#even looking at anything make him feel awful

[promptedwordsmith]

I love your headcannons so I gotta put an ask in here. As we all know, MC can act a bit childish and is quick to push touch/affection away.

It makes me think of the quote, "If you touch me without violence, you'll be the first". Would love a writing about it.

Aw thank you! I hope this is what you meant <3

Caleb

The first time Caleb touched you, you flinched.

It was barely anything—a fleeting brush of his fingers against yours as he handed you something, an innocent, meaningless gesture—but your entire body stiffened, your breath hitched, and before you even realized it, you had yanked your hand back.

The warmth of his skin lingered, and you hated it.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he did. His sharp violet eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t say anything. Not then.

But he never stopped touching you.

Not in a way that was forceful or overwhelming. Never in a way that felt like he was trying to push you past your boundaries. But it was there—the careful way his shoulder would bump into yours when you walked side by side, the way he’d place his hand on your lower back as he guided you through a crowd, the way his fingers would brush against your wrist when he passed you something.

Each time, your reaction was the same. A flinch. A step back. A refusal.

At first, he gave you space. He didn’t push, didn’t question. Caleb wasn’t the type to force someone into anything they weren’t ready for. But he wasn’t blind either. He saw the way your guard never dropped, the way your muscles tensed at even the gentlest touch.

And then, one night, he finally asked.

You were both standing outside, the city lights stretching far into the distance, stars barely visible beyond the haze. It was quiet between you, peaceful, until he broke it with a simple question.

“Why do you hate being touched?”

You froze.

Your fingers curled into fists, your heart hammering against your ribs. You wanted to ignore him, wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard, but Caleb wasn’t the kind of person who let things slide.

When you didn’t answer, he turned to face you fully, his voice steady but softer than usual. “It’s not just me, is it?” His eyes searched yours. “You don’t let anyone touch you.”

You swallowed hard.

And then you said it. The words that had been sitting on your tongue for years, unspoken, buried beneath layers of defense and survival.

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The weight of those words crushed the space between you.

Caleb didn’t react right away. He didn’t wince, didn’t gasp, didn’t give you that pitying look you dreaded seeing. Instead, he just stood there, his violet gaze locked onto yours, taking in everything you weren’t saying.

You braced yourself for rejection, for discomfort, for him to leave—but he didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, he let out a slow breath and said, “…Then I guess I’ll have to be first.”

Your stomach twisted. “Caleb—”

“I won’t push you.” His voice was firm but patient. “I won’t touch you until you let me.”

That should’ve been the end of it. It should’ve been the part where you turned away and let him go, where he accepted your boundaries and never tried again.

But the problem was Caleb never stopped caring about you.

And worse? You had let yourself care about him too.

Caleb never tried to force his way into your space, never laid a hand on you without permission. But he stayed.

He stayed through the silence, through the bad days, through the moments when you wanted to push everyone away but couldn’t bring yourself to do it with him.

He made himself a constant.

And that was dangerous.

Because the longer he stayed, the more you caught yourself wanting to reach for him.

The more you caught yourself watching his hands—the same hands that had held weapons, that had taken lives, that had commanded entire fleets—and wondering how they would feel if they touched you gently.

The more you caught yourself leaning in just a little when he stood beside you, like some part of you was trying to unlearn a lifetime of flinching.

You weren’t used to it.

You weren’t used to someone treating you like you were something precious instead of something hardened. You weren’t used to someone looking at you like you were worth waiting for.

And it scared you.

Because if you let yourself have this, if you let him in—what then?

It happened one night when you weren’t thinking.

You had both been caught in a battle, pushed to your limits, and despite everything—despite all the odds—you had both made it out alive.

Caleb was covered in cuts and bruises, exhaustion heavy in his limbs, but the moment he saw you stumble, he reached for you instinctively—just like he always did.

And this time, for the first time, you didn’t pull away.

His hands found your arms, steadying you, grounding you. You felt his warmth, his strength—and you let him hold you.

It was so small. So insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Just his hands on your arms, steady and reassuring. But to you, it felt like something shattered.

Caleb stilled, his grip light, as if he half-expected you to come to your senses and shove him away. His eyes searched yours, cautious, waiting.

But you didn’t move.

For the first time, you let yourself be touched without bracing for pain.

Without expecting violence.

Without fear.

And the look Caleb gave you in that moment—soft, careful, like he knew exactly how much this meant even if you hadn’t said a word—was enough to make something inside you break.

