video with mild amusement. 

“You want to tie a bow around my bicep?” He asks you, as if your request was so far-fetched and out of the ordinary. He had nice arms, he’d look cute with a ribbon wrapped around it. The whole coquette vibe matched well with his pretty face. 

“Yeah, why not? It’s a cute trend. And at least I’m not suggesting the one where I tie your mouth shut,” you rest your cheek on his chest, blinking up at him with hopeful eyes. “Please, Jae? For me?”

It’s a little comical when you physically see the war waging in his head. He wants to decline, thinks the idea of you putting one of your ribbons around his fucking bicep is kind of stupid, but he could never say no to those eyes. Lee Hyunjae was a weak, weak man. 

So he agrees. 

Next thing he knows, you’re filming him flexing with the cute little bow on his arm to post on your social media. He should feel silly, standing still so you can record the perfect shot, but he doesn’t. You look so cute with your tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth, he feels his mind straying from the original plan. 

He wraps his arms around your waist when you go to edit the video, preparing to post it publicly. You squirm as his lips make contact with the sensitive spot below your ear, kissing tenderly and sweetly. “Jaehyun….”

Your warning tone does not dispel his efforts to distract you, the tips of his fingers dipping below the waistband of your sleep shorts. The pads drag along your hip bones while his mouth travels lower on your neck, nipping at the soft skin visible beneath your top. “Yes, my love?”

“Don’t fucking ‘my love’ me right now,” you whine, craning your neck to the side to give him more access to the surface. “You know what you’re doing.”

“Is it working?” Hyunjae teases, thumb applying the slightest amount of pressure on your clothed clit. “Are you gonna let me fuck you with these pretty bows on?”

The groan you release is guttural, because god your boyfriend knew how to turn you on like a damn light switch. Your eyelids flutter shut and your head falls back on his shoulder, phone slipping out of your grasp and onto the floor. His finger moves in tight circles on the bundle of nerves, cupping the rest between the apex of your thighs. Fuck, he was starting to get the better of you. 

“Y-Yes, but on— mmm— on one condition,” you force yourself to stay steeled, keeping your voice as stable as possible. 

“And what is that?” Hyunjae nibbles your earlobe, teeth grazing the shell and sending goosebumps all over the expanse of your skin. His ring finger presses up on your entrance over your dampened underwear, making you clench around nothing. 

Oh he was a dead man. You were going to make him pay. 

“You w-wear the ribbons,” your breathing hitches. “Let me— let me tie you up. I’ll make it worth your while, Jae. P-Promise…”

He halts his motions, like he’s contemplating your words carefully. It’s not like much would change, to be honest. Hyunjae would still be the one in control after a certain point. You just wanted the excuse to bind the smug motherfucker for once. And to keep the bows on him, but around his wrists this time. 

Hyunjae retracts his hands from your shorts to remove his shirt, the heat radiating against your back from his bare torso. Your chest heaves up and down as you watch him climb back to the head of the bed, sweatpants low on his hips. It takes a whole fucking lot of self restraint not to jump his bones then and there, but you manage, straddling his waist so you can tie his wrists to the bed posts with your pink satin ribbon. Your hands are shaky, like your breathing, but he doesn’t point it out, letting you have your fun. 

A low grunt escapes his lips when you pull on the fabric, ensuring it’s tight enough to hold him still but loose enough not to leave a mark. It doesn’t help that he can feel you pulsating through your sleep shorts onto his abdomen, his muscles contracting underneath you. 

You aren’t really sure if you can even keep up your own act, grinding down on his lap like a bitch in heat. It’s embarrassing how easy it is for him to work you up without so much as touching you. You knew if you didn’t stop now, you’d dry hump him until you were a quivering mess, fully clothed and all. Hyunjae knows you’re needy, too, the corner of his lips quirking up. 

“Can we— god— can we just s-skip the foreplay?” You whine into the crook of his neck, hooking your fingers into his sweatpants. “Want you inside me already…”

“Of course, baby, you know I’ll never say no to you,” he coos, mouth finding yours to kiss you slowly, gently, passionately. 

You push his pants and underwear down in one go, using your feet to kick them away so you can undress yourself as fast as possible. Your desperation is too strong to pretend it’s not there, so you give into your own carnal desires. Hyunjae hisses when your cunt hovers over his cock, so slick that it doesn’t take long for him to slip inside completely. 

Every time you have sex with him, you feel so full, the weight of his cock so deep in you that you see stars well before he’s even moved. You support yourself with a hand on each of his shoulders, lips still molded with his as you begin to bounce meticulously. Your moans are muffled with his kiss, practically impaling yourself on his dick. 

Your hips roll experimentally, throwing your head back with a drawn out moan and your nails clawing down his chest when he hits that particular spot inside your pussy. Hyunjae lets out a sound akin to a strangled moan, wanting nothing more than to get his hands all over your body so he can fuck you six ways to Sunday. 

He bends his knees to make it a bit smoother for you, relishing in the way you’re losing yourself to your pleasure without him having to do a single thing. You’re just rutting against him at this point, legs beginning to give out this early. 

“Don’t— mmm— Hyunjae, I can’t— ‘s too much,” your speech is already slurred, words blurring together and making hardly any sense. 

“Let me get out of these, baby,” he tugs at the ribbons. “I’ll fuck you so good, my love. I’ll give you— fuck— what you want.”

You nod frantically, not trusting your voice to say anything remotely coherent. Thankfully, Hyunjae takes note of the lack of strength you currently have, not expecting you to untie the knots on his wrists without struggle. You watch with heavy lids and he pulls harshly, tearing the satin binding him to the bed frame. So much for them being secure…

Your top half collapses into his chest and he grasps at your waist roughly, having half the mind to flip you over and pin you to the mattress. Instead, he presses up into you, slow at first so he can regain his bearings after being tied up, and then he’s bucking up into your pussy like a jackrabbit. 

“Thought you could take me—“ he cuts himself off with a groan. “Thought you could take me all by yourself like a big girl, huh?” 

Whining in response is all you can do, almost on the verge of tears. The sounds of your cunt sucking him in, squelching echoing around the bedroom, are nearly enough to knock you over the edge. The coil in the pit of your stomach stretches more and more, teeth sinking into his collarbone and marking up his supple, sweaty skin like it was your day job. His blunt nails dig into the fat of your hips as a means of grounding himself, holding back from finishing before you because you were his top priority. 

Your nimble fingers sneak between your bodies to massage your oh-so-sensitive clit, ring and middle digits working at double their usual speed. Hyunjae stares at you with hearts in his eyes as you try desperately to get yourself off. He thinks you’re gorgeous every second of every day, but for some reason, you look fucking breathtaking right now. 

“My pretty girl, taking it like a champ,” he grits his teeth. “You love when I fuck you like a pornstar, don’t you?” 

It’s when he connects your lips in a kiss so sweet it puts all the others to shame and so polar-opposite to the filth the two of you were committing, that you cum without warning, velvety walls constricting around his cock. Your head is empty and your vision goes white for a moment, static ringing in your ears. He follows immediately after, moaning into your mouth as he does so. You swallow the noises while your breathing stutters, the sensation of him filling you up with all he can give blindsiding your senses. 

You stay sandwiched together as you both calm down, tired and achy from such strenuous activity. When you stop to think about the cause of these events, you snort until it morphs into an uncontrollable laughter. (Then you wince because Hyunjae’s dick was still inside of you.)

“What’s so funny?” He furrows his eyebrows, making no effort to move. 

“That fucking bow trend led to one of the best orgasms of my life,” you’re still laughing, chin on your hands, which are folded over his chest. “It’s so stupid.”

“The bows are cute. Maybe you should let me try tying you up with them next time.” Hyunjae pecks your forehead, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Trust me,” you giggle, a yawn threatening to push past your lips. “There will definitely be a next time.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[b4tboys]

➣ matchmaking or meddling?

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count: 1.6K

summary: you find out just how much your students have been meddling in your love life, though you can’t really be mad.

notes from lee: i’m afraid to make this look like an award acceptance speech so ill be brief. had to make a fic for the namesake of the blog and a very late hbd to boo (@2018-01-20). kinda wish i had more interactions with the kids, but i ended up w/ a lot of gojo pov also unedited

Looking back it should have been obvious what these kids of yours were up to. Yes, they were the reason you were in this god-forsaken closet with a blindfolded fool.

You’re only really aware of their meddling now as you hear their snickers from the hallway, so you can’t quite tell when their meddling started. But it makes sense that they were plotting something, but was it in collaboration with Satoru? Because it seemed like every mishap or coincidence between your two classes, Satoru took it in stride and turned it into his advantage. Just like he was taking advantage of the situation now…

Thinking back, your first clue should have been with the sticky notes. A note scrawled on a pink sticky note, in actually legible handwriting, addressed to you like a valentine. Reading, “from: Satoru ;D to: (y/n) <3; do you look this good every day or do i just not remove my blindfold enough????” It’s on top of a stack of papers handed over by the ever-stoic Fushiguro. Surely to get your guard down, and it did.

When you interrogate your fellow teacher about it later, he keeps his normal all-knowing grin plastered on his face. Now they, being the kids who orchestrated it, don’t need to do any work as every day after that there’s a new sticky note somewhere for you to see. They vary in color, most in some shade of pink, some with bad pick-up lines, others with a stick figure drawing, or the very rare ones hidden away with words that make you spit out your drink.

Or maybe another tip off should have been the ‘coincidental’ times you’d have the second years out on the training field and he just so happened to also plan a demonstration for the first years at the same time. But then again you don’t hear their snickering above your irritation at the white-haired man as he lets you jab a finger into his chest, with his annoying smirk.

But they notice you don’t care anymore that he peeks his head over your shoulder to look at your teaching outline just so he can do the ‘coincidental’ planning now.

And still the biggest hint that you fall for every time, is when they leave you at the cafe with just Satoru after begging for a weekend meetup. And again, when they ask to have team dinners, study sessions, or extra training, it's ridiculous. Your gullibility and trust in them is commendable, but it’s become laughable as you still trust in the kids to show up. And they do, just in disguise from across wherever you are as they watch Satoru come to your rescue every time.

Maybe the more ridiculous part is when the rare glimpse of their teacher’s eyes is pointed, peeking through their poorly crafted disguises, at them from across the room with a smirk.

He’s noticed for a while now that the kids are playing matchmaker, and their skills are much better than those his clan hires. And to be honest, he doesn’t mind, if anything he finds it cute that they think he needs the help. Though admittedly they do have some good ideas. Each one never fails to fluster you, in your own cute and angry way, as he takes over their schemes. His six-eyes catch the flurry of texts sent every time he does so, which he’s sure just encourages them further.

Satoru’s not quite sure when his feelings for you developed. He’s always found you attractive, especially when you were his cute kouhai (he still likes to call you that in order to annoy you until you begrudgingly call him senpai once again.). Everything he learns about you only adds to his initial interest. He’s a sucker for getting to know the little things, like your favorite dinner spot after a tough mission or what your ideal day off is. Once you accept his feelings he’ll put the knowledge you deem useless to good work.

But there’s a moment that sits so starkly in his memory as the first time he realized he was in love with you and not just intrigued or infatuated.

It was maybe around the time Tsumiki had gotten sick and though Megumi was self sufficient, Satoru didn’t feel that he should be alone. He knows he’s not the best at comfort, hell he could barely comfort himself, so he sends you.

And he’s not overly worried about you, you’re a teacher so he’s sure you’ll get through to the ever prickly Megumi just fine. Plus you’ve always been significantly better at handling emotional situations, he knows first hand. So when he comes to check on you after finishing his mission, he smiles at your success.

Megumi’s head rests on your lap, asleep, and you’re slumped over the armrest. There’s a twang of jealousy that pricks at his mind, wishing it was him in your lap instead, but all he can think about is having you greet him as he comes home and Megumi and Tsumiki sitting for dinner and that would be yours and his alone.

He’s never felt like someone that would settle down or want a family, especially given the circumstances of his status. But you, in this moment, make him want to move past the shrewdness of the higher ups and his clan, and just have you. He longs for something that is just his, not part of Jujutsu Society, the higher ups, or his clan, or even Satoru Gojo, he wants things just for Satoru, just for him.

You are that something, that someone, he wants, he’s convinced that he needs you like the air he breathes. The weird surge of emotions that have been kept bottled up since a dark day suddenly seems to make sense and it has a name, it’s love.

So when he’s reminiscing on his feelings, it really has been there all along, but it’s that very specific moment in which his love for you was defined.

And the apex of all his work in gently guiding you to realize your feelings, that he’s very sure are there, is in a closet of all places. His blue eyes glow dimly in the dark of the closet with the snickers of his students on the other side.

“Hey,” he breathes out, much less confident than he intended, but you make him nervous.

You meet his bright eyes briefly before looking away and returning the greeting, “Um, hi.”

His breath hitches and his mind blanks, every funny line or flirty remark he could make right now is gone. He can’t think about anything other than you, how cute your expression is, how good your hair looks even slightly messed up, but mainly your lips and how much he needs to kiss you before he leaves this cramped closet. “How are you?”

You blink at him incredulously, “We’re in a closet, Gojo. How do you think I am?”

He tosses his head back and groans as you use his last name, he thought he’d gotten you to call him Satoru like pretty much everyone did. “C’mon (Y/n), you know I hate when you call me that.” He whines and pouts, jutting his bottom lip out like a toddler.

He watches the guilt flash across your face briefly, surely it’s you remembering how he confided in you about hating the weight that came with his last name. “Sorry, I know. I know,” you pause and he senses your hesitancy and waits, “Satoru.”

He’s got a big shit-eating grin on his face that differs from his usual smirk as he rocks on his feet with his heart fluttering.

“You really like it that much when I call you ‘Satoru’?” You ask, eyeing up his body language with a skeptical look.

“Maybe.” He answers in a sing-song tone, he’s back to his usual self, “But you know what I’d like more?”

He leans in close and glances down at your lips. No matter how many times he does this, it always results in him pulling away with a teasing smile. So when he feels your hands wrap around the neck of his uniform and pull him closer, it’s certainly a surprise.