You swallowed hard, pulse racing.

“You’re the first.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, barely a whisper, but Caleb heard them.

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the edge of your sleeve in the gentlest motion imaginable.

“Then I’ll make sure I’m never the last.”

And you believed him.

For the first time in your life, you actually believed someone.

Because Caleb had never broken a promise to you before.

And deep down, you knew he never would.

Rafayel

Rafayel had always been affectionate—too affectionate, if you were being honest. It wasn’t just the teasing smirks or the casual way he draped himself over you like a cat seeking warmth. It was the way his hands would linger, the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way he spoke your name like it was something precious.

But you weren’t used to it.

So, when he leaned in too close, when his fingers brushed against yours absentmindedly, when his warmth wrapped around you in unspoken promises of safety, you pushed him away. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firm enough to make the message clear.

He didn’t take offense, at least not outwardly. Rafayel always bounced back with a lopsided grin, a lazy roll of his shoulders, as if to say, Fine, I’ll wait. But there was something in his eyes—something quieter, something more knowing.

And you hated that.

Because deep down, you knew what he saw.

He saw the way you flinched, even when his touch was gentle. He saw the way your shoulders tensed whenever he got too close, the way you shrank away from affection like it was a foreign language you never learned to speak.

Most people didn’t notice. Most people assumed you were just distant, that maybe you simply weren’t the affectionate type.

Rafayel knew better.

And that made him dangerous.

It started one evening, after one of his exhibitions. The gallery had emptied out, the patrons long gone, and yet he lingered, still basking in the afterglow of another successful night. You had stayed behind too, for reasons you weren’t entirely sure of. Maybe because he had asked. Maybe because it was easier than saying no to him.

He had pulled you into the back room where his latest painting was covered with a cloth. With a dramatic flourish, he yanked it away, revealing the canvas beneath.

It was you.

Not a perfect replica, not a stiff, lifeless portrait. It was you in motion, caught mid-laugh, the golden glow of light flickering behind you as if you were something divine.

It took your breath away.

You swallowed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You painted this?”

“No, it painted itself.” Rafayel smirked, stepping closer. “Of course I painted it.”

You didn’t have words. You didn’t know how to process something so raw, so intimate. It was one thing for someone to look at you, but it was another thing entirely for someone to see you. And Rafayel had always seen you.

That was the problem.

“I—” The words stuck to your throat. You weren’t good at this. At accepting things. At being loved without conditions, without expectations.

And then, just like always, Rafayel reached for you.

His fingers, long and paint-stained, brushed against your wrist—light, hesitant, careful. No force, no demand, just warmth.

And just like always, you flinched.

You stepped back so fast you almost knocked over the easel. “Don’t.” The word escaped before you could stop it, sharp and unsteady.

Rafayel’s hand froze midair before he slowly pulled it back. His expression didn’t falter, but there was something—something—in his eyes. He tilted his head, studying you with that same knowing look that had always unsettled you.

“Why?” His voice was soft. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just curious.

Your throat tightened. You wanted to tell him to drop it. You wanted him to go back to making jokes, to fill the silence with something light, something meaningless.

But he didn’t.

Because Rafayel never let things go.

You swallowed. “Because… if you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Rafayel exhaled, slow and careful, as if he were afraid of shattering you. “Oh.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t apologize, didn’t pity you. He just stood there, watching you with those piercing blue-pink eyes of his, like he was unraveling all the pieces of you you’d kept hidden for so long.

It made you want to run.

And maybe he saw that too, because he took a step back. Gave you space.

“Okay,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Okay?”

He nodded. “I won’t touch you. Not unless you want me to.”

The simplicity of it made something inside you ache.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

For the first time in your life, someone didn’t demand. Someone didn’t take.

Someone just waited.

Days passed, and true to his word, Rafayel never touched you. He still leaned into your space, still gave you that infuriatingly charming grin, but his hands never reached for you again. Not once.

And you hated that you noticed.

You noticed the absence of his touch. You noticed the way his fingers twitched when he was excited, the way his hands curled into fists like he had to remind himself not to reach for you. You noticed how much you wanted him to.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

And one night, when he was sitting beside you, lazily sketching something while you both watched the waves crash against the shore, you made the first move.

It was small. Barely anything.

Just your pinky brushing against his.

But Rafayel noticed.

His breath hitched, and his gaze flickered to you, cautious, questioning.