“You want a kiss?” You ask and he nods meekly, if possible, and you do, you kiss him. Satoru’s eyes flutter shut as his heart flutters in his stomach. His big hands reach up to cup your face and keep you glued to his lips. Gods, it’s everything he’s dreamed about and more.

When you part from him to catch your breath, he’s smiling. “I hope you know I want much more than a kiss.” He waits for you to breathe and to watch your reaction before smashing his lips onto yours again.

Satoru feels your arms wrapped around his neck and how your hands crawl through his undercut to tug at his hair. And he’s similar, the hands once holding your face have traced down your body to your hips so he can hold you close.

The knock on the door cuts your time short, your tongues and bodies having to part. Satoru watches as you smooth over your clothes and hair before he pulls up his blindfold. The door opens not a moment later to reveal the two classes waiting with bated breath to see something scandalous.

They are disappointed, fortunately for you and your image as a teacher. None of the students have the time to catch the heavy blush on his face as he slips away while you lecture them. But they do notice how flustered you are when you get a text from Satoru, “dinner 2nite?”

[yyuangss-main]

❝BAILAMOS JUNTOS — SPIDERVERSE HCS

summary ; the spider—men with a hispanic reader who loves to dance a lot and how they are at bailes.

pairings ; miguel o’hara, miles morales (wrote this with earth-1610 miles in mind), hobie brown, pavitr prabhakar, peter b. parker x hispanic fem!reader

note ; because i can’t find any hispanic reader fics for miguel and miles so i’m about to take matters into my own hands and no one can stop me ✌️🤩 added hobie, pavitr, and peter b because why not <3 vale if you see this hush and just read

• — miguel o’hara !

you found out he can dance and never stopped bugging him about it ever since. he’s somewhat rusty but give him a couple seconds and he’s ready to go. he’s really good, same par as you just not so enthusiastic about it. still, miguel loves that dancing is your favorite thing to do.

told you that he’s a romeo santos fan and you busted out laughing. to this day, seeing a romeo santos song in his playlist makes you laugh and he’s like “leave me alone”. you asked him if romeo was better during his aventura era.

yes, this also means he’s the number one bachata lover but keeps it a secret from everyone, especially you.

the first time you two ever danced it was to imitadora in his so called office. miguel had to make sure no one came in. he’s the type to have one hand on your lower back to pull you in and he has your other one in his, up beside of his head. whole time he’s dancing with you he’s telling you how much he loves you and has you like “o—oh okay 😳”

no space in between you guys whatsoever. he wants to have you as close as possible and sometimes rests his chin on the top of your head as you two dance to whatever song is playing.

he’s definitely an arm around your waist type of guy. you took note that it was his first instinct when dancing. whether it be when you are in la rueda together or it’s a dance that needs a pair, his arm instantly goes around your waist. also probably the kind of guy who dances with an arm around your waist while both of yours are around his neck.

you’re also an arm around the waist when it comes to this man. i mean, why else is he gonna have that slutty waist if you can’t have your arm around it? anytime you guys are dancing and his arm is around your shoulders, you take this into your advantage and hold onto his waist. he’s like “stoppp 🙄”

miguel is at the age where he just criticizes every song you guys are dancing to. do not look at him when a song he hates is on. he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye just saying ‘don’t you dare’ cause wym you wanna dance to prince royce with him?

makes compromises especially if you have told him you like that song or artist.

“que canción tan fea. no se quien le dijo a valentin elizalde que podia cantar.” (t: what an ugly song. i don’t know who told valentin elizalde he could sing)

“miguel, ya callate por favor.” (t: miguel, be quiet already please.)

most of the time, he doesn’t go in the center of the circle with you. not in a bad way, miguel just loves seeing you dance and capture everyone’s attention. he never gets tired of seeing that smile on your face when you’re dancing with your tias and putting on a show for everyone.

if you want him to dance with you for the entire night, he will. that’s no issue for him. besides, certain bailes he’s the one that’s glued at your side and takes you to dance.

bonus; miguel likes taking a break from all his screens once in a while and starts dancing with you. whenever this happens though, miguel prefers to play slower songs or anything where you two don’t have to move around as much. as long as he’s holding you, that’s all he wants. and he admits to romeo being better in aventura. last verse in ella y yo is all you need as proof.

his dance skills when you first started dating: nine out of ten

his dance skills presently: ten out of ten

his favorite genre and artist: bachata ; romeo santos

• — miles morales !

when you two first started dating, he knew how much of a dancer you were. you’d always post some videos of you and your cousins at quinces or bailes. so when you both were hanging out by yourselves in his room, you started playing some music to dance with him. then he just looks you in your face to tell you, “nah yeah i can’t dance sorry.”

you called him a “yo no sabo” kid and he was highly offended. regardless, he was very willing to learn because he doesn’t want you to feel like he doesn’t care.

you have so much stamina when dancing he cannot keep up with you. from the minute everyone is allowed to start dancing, you are the first one there and he’s along with you. miles decided to count how many times you sat down throughout a baile and it was three times. those three times were simply because the hosts asked the guests to sit down.

he doesn’t know how you can transition from one genre to another so quickly. half a second ago you both were zapateando together and now they have corridos playing. you were so fast to put you hand on his shoulder and reach for the other, meanwhile the poor boy is trying to process the new beat which is much slower and he trips on his own feet. he’s also very shy compared to the rest when it comes to dancing.

feel like he enjoys listening to female artists a lot more to the male artists.

miles is surprisingly good at tejano, huapango, and wepa. so much so you had to ask him to teach you and he was like ‘neehee what was that, you yo no sabo kid?’

he’s definitely more of an arm around your shoulder type of guy. it just makes it easier for him to pull you towards him and so you two take your steps together at the same time. likes it when you bring your arm around him too or if you hold his hand.

one time, you invited his parents to come along with him at one of your cousin’s quince. you found out miles’ dad is the exact same as he is. even when his parents were dancing, his dad was doing the same things as him. miles is just a carbon copy.

at that same party, miles left to the bathroom for a couple minutes and when he came back, his dad was sitting by himself at their table. meanwhile, you and his mom was nowhere in sight. he asked where you two where at and his dad just said, “on the dance floor,” and pointed to you and rio getting cheered on by your entire family while being in the middle of the circle.

it made him feel happy and once again, offended, because you were dancing with his mom and because you weren’t dancing with him. you and rio got along super well but the way she was having the time of her life with you made miles know he made the right choice.

offended for a third time because you took her to a birthday party you got invited to instead of him. it’s around ten pm when he gets a video of you and his mom getting cheered on while dancing to some cumbias and pulling dance moves he’d never seen before. his first thought once he’s done watching the video is, “yup. she’s the one.”

bonus; miles is really great at la quebradora. you can really thank his spider—man strength for most of it. it didn’t take you guys long to perfect it and once you guys show it off at a baile, his whole nervous demeanor is gone for the remainder of the night. he’ll constantly ask someone to record you guys when doing la quebradora and posts it whenever he can.

his dance skills when you first started dating: six out of ten

his dance skills presently: nine out of ten

his favorite genre and artist: tejano ; selena

• — hobie brown !

hobie’s really at bailes to eat. like. nothing else to it 😭 you’ll invite him and he’s already thinking of all the to go plates he’s going to bring back home. yes yes, he dances with you. why wouldn’t he? but that food?

hobie gets you in trouble every time with your tias. they baby him saying “mi pobre hoberto, verda que no te da de comer?” (t: my poor hobart, she doesn’t give you anything to eat right?”) and he’s like “no tia 😖” and they give him two plates he’s smirking at you talking about some, “grassy ass.”

off the bat, he’s already preferring corridos, norteñas, bachatas or anything you have to dance to as a pair because of the height difference. he loves being able to hold you close and just look down at you.

though even with songs you don’t need to be paired up with, he’ll do it regardless. hobie just loves the idea of being close to you even in your most favorite thing to do.

he’s one to stick to the basic dance moves and sometimes he doesn’t put much effort when dancing which makes you mad. he knows it does he’s just doing it on purpose because he’s evil.

hobie understands spanish to a good level thanks to you. he likes singing the lyrics with you as you guys dance together. you’re so passionate about it and sometimes he just stops to admire you, a smile on his face.

prefers a lot of the older artists compared to the newer ones. has a bit of a hate relationship with corridos tumbados. doesn’t really want to dance to those and won’t ask you. if you ask him, then he’ll go but you take note he sits there, judging the song as he eats his fifth plate of rice and barbacoa.

he’s an arm around the shoulders type of guy too. it’s just connecting back to the height difference. this makes it easier for the both of you as well so at least one of you can lead. easier for him to lean down and give you a kiss on the side of your head.

likes it when you tug on his arm, dragging him to go dance with him because a song you both like is on. he thinks it’s really cute how excited you get.

bonus; hobie knows which artists you like and the songs as well. he even made a playlist of it to listen to whenever you’re not around. pretends to be shocked when a song or artist you like comes on even though he requested it so he could ask you to dance.

his dance skills when you first started dating: seven out of ten.

his dance skills presently: eight out of ten.

his favorite genre and artist: corridos ; chalino sanchez

• — pavitr prabhakar !

off the start pavitr was so good at dancing that you barely had to teach him much. instantly, his favorite genres are cumbia and merengue. you’re both in your own world when they come on. he prefers them the most since he likes that you have to move around more to them.

the main thing you had to teach him was how to zapatear. pavitr had the most trouble with that since there were so many different versions of it. he quickly caught on though by looking at you and your family members dance it from the sidelines. he struggled a bit even after grasping the concept but now it’s in his favorites too.

more of a hand holder when it comes to dancing. he just finds it easier to pull you around and give you a spin. but also it gives him a bit of stability and that you both are moving at the same time together.

surprises you with some dances you didn’t even know he was practicing on. they played la iguana one time and pulled you to the center with him. next thing you know, pavitr’s doing la iguana and you’re just staring at him in shock as everyone’s recording him.

loves, loves, loves it when you tell him that everyone at el recalentado was talking about him turning up and being the life of the party. they had asked you if he was columbian and they began guessing what race off his dance skills. until you told him pavitr’s indian and they were so surprised. he got dubbed as a hispanic by everyone there. he feels so special when you tell him. it has him giggling and kicking his feet, “aw your family likes me :)”

pavitr loves doing el grito with los tios. he just likes feeling included in everything. he heard them do it once and just went along with it. you side eyed him wondering how more of a natural he is than you are. is he secretly hispanic? you’ll never know.

texts you one day saying, “your aunt is celebrating your cousin’s birthday. do you wanna go to the party with me?” and you’re like “babe wym?” yes, you saw that right. he gets invited now before you. pavitr is now immediate family. he’s legit the first one to receive an invitation now.

he’ll surprise you by taking you to some bailes he knew about. please do matching outfits with this boy when you guys go 🙏 he’ll dress in your culture’s traditional clothes. in fact, he even starts wearing them as an every day outfit. you find it cute and can’t help but give him a kiss.

that being said, you guys don’t come back home until after three from a baile. you always apologize to your parents but they know that you and pavitr are having the time of your lives. you both love dancing just as equally and you’re glad you found someone who loves it the same way you do. and you both complain about how your legs hurt the next day together.

i mean it when i say no one can take you guys off the dance floor for anything 🙅🏻‍♂️

menace to society when duranguense plays. society being you because he saw a video of this couple spinning really fast while dancing duranguense and they called it “el tornado”. he started doing it every time the genre comes on. turns out he just thought the video was hilarious and loses his mind over it.

bonus; he was one time blasting la mama de la mama at the max volume with hobie driving an old honda civic, driving at full speed down the streets chasing an anomaly in their spider suits. no reason for them to even be in a car, they just wanted to jam to the song.

his dance skills when you first started dating: nine out of ten.

his dance skills presently: gets snatched up by your tias to dance with instead of you.

his favorite genre and artist: merengue ; k—paz

• — peter b. parker !

first time he ever went to your family party early stage of you guys dating and everyone was like, “how did you two get together?” he’s like “haha yeah i don’t know myself.” when he literally bagged you like this except he said his name instead.

he’s actually standing with los tios as they all watch their wives get down on the dance floor and they’re stuck recording the entire thing for el facebook live. except unlike los tios he’s over there like 😃🤳🏻. he is your top supporter and then tells one of them, “yeah that’s my wife :)” as if they didn’t already know.

his icloud hasn’t been backed up in six years and finally asks you why it keeps saying it. turns out he has over thirty thousand videos in his phone of you at parties dancing. refuses to delete any of them.

he wasn’t the best at dancing when you guys first started dating. okay he was terrible. there was no saving him. which was such an issue for peter because you were always dragging him to bailes and he would have zero rhythm. of course, you started teaching him whenever you guys had time. he practices on his own sometimes just to save you the trouble.

peter tries his hardest to learn because it always makes you an extra amount of happy when you two are dancing together. just do not take him when merengue comes on. he refuses to go.

for one, he’s too stiff dancing it but his legs? how do you dance this every time it’s on let alone continue after the songs change? he’s in pain and had to sit out for the rest of the party the first time he danced merengue. to this day, peter still feels the burn in his legs.

also an arm around the waist type of guy. he loves it a little too much. he likes having both of his arms around your waist while you guys dance to norteñas. he never takes his eyes off you and he likes to give you kisses during the songs.

dumbass accidentally dedicated a narco corrido to you meanwhile you just had to smile and nod at him.

you don’t leave him with los tíos for a long time anymore because he ends up becoming a whole new person. he got drunk with them and all of a sudden, peter just magically knew how to dance. he was having a whole dance battle with one of your tios and won. he’s like, “ya viste? 😃 dicen que gane!” (t: did you see? they said i won!”) where the hell did you learn spanish from? has no recollection of him speaking it the next day.

in fact, he’s actually a whole new persona when tierra caliente music comes on. you still don’t know why and won’t ever find out. the roles end up getting reversed and now you’re dragged to dance with him instead.

needs about two to three weeks to recuperate. what do you mean you guys are going back again? begs you to let him stay home and sleep so he doesn’t need to go to el recalentado.

bonus; definitely said big booty latinas was his weakness to you thinking you were his favorite tio when he was drunk at one point. cried the entire way home because you “kidnapped him from his big booty latina and she was gonna beat both of you up.”

his dance skills when you guys first dated: zero out of ten.

his dance skills presently: eight out of ten.

his favorite genre and artist: norteñas ; seto vargas

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Welcome to my Masterlist 💌

hi, i'm murphy. my requests are always open - feel free to send any ideas or thoughts you have - i'll always read them all.

note - all of my fics are reader insert. no use of y/n. i don't write for real people, only characters <3

Last Updated - November 16th

❁ - over 1k notes

✯ - a series

Characters I Write For.

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist. 3k Celebration Masterlist. Valentines Masterlist. 5k Celebration Masterlist.

Moodboard Masterlist. My Ao3.

 ⊹ �� ✫ 　　 · 　　 ✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵  　.　 ✦ * 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　　　

Top Gun: Maverick

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

The Orange. ❁

You and Jake share an orange. He's in love with you.

For Eternity. (Part 2 of The Orange.)

You and Jake share an orange. He's never loved you more.

North Star. ❁

It's New Year's Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

I Know Places.

Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Why Choose?

A drunken game of spin the bottle gets a little heated. Why choose, when you can have both?

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Dr Cupid.

Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Lessons in Love. ❁

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Honey Girl. ✯❁

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Trick or Treat.

You love Halloween. Bucky loves you.

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

Stucky

Letters to the Moon.

Steve is gone. The love you and Bucky have for him isn't.

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Frank Castle

There's Always Tomorrow.

Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.

Multi Talented. ❁

Frank shows you exactly what you deserve.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Criminal Minds

Luke Alvez

Wherever You Are. That's Where Home Is.

Luke might be a mind reader. Only with you, though.

Vice. ❁

Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Spencer Reid

Web of Lies. ✯

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep one from you.

Cowboy!Spencer ✯

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Narcos

Javier Peña

Self Control. ❁

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Yes, Mr President.

There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.

Western Nights. ✯

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Jealousy, Jealousy. ❁

Javier Peña doesn't share.

Two Murphy's and a Peña.

Javier knows Steve's sister is off limits. He's never been one to follow the rules.

After Hours.

You and Javier are stuck in the office in the middle of a heatwave. You're hot in more ways than one.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Triple Frontier

Time. ❁

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will each have their own ways of helping you heal.

Tethered. ❁

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

Tranquility.

You're not good at keeping secrets from the boys. Turns out, Will isn't either.

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to the four boys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the guys told you they loved you.

Will Miller

Champagne Fuelled Confessions.

You come home drunk, and have something burning you need to tell Will.

Best Friend's Brother.

You've known Benny for years. You've had a crush on his brother Will for years, too.

Frankie Morales

Find You.

A bad date brings Frankie Morales to your door at the perfect time.

Rain Soaked Romantic.

Frankie will run across town in the rain if it means finally telling you how he feels.

Santiago Garcia

This Is The Way It Always Goes.

Santiago always comes crawling back. You convince yourself this is the last time - but you both know that's not true.

Precious Girl.

A chance meeting with your Dad's best friend at 2am.

Benny Miller

Adrenaline.

Ben needs a way to work off his post match energy. You.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Pretty When You Cry. ❁

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Succession

Stewy Hosseini

Clandestine. ✯

You and Stewy know it's wrong. So why, pray tell, does it feel so right?

Fully Clothed.

Being Stewy's assistant has its perks.

Consequence.

Stewy's actions have unexpected consequences.

Needy.

You've been waiting all day for Stewy to get home. He loves it.

Play Pretend.

The classic fake dating trope, with a twist.

The Place Where It All Began.

You reunite with Stewy at your high school reunion. Turns out, he's been waiting for you, all this time.

Risky.

The thrill of being caught makes it all the more exciting.

Kendall Roy

Me and You.

You quit as Kendall's assistant. He's been waiting for this day.

Illicit Affair.

You're Matssons wife. You're also in love with Kendall Roy.

Forced Proximity.

The classic only one bed trope, this time with your emotionally unavailable boss.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

The Roommate Collection. ✯❁

A collection of fics based on being roommates with Carmen.

Vienna.✯

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

Carmen. ❁

Carmen. Your Carmen.

Denial. ❁

Carmy can’t keep pretending.

Mechanic!Carmen.

Inspired by that picture of JAW in a crop top.

Perfectionist. ❁

Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks. Especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

9-1-1

Evan Buckley

Lightning Strike. ❁

The two of you deal with the aftermath of Bucks trauma.

Fire Hazard. ❁

The story of your firehouse nickname - and Buck unable to handle you in a sundress.

That Old Cliche. ❁

You swore you’d never give in to the best man and maid of honour cliche. And then you met Evan Buckley.

Evan Buckley & Eddie Diaz

The Look of Love. ❁

You, Buck and Eddie are absolutely, undeniably, head over heels in love with each other. It seems like everyone can see it except for the three of you.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Sons of Anarchy

Jax Teller

Heatwave. ❁

You cut Jax's hair. He can't keep his hands to himself.

Sundress Season. ❁

It’s sundress season. Jax can’t keep his hands to himself (again).

Filip 'Chibs' Telford

Teach Me How to Ride. ❁

Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).

Handled.

You and Chibs have been walking the line for a little too long.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Challengers

Two Can Play That Game.

You’re cheating on Patrick. You’re not proud of it, but it just… happened. Patrick’s cheating on you, too. He never meant for it to happen, but it just… did. Imagine the surprise from both of you when you find out that Art Donaldson is caught up right in the middle.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Steve Harrington

Cherry. ✯❁

The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Someone Borrowed, Someone Blue.

An engagement party, your childhood best friend, one too many glasses of champagne. What could go wrong?

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Rivals

Declan O’Hara

Forbidden Fruit.

That’s the thing about Declan - he always gets what he wants. It might be wrong… but it feels so right.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: The ho-lidays are the daddies and the baddies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bob around to the tinkling of carols as they waft over the store. Unlike your coworkers, you enjoy the repetitive tunes. They are so fun and bright and help the time pass between customers and stocking. Not that there isn't more than enough to keep you busy.

In the rare moment where you aren't distracted, you let yourself browse the colourful lipsticks and shining perfume bottles all around. You don't have anyone to shop for, not even yourself. You have your dollar store glosses and discount nail polishes. You don't see the need to spend too much on those things. Or maybe you just prefer what you know. Simple and cheap.

Around lunchtime, traffic really picks up. Several customers ignore your approach and brush by you before you can entice them into buying some Chanel. You've already hit your sales targets but you never really think of numbers.

A woman stops you and asks for a very specific palette. You know just the one. You think it's cute, it looks like a cupcake, and while you adore the aesthetic, it isn't worth the price tag. It's just powder!

You show her where it is and Luanne comes over to take the reins. She's the makeup genius, her flawless contour is proof enough. You turn to float back to your zone and see a man watching you. You recognise him! Vaguely. You see a lot of people in a day.

"Good afternoon," you sing as you near him, "anything I can help you with?"

His throat bobs as he cheek ticks, "uh, yeah, er..." he pushes back his gray jacket, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "you remember me?"

You smile as you try not to show your cluelessness, "I think..."

"I came in last week," he says.

You think, scrunching up your face as you tap your chin, "yes! You bought Liz Taylor for you mother."

"Mother-in-law," he corrects you, not unkindly.

"Yes, that's it," you jab your finger upwards, "you complimented my sweater."

"Yeah, that was me," He finally smiles, "anyway, I was thinking of getting a gift for my wife. Just a little stocking stuffer."

"Oh, that sounds so cute," you nearly squee. You get so excited to help people shop for a loved one. At the same time, you feel that void. Maybe one day you'll have a husband thinking of you. "We have some great gift sets, actually. They come with different scents so you're wife can figure out which one she likes best." You direct him over to a shelf, "oh, and if she has a favourite, you can get her a full bottle for Valentine's!"

He gives you a look. His eyes narrow just a bit and his cheeks round, "that's a good idea."

He glances over the shelf and you wait patiently. He turns back to you, his eyes flitting over your name tag as he reads it out, "do you have a suggestion?"

"Me?" You perk up, "well, I actually like the Coach. It's not too expensive and it's nice and subtle."

"Is that what you wear?" He asks.

"I don't... I use some cherry blossom body spray but I usually smell like the whole store by the end of the day," you shrug.

"Cherry blossom," he nods, "oh, by the way, I'm Andy."

He offers his hand in an overly formal way. You giggle but take it nonetheless. You don't really get that often.

"Sorry," he squeezes your hand firmly before letting go, "lawyer, habit."

"No, it's fine," you assure him, "I'm just a perfume salesman, is all."

"Well, you're really good at your job," he praises.

"How do you know?" You say.

"You're friendly and helpful. I have no complaints," he reaches past you and claims the Coach pack, "she's going to love this. I owe you."

"No problem. Do you need me to ring you up?"

"Actually," he sighs, "she has this idea. Christmas card. I'm supposed to find a sweater. So, I need to look around some more."

"Oh, that's so cool. A Christmas card? The sweaters are just over in the men's, right near the east entrance," you point, "they have some really cute Charlie Brown ones."

"Charlie Brown," he repeats.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you clutch your hands together, "I hope your wife likes the perfume."

"I'm sure she will," he agrees, hesitantly clapping the kit between his hands, "uh, thanks. Again." He leans back on his heel, "oh and, that's a really nice colour on you."

"Uh," you look down at your gem green blouse, "thank you, sir."

"Andy," he insists, walking backwards, "again, you're a life saver."

You grin proudly and he spins on his heel, nearly knocking into Luanne as she comes over. He apologises as he side steps her and continues on. She gives you a strange look.

"Geez," she grumbles, "people. This time of year makes everyone so crazy."

"Well, he was nice," you say.

"Kinda cute, too," she intones.

"He was shopping for his wife."

"Lucky lady," she scoffs, "so, you wanna go on lunch first? I'm dying for a latte."

"You can go, I don't mind," you say, "I'm not very hungry."

"Deal," she winks, "I'll get you a hot chocolate for your trouble."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to, I want to, sweetie," she preens.

"Fine, fine, I accept your coerced hot chocolate.”

🎀

Another day close to complete. It's like checking off items on a list. Each evening seems to darken sooner than the last, every morning rising too soon.

You yawn at the empty fragrance section as it’s only you left for the last hour. There isn't much to do except balance the till. Your headset keeps you entertained as electronics calls out possible shrink and home goods argue about their numbers.

“We need a body at returns,” Lucille cuts through the chatter. “Now.”

No answer comes and you slowly slide your hand up the wire. Before you can hit the button, your name is snarled from the other end. You're ordered up to cash to assist with the hordes.

You leave the ghost town that is beauty and as good as skip up to the front. You calm your step as you see Lucille sneering at you from behind a machine. You give a tiny smile and claim the extra screen behind returns. 

“I can help the next person,” you call and wave your hand in the air.

You stand back and wait for your first customer. A man comes up and throws a torn open package on the counter, the item bouncing out of the plastic. You flinch and barely catch it before it can slide off the other edge.

“Hello, sir,” you bat your lashes, “how are you today?”

“Not fucking well,” the man snarls. His mustache tickles your memory; do you know him? “It’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, okay,” you look down at the trimmer and examine it, “you’d like to do a return?”

“Yes, I’d like to do a return,” he snaps, “are you dim?”

“Of course, sir,” you punch in your ID and passcode, “I’ll just get you going. Do you have your receipt?”

“A receipt? I bought the damn thing here, look it up.”

“Ah, alright, when did you buy it?”

“You don’t remember, little trigger finger,” he sneers.

“What do you mean?”

“Pfft, right, you think spraying people with skunk spray is fun?”

“Um, no?” Your cheeks tremor as you withhold a frown; you think you know him now as you’re hit by a sudden wave of Gucci cologne, the scent of a memory. “Did you have the card you purchased this with?”

“You don’t think I have money?”

Everything he says is aggressive. Your questions bounce off him like accusations. You don’t know what to say that won’t agitate him further, He huffs and kicks a foot out, leaning on his back heel as he reaches in his back pocket.

He flicks a black card onto the counter, “put it back on this.”

You nod and take the card, examining the nameless front. You turn it over and swipe it in the machine instead to search the number. He scoffs, “bet you never seen one of those up close.”

“Sir,” you smile bigger, letting the insult ping off of you. All the money in the world and he has no manners.

You find the purchase with the same sku and put his card back on the counter. He snatches it up as you start the return. You scan the barcode and continue on to the next screen, “what’s your name, sir?”

“Lloyd,” he answers curtly. You type, waiting, then look up at him, “Hansen.” He finishes sharply, “with an E, got it?”

“Yes, sir, and the reason for return?”

He rolls his eyes, “it doesn’t fucking work.”

“Alright. So it doesn’t cut the hair or–”

“It won’t turn on,” he growls.

“Right,” you take the trimmer and turn it over. It looks fine enough, even after he threw it. You slip the door of the battery compartment off. It’s empty, “and you had double As in it?”

“Double As?” He repeats.

“It needs batteries, sir.”

He pauses, eyes flaring, nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m stupid? That I don’t fucking know that? You’re not getting free fucking batteries from me.”

“Of course, sir, of course,” you rarely feel this addled, even this time of year, “I’ll get you your money back on a gift card–”

“Gift card? I want my money,” he holds up his card between two fingers.

“Yes, sir, I understand. As per our return policy, personal care items, once opened, are only eligible for a store credit return. Or you can exchange for another item. Would you like to look at our other trimmers? I can put this aside while–”

“What? How would I know that?” He hisses.

“It says on the receipt, sir.”

“I don’t have the goddamn receipt,” he barks.

“I know, sir, sorry. I can only refund this amount on a gift card. I can’t override the option.”

“I want a manager. NOW!” He demands as you jump in your shoes.

“I… I’ll see if she’s avail–”

Lucille has you jumping even more as she appears beside you, no doubt drawn by the raging man in front of you. She elbows you out of the way, not even acknowledging you as she puts on her mask. She leans on the counter just slightly.

“Sir, is there something I can help with? I’m the manager,” she says.

“I want my money,” he echoes once more. “I bought a defective product and I don’t want store credit. I drove out here twice for this bullshit.”

“Oh, certainly sir,” she brushes you with her hip, further edging you out, “right back on that black card, right?”

She scans her keycard, overriding the safeguard, and proceeds to the refund screen.

“Yes, exactly,” he snorts, “not like I don’t have even more money to spend here. Even if the customer service is lacking.”

You back away, unsure what to do. Do you just stand there for the transaction or do you go back to your department? You twiddle your fingers and bob on your heels.

Your eyes meet that man’s and he smirks smugly, wiggly his credit card at you. It’s fine, you won’t let him ruin your day. He’s already ruined his own getting so worked up.

🎀

It’s another busy shift. Your hot chocolate has gone cold from your neglect and you long to sneak away and shove it in the break room microwave. You can’t mourn the lukewarm drink as the line before you stretches on. You’re only a week from Christmas.

You finish wrapping the Prada bottle and hand it over the iron-haired woman with her cute curls. You wish her a good day as she waddles off. The next customer comes up, slamming down a cup so hard, the foam of the drink spits through the slot in the lid.

“Hello, sir,” you croon, “how are you today?”

“Here for a pickup,” he ignores your question.

“Right, can I get a name?”

“Why?” He challenges.

“For… for the package,” you sputter.

“Oh, uh, Drysdale,” he sniffs.

“I saw that earlier. I’m the one who called,” you brighten up.

“So you’re the annoying songbird,” he grabs his drink again, “took you fucking long enough. Line’s a mile long.”

“It’s very busy, yes. Everyone’s catching up on their Christmas shopping,” you bounce, “are you almost done yours?”

“Yeah, I bought myself cologne. So, chop chop, sweetheart.”

You nod and quickly spin. People get so impatient. You go into the small back room housed behind the shelves of lockup and you search the shelves. Drysdale. You pluck up the box and hurry back out.

“Right here,” you announce, “I have good news, too.”

“Tell me you’re gonna stop yammering,” he snickers.

“Um, no, the uh… the cologne is currently on markdown so I can do a price match and give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

“Er, because… it’s policy?”

“You think I can’t afford it?”

“N-no, I didn’t say–”

“Look, I don’t need some department store busy bee to judge me, got it? This scarf costs more than your whole wardrobe,” he touches the patterned scarf around his neck.

“It’s a very nice scarf,” you agree.

He narrows his eyes, “you’re mocking me.”

You shake your head, “no, sir, I like the colours–”

“Give my goddamn package," he reaches and rips the box out of your hands, “and a tip, shut up and do your job. Maybe then you won’t have half the city waiting to get their shit.”

“Thanks,” you swallow down his anger. “Have a great day, sir.”

He doesn’t reply as he takes his cologne and storms away. You watch him and notice his cup still beside your till. It’s too late to call him back. You’ll just put it aside, you’re sure he’ll come back for it.

You move it to the other end of the counter and face the next customer, “hello, how are you?”

“Good,” the blonde woman answers with a gentle smile, “some people…” she tuts, “don’t let the grinches get to you, honey.”

“Thanks,” you feel the ice melt away, “I won’t.”

“Adorable cardigan,” she adds, “I really love the collar.”

“Oh, thank you,” you trill, “is this everything for today?” You gesture to the bottle of Calvin Klein on the counter.

“That will be it. And I’d love to have it gift-wrapped, thank you, hon.”

[redflagshipwriter]

Young Lovers shot by Cupid ch 3

(Damian/Danny dpxdc fic, Damian and Stephanie buddy cop fic)

Masterpost

Brown was a somewhat agreeable partner to travel with when she was not aiming to irritate him. She made no side trips, unexpected stops, and she certainly did not feel the need to show off world-class acrobatics when they were aiming for speed.

Begrudgingly, Damian admitted to himself that she was not entirely terrible. The revelation that she felt some competitive spirit in regards to Drake was good information. That could improve their working relationship considerably. Perhaps he would allow her more grace.

They arrived at the mall in short order.

They looked up the blueprint from outside and quietly conferred on a plan. The large building was closed, dark, and quiet. There was a single security office, and it seemed that the mall did not employ anyone overnight. Damian pried open a vent on the roof and slipped inside silently. Brown was at his heels a moment later. She hit the ground with a soft tap of her boots.

Imperfect, but excusable, Damian generously allowed.

The office itself was a damp little nest of filing cabinets with a lingering and unpleasant aroma of popcorn butter and coffee. Damian wrinkled his nose through the task of sorting their security tapes.

The food court tapes from yesterday had already been removed, labeled, and put away.

Unfortunately, they were literal tapes. Damian huffed in disbelief at the bulky VHS units.

“Holy moly,” Brown muttered. “I thought the old man was the only person who still used these.”

Indeed.

Damian suppressed a sigh. “I think it unwise to linger here and watch all the footage,” he said, but he hesitated to take them. It would have been much better if they could simply make a copy. But these? Impossible. Wasn’t it?

…Batman would know. Damian crossed his arms unhappily. The oldest members of the family would hold this knowledge. “You are too young to know these devices?” he confirmed.

Brown huffed a little laugh. “Yeah, but how hard can it be?” She tapped at the likeliest tape with a gloved finger. “There has to be a way to make copies. We can look it up. But we could just watch here. You know what time the incident was, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Damian admitted begrudgingly. “But it would be optimal to watch the entire day’s footage to ensure that nothing else happened.”

Brown blew out air between her lips. “Alrighty then.” She dug out her nightphone and apparently started searching for tutorials.

Between the two of them, they managed it. They slipped away with two recorded tapes. They made a detour to deposit them in Spoiler’s bike storage before returning to their patrol. In between normal activities, they quietly debate their next challenge: watching the tapes. Obviously, Batman was the only person in the world paranoid enough to retain such ancient technology. They needed to use his equipment. But how to do it without being seen? It was kept in the entertainment room closest to Father’s bedroom, so that he could watch his childhood favorites if the nostalgic urge struck. He occasionally did so as background noise for filling out paperwork.

“The easiest time would be when he’s at work,” Brown recapped thoughtfully. “But there isn’t much of a window between when we get free from school and when he could come home from work. It would take weeks to watch it all that way even once, and by then Valentine’s Day would have passed.”

Damian made a tsk of disgust. It was true. Unfortunately, the fastest way to draw attention to their operation would be to forgo school. That would invite scrutiny from Pennyworth.

“Oh look, a carjacking.” Brown threw herself off the building and screeched like a bat as she fell. The sound rang out and echoed across the cold, dark streets.

It was a bloodcurdling sound. The guilty man looked up with amusingly wide eyes and a pale face. Damian suppressed an amused snort and came down in silence at a different angle.

After they had apprehended the fool and left him with a stern warning to follow the law or else face the pain of losing a hand, the two returned to the skies.

“That was pretty metal,” Brown said, in a tone of ardent admiration.

Damian cast a look back at the building they had been passing. He hadn't noticed anything in particular. To what was she referring? The window grates? Something inside the windows? He chose not to respond other than with a grunt.

Brown laughed again.

He ignored her harder and channeled his tenseness into an unnecessary flip before landing. He stood and put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the city. “Your Mother is frequently at work while you are imprisoned in school.”

“...Yes.” Brown cocked her head to the side.

He nodded briskly. “You will give me a disease,” Damian instructed. “Of course you may not malaise without supervision. You must come to the manor.”

“Oh, fake a sick day or two,” Brown breathed. She clasped her hands together. “You're becoming such a real boy, d’you know that?”

“Tt.” Damian turned away with disgust so that he did not have to see Spoiler bouncing on her heels.

“Alright, symptoms. Can't argue with diarrhea!”

He cringed hard.

“There's a good reason for no one else to see it,” Spoiler justified. “We can't fake a fever. We could maybe manage clamminess, red eyes, etc.” She paused. “But honestly, the two of us being sick at the same time would go a long way to convince, since we have a history of antagonism.” He could see her make a face under her mask. “Tonight could work against us for that.”

Damian nodded. “We will have to invent a conflict,” he said. He immediately started picking through their patrol for a premise.

She blew a raspberry. “Nah, adding details gives them something to unpick,” she said.

He was struck by the unwelcome realization that she was not wholly unintelligent. His mouth felt glued shut.

“I'll just go back in a bad mood, make a couple faces and sigh loudly once,” Spoiler said airily. “You put on your little thundercloud face and storm away, give crisp answers to anyone who asks if there's something wrong.”

“...And in the morning, I will sleep in,” Damian said. “Past my alarm. Pennyworth will note it as a matter of concern. I will get ready for school.”

“I'll call and ask if I can malaise at the Manor, since my mom is at work and she's worried,” Brown continued easily. “Alfred will put two and two together and tell you to stay home.”

Damian hesitated. “I think that if you had given me some low-class disease,” he started.

She cut him off with a lifted hand. “You get that illness isn't a class related thing, right?” She huffed. “Maybe you got me sick with your elementary school germs. Little kids are disgusting.”

…His peers were upsettingly unhygienic. He gritted his jaw.

Still, he had his self respect to maintain.

“I would never pass a contagious disease,” Damian vowed. He had too much self discipline for that. “The origin must be you.”

She hummed.

“Robin and Spoiler, you two are closest to Red Hood. Care to lend a hand?”

The two straightened into professional posture that Damian didn't remember leaving. “What's the situation?” Brown asked.

“He shook a bush and a lot of creepy crawlies flew out,” Oracle drawled. “Danger is minimal, but containment is impossible with one. Dropping coordinates.”

The next hour was spent dragging dregs of a gang from Bloodhaven out of dumpsters and other such crannies in order to escort them to city limits. They were aurally assaulted by Todd’s idea of a motivational speech and his puerile territorialism. “Stay out or I'll cut your hands off and sew them onto your ankles, blah blah.”

Damian tuned it out. Mother had truly wasted her time on him. He was so dramatic.

The rest of the night went as planned. He and Brown returned to the cave in a pointed silence, wrote professional reports, and stalked to their respective showers without exchanging a word.

He went to his room and picked up his alarm clock. Perhaps he ought to adjust the time?

‘No. If Pennyworth is passing and does not hear it at the usual time, he will note the irregularity.’

Damian willed himself to sleep. When the alarm did go off, it took his finely honed discipline to turn the machine off and then lie back down in bed. It was… uncomfortable. he laid there stiffly, looking at the ceiling.

He forced his eyes to shut. He matched his breathing to a pattern for sleep. And he waited to see how long it would take for someone to notice that he had slept in.

His punishment for childhood began at 8 am and released the prisoners at 3 pm. Therefore, he habitually awoke at 6:30 am. After an agonizing wait Damian peeled open an eye to see that the time was 7:12.

…It was past the time that he would normally have arrived at the breakfast table. He weighed if he wished to hurry downstairs or let Pennyworth come to check on him.

Something felt like a rock in his stomach. Damian sat up and put a hand to it, frowning at the sensation. What was this? When he had thought about his actions causing Pennyworth to abandon his post and trek up a flight of stairs the odd feeling had emerged.

There was a knock on his door. Damian's head shot up as it opened. Pennyworth peered in and his eyebrows went up slightly at the sight of Damian still abed. “Good morning, Master Damian,” he greeted.

“I apologize.” Damian took the hand off of his stomach and all but leapt to his feet. “I have- overslept. I will be but a moment.” He paused, genuinely flustered. “Good morning, Pennyworth.”

“Your breakfast is ready,” Pennyworth said mildly. “Excuse me.” He closed the door.

Damian raced through the bare minimum of his routine and pulled on a school uniform. He made it to the kitchen at 7:20. He faintly heard a phone ring in the other room. His heart gave just one undisciplined leap. Was it Brown, telling their story?

Drake was slouched halfway over the table, cradling a hard-boiled egg in his hands. An otherwise empty plate had been pushed into the center of the table. He had kicked his chair out quite far and was leaning directly forward, his entire upper body on the wood. He contemplated the depths of the egg with a wrinkled brow and eyes halfway hidden under bangs.

Damian edged around Drake to his seat, careful to avoid physical contact.

“You're late,” Drake said to the egg.

Perhaps it was his egg, Damian thought snidely. He was an oversized duck, was he not? Perhaps he had laid that egg and that was why it was so fascinating to him.

“Oy,” Drake drawled. He sniffled as he turned to look at Damian. “What's wrong with you? Forget a project?”

“Do not be foolish,” Damian forbade. He picked up his silverware and set it on his breakfast.

Drake regarded him for a long time. “Are you sick?”

…Why did he think so?

“No, I am not,” Damian snapped back, before he could think better of it. Perhaps he ought to have let Drake establish his alibi.

“I don't know, you look kinda off,” Drake said. He let the hand cradling his egg hit the table and he squinted.

“Master Timothy,” Pennyworth said.

Damian did not jump.

“Ms. Brown has just called to say that she's quite under the weather. I will be retrieving her shortly. How is your condition?”

Drake sat up. “I'm fine, Alfred,” he said formally. Then he blinked. “I think Damian is sick.”

He bristled. “You will bite your tongue,” Damian snapped back. “I am- I am no such thing.”

He could see the moment they both decided that he was, in fact, too ill for school. That was the goal: but he could not accept it calmly. They would assume he was on death’s welcome mat. Therefore he hissed and protested and derided Brown’s name with only a distant smidgeon of guilt.

But eventually, Damian was ushered to a quiet and dark room to wait while Pennyworth informed the day prison that Damian would be absent from Geology, Geometry, and all manner of vile variations on how one might ensure misery for a lone intellectual in a flood of brainless oafs.

Success.

Brown was delivered and managed to appear in the same room that Damian had been consigned to. She had managed to contrive an unusually poor condition of her normally lustrous hair. That, combined with shapeless clothes and smudged eye makeup, served to make her appear quite terrible indeed.

“You look terrible,” Damian told her, because she had done a good job.

A muscle twitched visibly under her eye.

“Is Bruce gone yet?” She asked.

Damian shook his head. “He will leave at 9:30.”

Brown sucked on her lower lip for a moment and wiggled into the crack of the sofa cushions. “I think we should go to his VHS room before he leaves, so when he notices someone was in there he doesn't see a reason to investigate.”

Damian shook his head minutely. “No. He will take the opportunity to spend the day with his ailing children and watch his favorite childhood show. We will have no opportunity to watch the security footage.”

“Not his kid,” Brown muttered. “But you're right. The chance is too high.” She let her head hit the back of the sofa. “That would be a good way to spend a real sick day, I think.”

Was she wistful?

Damian eyed her in bewilderment. Was she aching for bonding time with Father?

“I shall inform him that you want to watch his detective show at a later date,” he decided generously.

[sotwk]

Cinder Girl (Fíli x unnamed OC)

Summary: The Crown Prince of Erebor faces the dilemma of losing his heart to a lovely yet humble palace servant.

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Fluffy, tropey romance and comfort, Durins Live AU, post-BotFA, class division, love confession, Pining Prince Fíli

Rating: General (no warnings apply)

To Read on AO3: Link

Dedication and Inspiration: Thank you to the Anon who inspired this concept long ago by sending me this message! <3

Also for my friend, @guardianofrivendell, a true Fíli aficionado with an incredible repertoire of fics of our beloved Dwarf Prince. You probably don't remember, but this fic fulfills the "Love Confessions" request you made from my Valentine Event in 2023! Better late than never? Welcome back! <3

Cinder Girl 

The Reclaimed Kingdom of Erebor

Third Age 2945

What to do, what to do? The proper thing, of course. The decision should be that simple, and it usually was so for Fíli.  

Except now. Except when it came to her. 

The young dwarf lord tugged on the beaded braid of his mustache and leaned forward in the cushioned bench on which he sat. He made a motion to stand, only to plop back down again with a frustrated grunt. He had been dithering that way for the last ten minutes, at least. 

And he had spent twice as long sitting there, only half ashamed of allowing himself to enjoy the sight that surprised him when he returned to his chambers following a day-long council meeting. 

I am just looking, is all, Fíli reminded himself, desperate to excuse his poor manners. He knew the right thing to do would be to gently wake her, assure her that she was in no trouble, and allow her to discreetly exit the room she should never have been caught in. 

Surely this was a sign. A gift from Mahal himself, to force his stubborn, weak arse into action. Yet there he was again, he who was hailed as the Lion of Erebor, one of the bravest warriors in the kingdom, just sitting there stupidly, staring as he always did, because he could never find neither strength nor courage to do anything else in the presence of this dwarrowdam that stole the very breath from his lungs. 

Even as she lay there on the lush fur rug by the fireplace, in a cozy warmth that likely had lulled her to sleep, her presence paralyzed him. She was that very rare gem, found only once in a generation, exquisite in itself without need for cutting or polishing, or settings of gold, or other fine stones to accompany it. 

"Beyond beautiful," Fíli thought, and his chest filled with both longing and wonderment of how utterly she had ensnared him with so little effort, with such little awareness of the effect she caused.

She had dazzled Fíli the moment she cast her first smile and first spoke his name, and from then on the prince was blind to all others. When she laughed, Fíli finally understood why his brother Kíli constantly acted the fool just to earn that sweet sound from his own lady’s lips.

And so Fíli neglected to mention the titles that accompanied his name, and as a result he was able to enjoy hours of conversations with the newcomer from the Blue Mountains, basking in her uninhibited laughter and open stories and playful touches.

But the ruse would not last even a month. When she finally discovered that the new “friend” who had welcomed her to Erebor was actually King Thorin’s heir, next-in-line to the throne of Durin, an invisible wall rose between them. She never laughed in the same way around him again. She remained friendly and kind, yes, but every action toward him was suddenly restrained by prim courtesy. Their once animated conversations were dampened by measured, cautious responses. Even her beautiful smile was dimmed by a strange sadness, as though the knowledge of his royal identity disappointed her. 

"Please, you don't have to…" he said, when he once tried to stop her from bowing to him as they passed each other in the hall. 

"It is only proper, my lord," she murmured, keeping her lovely eyes lowered to her feet, only doubling Fíli's frustrations. "I bid you a good day, Prince Fíli."

And she hurried away with her cleaning pail in tow, before Fíli could offer to help, before he could muster up the nerve to invite her to dinner, which was why he had come down to the servants’ hall in the first place. All he had succeeded in doing was send the tongues of the palace domestic staff wagging. 

Eventually Fíli's despair grew heavy enough that he sought Balin's counsel, daring not to broach the topic with the one person who could completely relieve him of his fear: that no future was possible between the Heir of Durin and a dwarf not only from a different clan, but without rank or advantages. 

Balin remained silent while Fíli laid out his entire predicament--during the prince’s impassioned speech, and a long while after. Too long, so much that the thoughtful calm Fíli usually admired in his sagacious old cousin only set his teeth on edge.

“I must say this is troubling news to hear indeed,” Balin finally spoke, tugging thoughtfully at his beard.

“Troubling?!” Fíli exclaimed. “How could you already deem it as such when you have not yet met her? What matters her lack of status when she is the sweetest and gentlest soul to ever bless me with her company?! That is, until she decided she could no longer tolerate my presence,” he amended glumly. 

“Calm yourself, boy.” Balin chuckled between sips of his ale. “You have only ever raved this passionately about very few things before, and never about a bonnie lass. For a moment I thought I might actually be speaking to Kíli.”

“That isn't close to either the comfort or counsel I was hoping for, Balin.”

“Harrumph. That is because I have neither of those things for you, lad! What you need is to be slapped back into your senses!” Balin shook a stout finger at the dwarf-prince. “Have you so little knowledge or faith in your Uncle that you could not bring this matter straight to him?”

Fíli drew back, eyebrows lifted in bewilderment. “I thought he would scoff at the frivolity of it, before declaring my desire for her as unsuitable.”

“Because the girl is common?” Balin snorted when Fíli nodded. “It would wound Thorin so deeply to hear this, that I shall not even bother repeating your words to him.” He reached across the dinner table to grip Fíli’s arm. “Your Uncle risked his life, risked everything to take back this Mountain for you, my boy. To give you the future that he felt you deserved. Do you think that future is all about gold?”

Balin smiled and slapped Fíli gently on his slack-jawed face. “It is about choice, and freedom. The freedom to chase whatever dreams you wish. Go and speak to Thorin. It appears there is much he needs to clarify about his expectations of you as the realm’s prince and his heir.” 

Fíli had genuinely intended to heed Balin’s advice to discuss things with his uncle. But after failing to quickly gain an audience with the chronically busy king, he let his nerves conquer him yet again, as he put off pursuing that conversation. And so day after day passed with him stuck in the plight of his own making… leading at last to that evening, when the source of his agony literally lay right before him inside his own chambers, demanding to be dealt with.

The more time passed with him just sitting and staring at the sleeping chambermaid, the longer each minute seemed to stretch, and the more ridiculous Fili felt in his inertness. 

Just when his frustration came to its peak, and he felt unable to tolerate himself any longer, the prince rose quietly and stepped towards the figure on the fur rug. 

A pounding knock barely gave him any warning before his chamber door swung wide open and Kili barreled inside. “Did you not say you were starving, brother? What is taking you so--??”

Kili stopped short, his wide-eyed stare darting between Fili and the lady that had stumbled to her feet, disheveled and disoriented. It was impossible to tell who looked more mortified by his arrival. 

“Have I… am I interrupting something?”

“I am so very sorry, milords!” the maiden blurted out. “I didn't mean to, I---I am so--!” Her ashen face suddenly colored by the violence of her embarrassment, she grabbed her cleaning pail from the hearth. The contents rattled inside the metal bucket, so badly did her hands shake as she gave a hasty curtsy to the royal princes.

“N-no, no wait, please… h-hold on for just a moment--” Fili began, when his tongue finally came unstuck from the roof of his mouth, but it was too late. She rushed across the room and straight out the open door without ever lifting her gaze off the ground. 

“Brother, I am sorry, I didn't know--”

Fili brushed aside the apology and scrambled past Kili to fly out into the hallway. Panic had broken through his earlier paralysis and suddenly he could not move fast enough, his body acting beyond the constraints of his judgment. 

He called after her; the sound of her name and his footsteps chased her down the empty corridor. But to Fili's dismay she did not stop or even slow down, and just as she was about to turn a corner and descend the stairs leading from the palace wing, a desperate shout escaped containment, partially strangled in the tightness of his throat, but still too loud to be ignored. 

“I love you, all right?! I love you!!”

The frantic clatter of the metal pail ceased, and all Fili could hear against the ensuing silence was the roar of his pulse beneath his ears. In several strides, he closed the distance to come before the maiden. She stayed rooted to the spot and motionless, apart from the heaving of her bosom as she chased her breath. 

“This was not how I wanted you to find out.” The calm in his own voice surprised Fili, as did the confidence that drove his words. “But I also do not wish to take it back. Hiding from the truth has gained me nothing but pain.”

“I appreciate your candor, milord, and I regret your pain.” She continued to address him, but her eyes remained firmly lowered towards her hands, white-knuckled in their grip around the pail handle. “But what am I to do with these fine words you offer? How can a peasant be worthy to receive the affections of a prince?”

“Worthy?” Fíli repeated in distaste. “What causes you to believe that you must be worthy to--?”

“You are the future King of Erebor.” She spoke loudly over him, as though she had not heard him at all, or was determined not to. “The blood of Durin the Deathless runs in you! I am just a nobody from a Broadbeam village in the Blue Mountains--” 

“I was born in such a village, same as my father!” Fíli cut her off with matching fervor. “And you are certainly not ‘just a nobody’ to me.”

Something in his words finally reached her, for at last she raised her bowed head ever so slightly, just enough for her gaze to meet his, and the tears that shimmered in her eyes wiped away the last of his hesitation.

“We are not different, ghivashel. Not in any way that matters.”

Her smile that bloomed at that word, one that proclaimed her more precious than any treasure in Erebor, revived a light in him that had gone out in the long weeks of her absence. 

When Fíli reached out to relieve her of the cleaning pail, she did not resist. Grasping her wrist, he rested her open hand upon his. He swept his thumb back and forth all across her palm, over the red scrapes and dirt-streaked calluses that made her all the more beautiful and admirable in his eyes.

“Not long ago, I spent each waking day with my face smeared in soot, my arms and hands burnt from the blaze of forge fires, aching to the bone after hours of back-breaking labor.”

He pushed up his tunic sleeve to show her: the patches of discolored skin from old burns, the countless scars that littered the entire length of his arm, almost to his elbow. 

“But I would always go to bed happy, and proud of my honest living, of the smith that I was.” He shook his head and corrected himself. “The smith that I am. Whatever titles and additional duties I may now carry as a consequence of my inheritance, I am still that same soot-covered dwarf.”

He sealed her hand between his two and lightly kissed the fingertips that peeked out from the cage of his palms.

“All I ask is for a chance to show you that,” he said softly. “With the hope that you might come to love what you see in me. For I have already, absolutely, fallen in love with everything I see in you.”

Her silence filled the entire length of the passageway, all the way up to the high ceilings. Under the crushing weight of its persistence, Fíli’s hope started to falter. But as the fear of his failure to convince her started to creep in, his grip all the more tightened around her hand. He couldn't let go. He did not know how he could ever let her go.

“From the first day we met,” she finally spoke. “I already loved everything I saw in you…Fíli of the Blue Mountains.” She tipped her chin up and squared her shoulders, face set with resolution alongside her gentle smile. “I think that love can bring me the courage I need to let the other side of you, Prince Fíli of Erebor, into my heart as well.” 

Fíli’s entire being swelled with such relief and unbridled joy he thought he might catch flame. His arms found themselves around her waist, drawing her close to his desire to demonstrate the feelings he had restrained for too long.

Alas, a sudden and deafening crash rang through the hall to cut off Fíli’s eager quest.  “Sorry, sorry!” yelped a guilty voice in the shadows.

Fíli groaned, then chuckled, and settled for another chase kiss upon his lady’s hand. 

“Would you care to have dinner with my brother and I?” he asked her, nodding in the direction of the ruckus as Kíli struggled to straighten up the decorative suit of armor he had knocked over. “An unrepentant snoop he may be, but I can assure you he is otherwise harmless and actually quite pleasant company.”

“It sounds like a wonderful start to getting to know the rest of you,” she said, eyes bright from their shared laughter, free of even a speck of her earlier doubts. “Because I very much would like to know everything, Fíli. To discover and delight in every wonderful bit of you.”

“And you shall have that,” Fíli vowed, brushing his thumb over the curve of her cheek, over an ashy mark of the fireplace cinders that had brought her back to him. “You already do have me, but I shall also endeavor to give the whole world to make you happy.”

“You are already the whole world,” she declared, and rose on her toes to do what he could not, sealing their confessions with a sound kiss.

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Headcanon Masterlist

[sambuckylibrary]

TFATWS Anniversary Event 2024

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Anniversary Event! The event will start on March 18th and run until April 28th. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog.

This event is not just for the creators, but for the commenters. You can post fanfiction, art, moodboards, edits, podfics, fic list recs, comments, etc. It’ll be a low-stakes event. No need to sign up. Just remember to tag @sambuckylibary in your post for each fill, and we will be tracking #tfatwsanniversary2024 for reblogs.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it toTFATWS Anniversary Event 2024 Collection.

Each week will have a different theme with prompts from Monday to Friday. Each prompt will also come with a badge you may use for it when you post. The weekly themes and their prompts will be:

For the text version of the information above as well as the FAQ and rules, check the information under “keep reading”.

WEEK 1 (March 18 - 24): THE WINTER SOLDIER TO PRE-INFINITY WAR

MONDAY: “I don’t think he’s the kind you save.”

TUESDAY: Sam Searches for Bucky

WEDNESDAY: “Can you move your seat up?”

THURSDAY: Team Up at the Airport

FRIDAY: On the Run

WEEK 2 (March 25 - 31) : INFINITY WAR TO PRE-TFATWS

MONDAY: Laying Low

TUESDAY: Reunite in Wakanda

WEDNESDAY: Soul Stone

THURSDAY: Victory Party

FRIDAY: 6 Months of Ghosting

WEEK 3 (April 1 - 7): The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

MONDAY: Couple's Therapy

TUESDAY: “Let me just walk you through a hypothetical.”

WEDNESDAY: Madripoor

THURSDAY: “You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?”

FRIDAY: The Cookout

WEEK 4 (April 8 - 14): Post-TFATWS

MONDAY: Meanwhile, on the Boat...

TUESDAY: Divorce Arc

WEDNESDAY: Skrulls

THURSDAY: Better Thunderbolts Ideas

FRIDAY: Better Captain America 4 Ideas

WEEK 5 (April 15 - 21): AU Week

MONDAY: No Powers AU

TUESDAY: Period Piece

WEDNESDAY: Sci-fi/Fantasy AU

THURSDAY: Based on a Movie

FRIDAY: Ghost/Zombie AU

WEEK 6 (April 22 - 28): Sambucky Week

MONDAY: Didn’t Know They were Dating/Friends with Benefits

TUESDAY: Redwing

WEDNESDAY: Hurt/Comfort

THURSDAY: Separate, Long Vacations

FRIDAY: Dealer's Choice

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a SamBucky event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all five prompts that week at once with one piece of art or fic. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from March 18th and run until April 28th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There are! You can find the badges here.

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #tfatwsanniversary2024.

2. Please also tag the prompt you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Redwing”, use “#redwing” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to TFATWS Anniversary Event 2024 (TFATWS_Anniversary_Event_2024).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 5 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

For Fic Rec Lists:

1. You must have at least five fics or podfics on the rec list.

2. Make sure to give brief descriptions of the fics or podfics as well as their rating and wordcount.

For Commenters:

1. Any amount of comment counts, from a heart emoji (“❤️”) to an essay.

2. We would rather this be about what makes you happy and joyful about reading than any scathing critiques.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

For more information, please check out this document suggested by @ninesdb on how to write Bucky as an amputee. @ninesdb is also open to questions if you have any queries not answered by the google doc.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and “Bucky Needs a Hug”.

Have fun and we look forward to your TFATWS Anniversary fics!

- The Mods

[yuwuta]

♡ LET’S PLAY SWEETHEARTS ♡

HOW TO PLAY! There are five contestants, each starring in their own fic. Based on their answers to the questions below, you get to decide who you’d like to go on a Valentine’s Day date with.

For your consideration, here are all the AUs in this event, in no particular order (and who’s to say each fic can only have one?) : ceo au, prince au, canon-adjacent, friends to lovers, breakup and makeup, parent au, and yandere themes. Choose wisely!

Q: How would you describe your ideal fic ending? 

Contestant #1: Hmm… I’d like to get married! I think it would be well deserved after everything! Contestant #2: Happy endings are always satisfying, so whatever is happiest.  Contestant #3: In just this one? Well, then, I want a girlfriend! And for everyone else to be happy, too! Contestant #4: I would hope everybody I care about is happy… but, if some people didn’t make it, that would be okay, too…  Contestant #5: Being happy and healthy is enough for me. But not everybody needs or deserves a happy ending, so whatever suits the story the best.

Q: What color(s) would you say best fits the vibe/aura of your fic?

Contestant #1: Oh, good question! Let’s see... lots of gold and silver and shiny colors. Purple, too. A little bit of red, and a lot of blue. That makes purple, right? Contestant #2: Black and white. Contestant #3: Lot’s of blue! And orange, and red, too. Contestant #4: Red and pink. Maybe some blue, too. There’s a bit of red on the banner of my fic, that’s okay to say, right? Contestant #5: Blue.

Q: Are any of the other contestants in your fic? If so, do you like their role? 

Contestant #1: A couple of them… some I like… some not so much. Honestly, I think some of their parts need to be smaller… this is my fic, after all. Contestant #5 gets a lot of love in my fic and he could back off a bit, this is supposed to be about me! Contestant #2: Almost all of them play a role. I don’t mind, I think they all serve a purpose in telling the story.    Contestant #3: Yes! Everyone, I think, and I like them all!  Contestant #4: I think it’s hard to write a story with just one character, so other contestants show up, and I don’t mind... most of the time... it’s nice to have friends, but sometimes I end up a little jealous.  Contestant #5: Yes. It’s annoying. 

Q: If you could change one thing about your story, what would it be?

Contestant #1: Nothing! Except, I would take away some people who suck… but if they end up making me look better, than that’s also a good thing. So, instead, I’ll pick that I want it to go faster! I want my date and I want it now! Contestant #2: It’s not fun going though any sort of relationship rough patch, but I still wouldn’t change it—it’s all necessary for growth.   Contestant #3: I want the relationship from the start! I think that’s a cliche answer, but waiting is hard. Sometimes my friends tell me I’m impatient… Contestant #4: I wish I would have more courage from the start, it would have prevented a lot of my own self-sabotaging… but it all works out, so maybe no changes? I believe in fate, so I wouldn’t want to risk the future by changing the past! Contestant #5: I don’t think changing would help. It works out in the end, so why make a change?… or well, I’ve been told it works out in the end. 

Q: On a scale of 1 to 5, how unsafe for work is your fic?

Contestant #1: Oooooooh naughty question! I’ll say 3… except for those few scenes which are definitely a 5 or a 6!  Contestant #2: Two and a half. Maybe three.  Contestant #3: Wait… is it rated like movies? Because those get different ratings for cursing and sex… huh… okay, I think four-ish is a safe answer! Or… unsafe heh Contestant #4: Is it okay to answer this kind of thing…? Some things happen, but I would hope not everybody can see that. Contestant #5: Don’t ask such things so openly.

Q: Which of the other Contestants do you think would do be a good fit for your fic if not yourself?

Contestant #1: Nobody... this one is supposed to be mine. And too many of them are already in it anyway! Haven’t they had enough? Contestant #2: Contestant #5 might suit the storyline well, but I also believe that Contestant #3 would do well in the sense of resolving issues in this fic. Contestant #3: Hm, maybe Contestant #1? Is it selfish to say I think a good job, though? Contestant #4: I think I’m okay... I wouldn’t pick anyone else to take my place. Contestant #5: Contestant #4 has a similar background, so he could handle the role well.

Q: Is it wrong to try and steal somebody else’s s/o, or would you do it for the sake of love?

Contestant #1: I don’t think very many people have a good chance at taking my s/o from me, so I don’t worry about that. In terms of doing it to someone else, I always say, all’s fair in love and war! Contestant #2: Right and wrong are never so simply defined, and love in and of itself is a complex emotion. As long as you act in a way that feels true to the way you want to love and be loved, I think that’s the best you can do. Contestant #3: I’d be bummed if that happened to me, but it’s never happened to me. Would I do it to someone else... well, I’ve heard all’s fair in love and war before... but also that communication is key! So, I’d try both, and whatever works, works! Contestant #4: I think... if two people are truly in love, there isn’t anything or anyone that can take them away from each other. True love can’t be beaten, so if their love can be broken by me, then it only serves as proof that my love is stronger, no? Ah, in any case, I don’t think there are many things that I wouldn’t do for love... Contestant #5: To love and be loved are different. I don’t need to be with somebody to know I love them, but if I have a chance at also being loved by them then... that’s better than not trying at all.

Q: What makes your fic better than the other Contestants’?

Contestant #1: Me! Also the AU is cool, who doesn’t love to be in charge! Contestant #2: I don’t know that one is better than the other. The setting of my story is generic, but the conflict makes it interesting, so I would say that stands out.  Contestant #3: I think mine is really cute, and it’s the most fun. Who doesn’t want to have fun?! Contestant #4: Better? Isn’t that a little harsh… Mine mentions Valentine’s Day, regardless, so I hope that makes people more interested. It’s my favorite holiday, so that’s to my advantage, I think? Contestant #5: I don’t think anyone else’s is worse. I like mine, but that doesn’t make the others worse. Eventually, everyone will get a chance to see the other fics, too, and hopefully support them the same. 

Now it’s time to pick your date! Based on the answers, go here to vote for the contestant who you’d like to see star in a fic with you next. The contestant with the most votes will be revealed as the winner, and will get their fic featured for Valentine’s Day!

In the meantime, you can also send an ask to make your best guesses about who you think each contest is (and what their fic might be), or ask them more questions. Happy voting!

[jinkookspencil]

i got you | ksj

back from his service, jin tests out his strength and a theory of his

tags/note: jin x chubby / plus size / curvy reader (f) / fluff + suggestive / established relationship (they're engaged!) / low-key seokjin has soft-dom loving energy here but it doesn't get that steamy

wc: ~1.3k words

description/note: just domestic fluff in the kitchen / spoiler alert for jin's theory: he's sure he can carry his fiance and wants to try it out / no mentions of insecurity on yn's part, she just doubts jin can actually do it / intended with a plus sized woman in mind, but i think you can read and relate even if that doesn't apply to you? as long as you have any doubts that jin can carry you lol / no mentions of idol life, this jin can be whatever you want him to be / they're in the kitchen and jin had been cooking but no other mention of food / i actually wrote a jk version of this first but i will post that second - very soon, it's basically done! i have such a thing for fics based around jin's return i miss him yall / i shared an update post recently detailing where i've been and how i'll be with this blog moving forward! /also, happy valentine's day, here's a lil love from me and jin to my fellow chubby/curvy/plus-sized beauties!! <3 again, jk version coming very sooooooon! / update: jk version available to read here!

The clang of pots and pangs echoing through your apartment warmed your heart. It was an irritating sound when heard regularly, of course, but considering how long it’s been since you’d had your fiance messing about in the kitchen… it was more than welcome. Following the noise, you find Seokjin with his back turned to you, cleaning his used kitchenware and cutlery in the sink and quietly humming a tune. You cursed yourself for not peeking in earlier just to see the man in action - it always was a turn-on seeing Seokjin’s dedicated, sweaty, albeit chaotic cooking. This still did something, though. Hopping onto the freshly cleaned marble-topped kitchen island, you take it all in: the faint smell of something delicious in the oven, the sound of the gushing tap water, more clangs of metal on metal, but you really focus on the man that stood before you. Your man. His adorable growing hair was too short to be long, too awkward to be short. His broad shoulders and new muscles now pressed through his tee instead of his bones. His silver singing voice, even as a gentle whisper, which you hadn’t realized abruptly stopped.

“Drink it in. I’m enjoying this just as much as you are.”

You wonder what gave it away. The sound of your footsteps, the ruffle of your pajama fabric, or perhaps an admiring sigh you hadn’t noticed escaped you. It didn’t matter. You were enjoying the view, surely, but it was even better now when he turned to face you, a shy smile on his face.

“Missed cooking that much?”

“Cooking, yes, I missed being in the kitchen. I don't need to tell you how much I fucking missed your bratty ass, but what I meant was that I am enjoying you. I’m elated I finally have my girl and soon-to-be wife ogling me instead of the men at the base.” He chuckles, turning away and hiding a sudden shyness while drying his hands with a kitchen towel.

“And I'm elated just to be with her... Now that that’s done…” he whispers, undoubtedly ready for what you were with his hands and eyes on your plush thighs, his fingertips toying with the hem of your pajama shorts.

“It’s like you read my mind,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to pull him in for a kiss, only for him to pull away.

That was a first. Since Seokjin was back, at least. The two of you barely kept your hands off of one another….

“Or not…” you ask curiously, cupping his face in your hands. “Seokjin?”

Your fiance silently continues tracing the skin of your plush thighs, squeezing the flesh in his hands. He exhales before doing it once again and finally looking up at you.

You jump from the counter and face him, trying to look into his eyes, but he’s lost in thought. You pull his hand to lead him to the bedroom, but he doesn’t budge.

“Seokjin…?” you ask once again.

“Jump back on the counter for me, love.”

You do.

“Wrap your legs around me, honey.”

“Well, I was going to anyways,” you say, following his orders. “In there…”

“I’ll take you there.”

“What? No!” you shriek, unwrapping your legs from his body.

“Yes, come on, honey,” he says, his voice steady yet soft as he reaches for your leg.

“Seokjin, you cannot carry me,” you say, now pushing him away while he tries to tug you closer.

“Yes, I can,” he insists with a sternness to his voice that reminds you where he’d spent the past 18 months.

“Just because you’re all buff now doesn’t mean you can carry me, stupid. I’m still big, you know?”

“Well, guess who’s also big now? I mean, I always was, of course,” he says with a giggle and a flushed face as he raises his brow and tilts his head downwards, reminding you that he’s still your Seokjin. You promptly roll your eyes with a smile, pinching his arm. He regains his composure in mere seconds, a hand brushing your hair and tilting your face up towards his.

“I will admit that I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it before enlisting, but… I can now, honey. I can.”

“I don’t want you to,” you pout, unable to meet his gaze no matter how intense you knew it was, so knew it was best to shut it down as quickly as possible. Seokjin never forced you to do something you didn’t want to do…

“You.. why not?”

“Because in the case that you try to carry me but then realize you cannot, we could drop to the floor and one or both of us will get hurt. You could get hurt physically since I have padding and you don’t. I’d get hurt mentally, and I’ll be so fucking embarrassed that it was because of my weight.”

“The number of things wrong with that…,” Seokjin tsks, cupping your face and forcing you to look him in the eye. “First of all, I can carry you. Second, muscles are a form of padding, too, idiot.” He pokes your forehead and puts your hand on his shoulders to feel how strong he’d gotten while he takes your soft thigh in his hand. “I can take it, sweetie - all this tells me is I haven’t told you just how much work I did in the service. Third, it’s not because of your weight - nothing ever was. It’d be because I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Seokjin… I don’t know.”

“And you have nothing to be embarrassed about, my love. Ever. I mean… it’s me. I’ve seen and touched you in the most ungodly ways possible, and this would be what would embarrass you? Falling? When I-?”

You shake your head and interrupt him with shushes - nothing he could’ve said would have helped his case. “Can’t we at least put a mattress down or something? In case we fall?”

“Babe, this isn’t Jungkook’s apartment. We don't have an excess of mattresses here…”

The comment makes you giggle.

The way Seokjin rubbed your skin calmed your racing mind.

The kiss he plants on your lips reminds you that this is home.

This is safety.

This is love.

“Just trust me,” he whispers.

You nod, allowing Seokjin to wrap one of your legs around his torso and then the other. His hands sneak their way between your thighs and the marble countertop, digging into your plush skin already. You’d expected Jin to start a countdown, ease you into it at least… but before you knew it, his head was nestled in your chest, and you were off the counter, held up high in his arms.

A loud shriek escapes you, making your fiancee giggle beneath you.

“See, love? I got you...”

He was holding onto you securely, with no sign of any struggle on his part…. If he had been struggling with the weight of you, he hid it well…

“The view’s nice up here,” you smile, resting your head atop Seokjin’s when he finally looks away from you and buries his face in your flesh, kissing and biting you there.

“Seokjin, I can’t smell your shampoo anymore. When was the last time you showered?”

“Mm,” he says against your skin. “Fuck, that’s… that’s a perfect idea, honey,” he says, wide-eyed and excited, though he misunderstands. “It’ll be like a movie scene. But first…”

Seokjin dashes towards the bedroom with you still in his arms, shrieking until he plops you down onto your shared mattress.

“Safe?” he teases, pretending to check your body for any bruises before you pull him towards you until he’s leaning over you, his face a centimeter away from yours, with his hands already all over your soft body.

“Safe,” you say happily.

[final-fantasy-imagines]

Can I ask for ♡ “that’s more roses than i’ve ever seen in my life.” with Cloud for your event? 🥰

Aww, yes of course! Thank you for your request and happy Valentine's Day, dear anon! <3 Hope you enjoy the fic!

Prompt: “That’s more roses than I’ve ever seen in my life.“

Pairing: Cloud Strife x gn!reader

Red Red Roses - Cloud x gn!reader

Flowers aren’t something the people of Midgar see often. The entire city is built from cement and steel, a concrete jungle that hovers over the slums like an eerie beast, almost like it’s waiting to swallow them whole. And yet, you find a beautiful bouquet of red roses in your apartment when you return home that day.

There’s no card to tell you who sent the flowers but realistically speaking there’s only one person who has a key to your apartment. So, that means that – provided that no one climbed through your window which would be an awkward way to deliver flowers – Cloud must be the one behind the unexpected gift. 

You step closer to the flowers, taking in their sweet scent as you admire the vibrant color of their petals. They look almost velvety, and you raise your hand to brush your fingertips against them, careful not to damage the delicate flower-heads. This is truly a wonderful surprise.

But it would be even better if Cloud had stayed here instead of dropping the roses off without a word. Of course, you know that he’s not the type of guy who enjoys big romantic gestures, that he still gets flustered about these things, even after dating for almost two years now. And it’s not even a big deal because that’s just how he is, and you love him, his quirks and flaws included, but you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t given the flowers to you personally. 

After all, Valentine’s Day only comes once a year. And it’s an important date for most couples.

But then again, you don’t really have a reason to be upset. After all, Cloud somehow managed to get his hands on a huge bouquet of roses, a flower that becomes rarer and rarer in Midgar. 

With a sigh, you pull out your phone to send him a quick text to thank him for the flowers. It’s only then that you realize that you have three missed calls and two unread message – all from Cloud. Your heartbeat is speeding up as you tap on the screen to open the first text.

“I wanted to surprise you but you weren’t home, sorry that I didn’t wait for you. Tifa needed my help back in the slums. I hope you like the flowers,” you read before you tap on the second message: “I love you.”

A smile flashes over your face. “That stupid idiot,” you mumble to yourself, already scrolling through your contacts to call him, “that stupid, adorable idiot.”

The dial tone gets interrupted by noise at the other end of the line, followed by a muffled curse, then, you hear a breathless voice saying: “Hello?”

“Am I interrupting something?” you ask, clearly amused. “I can call again later.”

“No,” Cloud says, quick like a shot, and when you don’t reply, he adds, “we have to change the water filters at the bar – again – but that damn thing got stuck somewhere. But it’s really nothing that can’t wait for a couple of minutes.”

He clears his throat. “So, um… I assume you found the flowers?”

“Yes, thank you. They’re stunning” you say. “I was just wondering… where did you get them? That’s more roses than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Cloud chuckles. “I have some connections.”

“Thought so.” You bit your bottom lip, darting another glance at the roses. “Cloud?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we can see each other again soon? I want to thank you in person.”

“I can come over once we’re done here,” Cloud suggests after a brief moment of silence, the tone of his voice unusually soft now. You smile, although of course he can’t see you. “Yes. I’d love that.”

“Good. Oh, and, (Y/N)… Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you.”

Your smile grows wider, and you have to resist the urge to squeal with joy as you press the phone closer to your ear. Even after all this time, you still haven’t gotten used to him saying these three words to you. 

“I love you, too.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider liking, reblogging and/or leaving feedback. I'd really appreciate the support! <3

Taglist: @sixdaysofsilverashes @theimaginaryheir @thevoidwriting

[irenespring]

House MD Fanfic: "There Were Expectations" (House/Wilson)

My House MD 20th anniversary gift fic for @coffins-and-marbles , who asked for Wilson angst! I hope you like your gift!

Find the fic here!

Until the collection is published, find the fic below the cut!

---

Fic preview:

Wilson needs to get House the perfect Valentine's Day gift. He always knew what to get his previous partners, but dating House is different. Or is it not different enough? What if the path of close friends to lovers is going to backfire like it always does for him? What if this just another thing he is destined to mess up.

---

Thank you so much to everyone who will read when the collection is published!!

Comments help my day and my writing motivation!

------

It was supposed to be better. 

That’s the only thing Wilson can think as he paces a tacky Valentine’s Day-themed grocery store aisle at 3:21pm (late enough that he won’t have to hide anything in his desk where House will find it, early enough that he won’t need an excuse to ditch House for the evening).

He’s not even sure what “ it ” even refers to. 

His fucked up brain that can’t parse “happy” signals from “sad” signals from “fine” signals from “the world would be better without you” signals?

The rising panic that he wasn’t just “straight, with one exception” like had first assumed, and might be gay, like actually gay, capital G Gay, and holy fuck what is he supposed to do now?

The fear that House will really leave him this time, simmering then boiling then simmering again since Tritter showed up at the damn clinic?

He doesn’t know. He just really expected something to be better after House kissed him. 

It had felt life-changing at the time.

But he’s the same stupid Wilson, can’t make a decision for shit.

---

Wilson stares at House’s TV like it’s a particularly challenging algebra problem. There’s an answer in there, somewhere. A correct answer. And he has to get it right. He just has to. 

House—because he asked to be called “House” rather than “Greg,” which is a little absurd, but it also means that he calls Wilson “Wilson” rather than “James,” which is nice just because it’s not what Sam called him—pokes him with his foot.

“C’mon, pick something.”

“It’s your apartment. You can pick.”

“You’re my guest, and social custom dictates that you pick.”

“Oh yes, because you’re such a big fan of social custom.”

“Wilson. You have to pick.”

“Whatever you want is fine.”

It’s a trap, probably. A test, to see if he chooses something good, if he has the makings of a good friend. Wilson is moving to New Jersey soon, they’re going to be working together. And that makes them actual friends, instead of over-the-phone friends. They’re going to be spending actual time together every day, not just a few hours at conferences. It only makes sense that House needs to make sure Wilson is up to par.

He isn’t. He’s not sure in exactly what way, but he isn’t. It’s been nice, having a real friend. Wilson wants to keep that nice feeling of camaraderie, of closeness, of safety. The second he chooses wrong, he knows it will be gone. 

He doesn’t think House will hit him. He doesn’t have the cover that she had. If his wife slaps him, that’s sitcom comedy. If House slaps him, that’s assault. So House probably won’t slap him. But he could. He’s taller and stronger and faster than Wilson. He could. 

No. He won’t. More likely he’ll just mutter something about Wilson’s taste being terrible and just pick his own choice anyway. He can talk a big game, but he doesn’t want Wilson to choose. Wilson is bad at picking things. He’s bad at most things, really. It’s a miracle anyone puts up with him, especially House who doesn’t even seem to buy his “perfectly happy” facade. He’s going to ruin it. 

He has to remind himself that that scenario is good though. It ends with them still being friends. It ends where Wilson wants them to be: with House’s choice on the television, the two of them mocking the characters and laughing. House actually finds Wilson funny. It had taken him a while to actually convince Wilson of that, to get Wilson to make his own jokes, but it worked. They joke around together. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

But that’s what he always thought with her. But he always got it wrong and she got mad and would yell things at him. Later on she would shove him, smack him…but just when she was tired, it was never a big deal. Still, he learned very quickly that should just let everything go, let her lead. It was fine. She liked him. She said she did. That was as good as he was going to get, fraud and failure of a man that he is. But she still divorced him without even facing him, and the only thing that kept him together was that he had House instead. Now he’s not even going to have that.

He can’t do this.

“Wilson?” 

Shit. His breathing is coming too fast, House knows something is wrong. This is pathetic, he is pathetic. He needs to say something, but no words come out. 

“I-” he manages, “I’m fine.”

“Just pick something.” House’s voice is oddly patient. 

Wilson does like cooking shows. Maybe- 

No. House doesn’t like them, he gets frustrated that he can’t actually taste the food, and thus can’t verify whether or not the judges are full of shit. Wilson can’t pick something that House doesn’t like, that would be selfish. Selfish is bad, selfish makes him just another asshole. His selflessness sets him apart, it makes people like him. He wants House to like him. It seems unreasonable to ask that House like him as much as Wilson likes House, but just liking him a little bit would be enough. And that won’t happen if-

“You don’t pick, I break into your sparkly new office and replace all your books with some of my most favorite DVDs.” Wilson could fix that quick enough, and such a prank pales in comparison to the many doomsday situations floating in Wilson’s head in the event of a wrong choice. 

He stays silent.

“Is it Sam?” House asks, saying her name like a curse, his brow pinching in anger. He guesses that a lot, when Wilson does something he finds concerning. He is right more often than not. 

Wilson’s continued silence is close enough to a confirmation.

“She’s an evil scum bitch, Wilson. You let her mess you up, she wins.”

Wilson takes a deep breath. 

“Cooking show.”

House hates cooking shows. He grins anyway. 

“Alright.”

Wilson stares at House as the show’s intro music starts playing. He’s fairly certain that House knows, but he keeps his eyes on the flashing credits and B roll of chefs flipping pizzas and chopping vegetables. 

Wilson feels a strange fluttering in his stomach.

—

House was Wilson’s lifeline. People in the hospital joke that House is the parasite, draining Wilson of money, friends, and patients. That’s not true. House is Wilson’s place to go in the evenings when he doesn’t want to be alone. Wilson’s place to tell jokes inappropriate for the workplace. His place to relax. 

He’ll never relax again now. Wilson is cursed, doomed to repeat the same patterns over and over again. He makes friends, and soon enough they get ideas, and the relationship turns from friends to lovers and before long, everything is in ruins. Perhaps that’s the downside of realizing he likes men more than he’s ever liked women: the curse has spread to House. 

House would laugh if he knew Wilson’s concern. He puts curses in the same box as miracles, psychics, and magicians. Wilson would usually be right there with him. If there is a God, he doesn’t bother intervening in everyday life. He’s seen too many people die to believe in holy justice or mercy. 

Yet what other conclusion should Wilson draw? It happened with Sam, Bonnie, Julie, the women he hadn’t married, the women he had been involved with while he was married. Each time, he reviews his actions, what they could have possibly read into. A couple times, he’s even asked. No commonalities, just him. He can’t stay friends with anyone. 

Wilson’s never really been able to maintain a friendship with a man outside of House. He’s not sure why, but he’s never let his guard down, never escaped his courteous persona. He knows he’s gay now, that’s a different lens. Maybe he was afraid they’d see something about him, maybe he was afraid he’d see something about them. Something that would make his stomach flutter like it did with House, on those occasions that House was kind, or intense, or funny, or particularly clever. He could ask House, House always has some sort of theory.

Women were easier to befriend. They didn’t look down on Wilson’s perpetual agreeableness and sympathy. And Wilson could relax a bit once they did. Conversation came easier, and he never felt tense afterward, like he was expecting a strike. That didn’t come until the romance. And romance always came. They’d lean over and kiss him, and he’d feel that moment of panic before he remembered what to do, what other girls had liked. 

And from there, there were expectations. Things he had to do, that were expected of him. Valentine’s Day gifts like these lines of teddy bears, chocolates, roses. With his work hours, it was all he could do. Maybe House wouldn’t care so much, since he sees Wilson every day. Though that’s rarely good. Who wants to see Wilson every day? For all he knows, his marriages had lasted longer because he’d never been there. After all, he married Sam before he was a doctor, and she could only stand his presence after he took that second job for her.

Seeing Wilson was the surest way to realize all the ways he was inadequate. Perhaps he could find a patient tomorrow. Rearrange the schedule or something.

But House would see through that. House would come with him to the hospital and become a frowning shadow, making fun of his patients and playing “Hit the Intern” by throwing pens and paper clips. Then House would blame Wilson for making him spend Valentine’s Day at the hospital. And the resentment would set in. House is his best friend, but even he can’t escape.

He had been great friends with Bonnie. House had hated her well before they’d gotten together, well before House had even met her. Wilson had liked her, and she had taken up his time. She had been coming off a bad relationship, something Wilson knew something about. He’d told her things that he’d only ever told House. He’d gone with her to art shows and dancing lessons and museums. And then she’d kissed him, and everything fell apart. There was a difference between meeting her a few times a week to hang out and being in near constant communication between meeting for dates. A difference between being a part of Bonnie’s social sphere and the heart of that sphere. He could never meet her expectations. She had hated that he cared for House, she had hated that he couldn’t be a doting husband (the “like he was to House” had always been implied, until the yelling started). That disapproval weighed on him, until he would do anything to escape it. Then a woman made him feel different, made him feel so much better that it felt funny. And that was the end of that. 

He messes up. And then panics, and one of his friends will think that means they should kiss him, and he panics, and then he remembers what that woman wants. Before he knows it, he’s a cheater. Strangely, it had fit with Wilson’s image of himself. Who is more hated than the philanderer? Now they will see Wilson as he always was. 

His shield was too strong, however. They still liked him. He’d reach out, make friends, and the curse continued. 

What was he thinking, kissing House back? Well, for the first time, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He hadn’t panicked, he felt too alive to panic. 

This was bad. At least with previous times, his friendship with the women had been solid, uncomplicated. House had been out of rehab for less than six months, Tritter entered their lives less than a year ago. 

It’s possible their whole relationship is based on an emotional reaction to finally escaping the mess. One of the few emotional decisions House had ever made. One of Wilson’s few truly impulsive acts.

It must have felt like a great idea at the time. It must have felt like something that could fix him.

----

It’s starting to feel natural again. Which is good, because Wilson is kind of forgetting who’s supposed to be mad. 

Is it his turn, because House turned rehab into a farce, and is back to popping enough pills a day to fill one of those old-timey gumball machines?

Or is it House’s turn, because Wilson and Cuddy once again tried to “fix” him and he had to spend one day in a room with a rape victim and then several days in some sort of sad, far-away mood?

Probably House’s turn. Wilson never learns. He’s tried some sort of bullshit “return to humanity” scheme at least twice now. Three times, if he counts the time he tried to force House to have dinner with his parents. Given the few real, serious words House had spoken to him after the Girl In The Clinic fuck up, that was actually probably the worst one of all. So 3.5 times then.

Definitely House’s turn. 

But it’s not going to fix anything. Wilson will try it again. He knows that, even as the version of himself in this moment knows it will be a disaster. Because Wilson thinks that he needs to get House better. If only to stick it to the part of himself that knows he doesn’t want House to get better. He wants House to stay House. 

There’s a whole mess of reasons for that, probably. Something to do with the fluttery feeling he gets when House rakes his eyes over Wilson’s body and pronounces an insult about his tie. The warmth in his chest when they’re lying on the couch together, or playing cards in the middle of a hallway, and it feels like they’re the only two people in the world—because they are, at least to each other. The joy of watching House wreak chaos, then storm into Wilson’s office practically aglow with glee. The way House’s eyes light up with Wilson’s laugh. 

Small nice reasons building to one big nice reason. 

The nice reason that scares him the most: Wilson might be falling in love. Maybe he already has. Or maybe this is just a stupid crush. That would be a nice, stabilizing thought. But you don’t fantasize about a stupid crush for a decade—a new snippet of hot embraces or wholesome kisses popping up for every one you thoroughly pushed away.  

You don’t offer to spend the next ten years in prison for a stupid crush. 

That kind of certainty that you would give your life for someone—even when facing a dead-eyed cop with the exiled third cousin to House’s attractive smirk on his face—that means something. Something that would upend House and Wilson’s shaky equilibrium and set them on a path that Wilson knows leads to ruin. 

But luckily he has another reason to cling to whenever he gets too scared or too charitable to himself. The pathetic, evil reason:

Wilson doesn’t want to be the only broken one. 

If House was healthy and well-adjusted, he’d realize just how much of a fuck-up Wilson is. And he’d leave him. Because Wilson is the one who takes care of other people. No one takes care of Wilson. That’s just how it is. 

So to cover for the fact that he doesn’t want House to change, Wilson must continue to try to change him. 

And—Wilson is fairly sure about this—House must continue to provoke Wilson in order to be sure Wilson will stay. 

Wilson will always stay. So will House. Neither of them have ever truly wanted to leave, yet they can’t exactly say that to each other. And thus there will be another storm. But for now, there is calm.

“Are you angry at me?” House asks, faking casual with his eyes on the television and his arm splayed oh-so-nonchalantly against the back of the cushions. Wilson has the mad thought that if he scooted over, House’s arm would be around his shoulder. He dismisses it (more accurately, he stomps on it until it stays down) and focuses on the question. 

“No,” he says. This happens a lot: they both have reasons to be angry but decide it’s just not worth it. Not when they could be laughing at television idiots and gossipping about Xavier from Cardiology and his secret second family in Newark. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

House has always hated that answer. Sure enough, his brow furrows. He looks like a man out of a painting with that look. Stark and bold and breathtaking. Wilson wants to touch him, trace the lines on his forehead. But he doesn’t. House doesn’t want him to, can’t want him to. But if he did… 

Would things be different if Wilson made the first move? Would that break his curse? True love’s kiss breaks the curse. Maybe it’s not just noble princes and fair maidens, maybe it would work for two exhausted, haunted middle-aged men. Wilson still remembers how two years ago, drunk and high on Vicodin, House had leaned in, petted Wilson’s hair half-mockingly, and told him he was pretty. That has to mean something about something, but fuck if Wilson knows. 

House’s words jerk him back to reality. 

“Everything has a reason.” 

Wilson almost wants to laugh.

His belief in that Central Housian Principle ebbs and flows like a sinusoid graph. He believes it when he remembers Sam yelling and throwing a dish at him for forgetting her sister was coming to town, leaving him to cut his hand while cleaning up the shards. He doesn’t believe it when he’s diagnosing a seventeen-year-old champion mathlete with a stage three glioblastoma, and he has to mutter reassurances to the shaking kid as he sobs and clings. 

Wilson shakes himself out of mire this time, and tries to focus on House. He looks more intense than Wilson was expecting. Wilson secretly loves these moments, when House’s eyes bore into his and he’s important. This time he swears there’s a warmth in his eyes. The air suddenly feels charged. 

It’s nice. Wilson idly wonders what will break it, because he knows nice things don’t stay. Especially not with House. 

But he has an answer to give. 

“I don’t like change. I do like you.”

House stares at him, and Wilson realizes he has shocked the man who knows everything. He doesn’t have time to linger on that realization.

Wilson feels House’s hand on his cheek before he processes seeing him lunging forward. House’s eyes dart across Wilson’s face for a half a second, and Wilson is suddenly aware that his lips are slightly parted, and the tension in his jaw has vanished. He nods, a tiny motion, but of course House notices. 

His lips are chapped and not as soft as any Wilson has kissed before. But that doesn’t matter. The second they touch all thought flees his brain and he kisses back. He has no idea what to do. Somehow he’s a gay man nearing forty who has never kissed a man before. It’s hard to worry about that now, though. He feels a little bit on fire, the flames growing and growing as House makes a sound against his lips and begins pressing Wilson against the couch. 

Wilson can’t think, he can want. 

Either this is the craziest or most easily predictable thing they’ve ever done. And there’s no turning back. 

-----

There’s no fixing him. 

What is he even doing here? House will hate this. Any of this. What’s the point in choosing either a teddy bear, or a plastic rose, or a box of chocolates that will taste like candle wax when the mocking reaction will be the same? 

Make a choice .

He can’t. He’s only able to summon that weird sense of certainty when in House’s presence.

All of a sudden, everything is too much. His breathing is coming too quickly, and his stomach is in knots. He can’t be here. He can’t make this choice. Can’t do this again. Can’t try and watch everything apart. Not with House. He can’t, can’t, can’t can’t can’t-

The displays seem to be laughing at him, searing their gaudy images into his brain. Perfect stock cartoons of people in love, smiling with a perfect red heart between him.

That kind of love is for other people, not for him. 

None of this is for him. 

He’s only distantly aware of his feet carrying him out of the store. He hasn’t even bought anything. Go back in . But he keeps walking towards his car.

There are only a few other drivers, because most people are at work. Wilson should be at work. Yet he left his work and his patients who need him to stare at a grocery store display and do nothing . He has no gift for House, no plan, no way to save himself.

The thought of facing House at the hospital makes him panic, so he heads for their apartment. What will he even do there? He doesn’t know, it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s alone, he should be fine. 

And because he was stupid enough to think that last thought in its entirety, House’s motorcycle is in its parking spot, when Wilson knows he rode it into work. Wilson contemplates turning around, heading back to work, doing his best to act like a functioning human being as he prescribes poison and comforts his victims. 

No, there’s too much chance that House has seen him. And he doesn’t want to give House any more evidence that he’s a coward. 

Each step towards the door feels like he’s climbing Mount Everest, but he makes it.

When he swings the door open, the first thing he notices is that their dining table is piled high with gifts. The same types of gifts Wilson just fled, tacky Valentine’s Day fare. The universe has a fucked up sense of humor. 

“If this is a burglar, get out while you still can. I’ve got a gun the length of a refrigerator with your name on it.”

“No you don’t!” Wilson calls back, the instinctive smile clashing wildly with his lingering terror. 

When House steps into the Wilson’s line of sight, he looks like he actually might have preferred that burglar.

“Wilson?”

“Present. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same question.”

“I asked first.”

“We both know I’m going to be more annoying about it.”

“ House .”

Strangely, that tone of voice has always been more effective against House than any logical argument. Because Wilson doesn’t really need an argument, not when he has the pile of what House had once called “capitalist fake-outs for love.” It makes him feel better than any words could ever have. At least he thinks that, until House says:

“Fine. I know tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and you get off on mushy crap, but I…couldn’t decide on what to get. I might have panicked a little bit, but what’s more likely is that all the sugary nonsense sent me into an abnormal allergic reaction-”

“I got it.”

“This is your cue to fall maddeningly in love with me,” House deadpans, but he’s still fidgeting, with his eyes darting between his pile of offerings and Wilson’s face.

He’s scared too.

“I don’t think I need an entire shelf of gifts for that,” he says. Then he waits to see if there is going to be any lingering on that comment. He doesn’t expect a reciprocal statement, he doesn’t care. The dining table is covered in reciprocal statements.

“My turn. What are you doing here?” House finally asks. 

It’s easy to admit now.

“I thought you’d expect something, but I couldn’t make a decision, so I came back here to contemplate my failures.”

The judgment Wilson had been torturing himself over never comes. 

“If you didn’t get me anything, I get to keep half of this stuff.”

“Sounds fair.”

They stare at each other, not talking. Wilson doesn’t know what to say, he doubts House has any ideas either. 

“Maybe we should talk,” Wilson finally offers. A bit of honest conversation might be good. It’s certainly the healthy thing. So naturally, House refuses.

“I’d rather spend the day in the clinic.” Harsh words, but understandable. 

“How about a cooking show?” Wilson asks bizarrely, not entirely sure of where it came from. But it does make House grin.

He takes a few shaky steps forward, before grabbing Wilson by the arm and dragging him towards the couch. 

“Deal,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

[ajaxsprettyboy]

Baseball Boy

himbo professional athlete x loser streamer/ YouTuber idia (has smut who knew)

This is also compensation for Lilia fic taking so long LMAOOO I promise it’s coming </3 but in the meantime enjoy idia being autistic and gay !

Image coming home from practice or a game and he’s jus like “oh!! Hi!! Do you wanna say hi to the chat? We were watching your game!!” Or “oh hey!! how was practice?” (Both texted cause he’s like on the other side of the house in a noise canceling room) Let’s go with baseball for this cause I know the most abt it

He’d know only what you tell him about the sport but by god is he your biggest fan. Not a clue in the fuckin world while people watch the game with him, he doesn’t care unless you’re on screen.

“THATS MY HUSBAND!!!” Tweeted 90809090909962726393639473297011827376101 times with each thing you do to help your team. If you catch a fly ball or an absolute rocket of a line drive he’s so proud of you, hell even if you sucked ass he’d still be proud of you.

He likes your uniform and how muscular you are, even if you’re shorter than him you make him feel so small and cute.

So very insanely proud of you. You hit a dinger? Proud husband. You strike out? Proud husband. You walk? Proud husband. You hit a little piddler? Proud husband. Anything you do when you’re on the field or batting makes him so proud.

If you lose? In his eyes you still did amazing. If you win? Oh he’s so fucking happy for you he might pee a little. He’s almost as happy for you as he was when he found out you made the team, to put it in perspective. His favorite memories with you are your first day being a couple, your first Valentine’s together, your proposal and most importantly your wedding day.

Oh but if he’s not streaming when you come home and you’re looking for a little relief oh by god is he excited. He’s not excited because you’re stressed but he’s excited because he loves the feeling of you engulfing him in your muscles (absolutely ADORES your strong thighs, would fuck them for hours if you let him). When he hears the door slam shut he can’t help but get a little hard.

When he hears you grumble and complain he goes downstairs and comes over to awkwardly comfort you. It’s not like he’s not used to your presence or anything but he’s absolutely not used to getting so riled up and trying to be a good, caring, comforting husband. He just can’t help it.

The annoyed, frustrated look on your face as you exasperatedly throw yourself down on the couch. He sits beside you, stumbling over his words as he tries to get you calmed down, usually it works. Not because he’s incredibly good at comforting but instead because his cute expression makes you feel better. He always has the pink flushed tips when you reach over and kiss him, he loves the kisses, yes, but they still take him by surprise.

If you signal to him you want to go up to your shared bedroom and have some fun, he’s more than willing but oh so embarrassed. If you tell him to go upstairs, strip, and lay down he’s following your orders like an obedient puppy. Although he just kinda lays there naked and hard without any like… pose or anything, he lays like he’s a flat board. It is cute though, the blush on his face, the pink tips of his hair and the twitch of his cock make up for it.

If you top hes so good for you, he adores the praise. If you want him to top, however, he’s still- after all these years going to treat you like you’re made of glass. Even if you regularly bottom, until you tell him to manhandle you while he tops he’s going to be incredibly gentle.

Idia is a switch leaning sub and a verse leaning bottom, so don’t expect to constantly be on top and dominant. He also has a pretty high sex drive but he’s never going to tell you that. I personally hc him as autistic so I think he wouldn’t really know he’s horny until he’s painfully hard and desperate for you (I know because I do this). Please help him out, he was watching your game and you just looked so good on the feild and he’s sorry he doesn’t mean to be a creep but he just couldn’t stop looking :(

If you reassure him whenever this happens he’ll try to initiate sex but he gets nervous and chickens out. If you tell him it’s okay and it’s hot and endearing that he’s so in love with you he’s going to blush and shy away (into your chest). If you don’t say anything and just immediately start giving him signs you want to fuck he’s going to over think it, despite the many times he’s been caught rewatching highlights of you in your games. If you tell him before hand that it’s okay and there’s no need to worry before you give him the fuck me eyes he’s gonna be much much calmer in the beginning.

He’s so egar to please you it’s so cute, lay him down and have your way with him please that’s all he wants. Well unless he wants to dom and top, it’s rare but it happens. If that happens he’s usually a soft dom, keyword usually. If he’s a hard dom be prepared to have to take at least an hour of aftercare. It’s not often that he gets the confidence to do something like that but when he does oh it’s amazing. It’s amazing but god you’re sore after. He feels bad after but with your reassurance he feels better about it. It happens so rarely it’s like a fever dream.

If he’s submissive, oh he’s just going to lay back and let you do all the work. And you’d best savor those sweet sounds he makes because he swears he’ll never make them again (he will. Just pound his ass he’ll be a mess).