You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt electric, buzzing with something unspoken, something fragile.

Then Rafayel, ever patient, ever waiting, turned his hand palm-up beneath yours.

An invitation.

Not a demand.

You hesitated, your heart pounding, before slowly—so slowly—you let your fingers slip into his.

Warmth. Solid, steady warmth.

No violence.

No pain.

Just him.

Rafayel said nothing, didn’t make a big deal of it. He just held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had been waiting lifetimes for it.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been waiting too.

Sylus

The first time Sylus touched you, you flinched.

It was subtle—just a stiffening of your shoulders, a flicker of tension in your stance. But for someone as dangerously observant as Sylus, it was enough. His fingers had barely brushed your wrist—light, almost teasing—as he leaned in to whisper something low in your ear.

And yet, you recoiled.

He didn’t comment on it then, only let a smirk curl at the corner of his lips as if he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

Of course, he had.

Sylus never missed anything.

Sylus was nothing if not patient.

He had seen resistance before. He had encountered people who feared him, people who worshipped him, people who wanted something from him. But you?

You were different.

You didn’t fear him—you feared being touched.

And that… was fascinating.

So, he tested it.

Little things, at first. A hand at the small of your back as he guided you through a door. A knuckle brushing over your cheek under the excuse of tucking away a stray strand of hair. A moment where he let his fingers graze yours when he passed you something.

Every time, your body tensed—just slightly—but you didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

You always let it happen for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if waiting for something.

And that was when he knew.

You weren’t just unused to affection.

You were waiting for it to turn into something else.

Something harsher. Something cruel.

Something violent.

And that realization—that truth about you—made his blood burn with something he couldn’t quite name.

The night it finally broke, Sylus hadn’t meant to push too far.

It had been a long evening, tension thrumming beneath the surface between you both like an electric current. You had been irritatingly stubborn during negotiations, as always, challenging him, testing him, making him bite back a smirk as you stood your ground.

But the moment that lingered with him was after, when the night had settled and you had found yourself alone in his office.

He approached you like he always did—without hesitation.

This time, he touched your face, his thumb grazing over your cheek in a slow, deliberate motion. It wasn’t just teasing.

It wasn’t just a test.

It was real.

And you panicked.

You slapped his hand away, hard. The sound cracked through the air, sharp and startling, but Sylus didn’t react. He barely blinked, only watching as you took a step back, breath uneven, eyes wild.

His fingers flexed once before he let them drop to his side.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, quietly—

"If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first."

It wasn’t said with anger. It wasn’t a warning or a threat.

It was just… the truth.

And Sylus, for once in his life, didn’t have a response.

Something Unspoken

After that, he changed tactics.

He didn’t stop touching you entirely—no, never that. But he let you decide.

He let you approach him.

He gave you space but stayed close enough that you could always reach him if you wanted to.

And, for a while, you didn’t.

But then—

One night, after an exhausting mission, you sat beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his. You didn’t move away.

Another time, when exhaustion weighed on you, you let him take your wrist to check your pulse, your fingers trembling slightly—but not from fear.

And then, the night that changed everything—

You let him touch your face again.

This time, when his hand cradled your cheek, you leaned into it.

Not much. Just a fraction. Just enough that he could feel the shift.

Just enough for him to know.

And that was all the permission he needed.

Slowly, deliberately, his thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his voice low when he finally spoke:

"I would never hurt you."

Your breath hitched.

He felt it.

He didn’t ask why it was so hard for you to believe him. He didn’t ask who had left you expecting pain from every touch, from every lingering moment.

He only let his hand remain where it was, grounding, steady—yours, if you wanted it.

And finally, you did.

You didn’t say anything that night. You didn’t have to.

But after that, something changed.

Sylus, perceptive as always, noticed immediately.

The way your body no longer tensed at his presence. The way you lingered just a little closer when you stood beside him. The way your fingers, hesitant at first, brushed against the sleeve of his coat as if testing a boundary you weren’t sure you were allowed to cross.

And the way, eventually, you did.

It happened late one evening, when the city outside was silent, the only sounds in the room the distant hum of a record player spinning on low and the soft shuffle of papers on his desk.

You had been sitting across from him, absentmindedly twirling a pen between your fingers when, out of nowhere—you reached for him.

Your hand, small but steady, settled against his.

No hesitation. No flinching. No fear.

Sylus, always composed, almost stopped breathing.

You didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

But his fingers curled over yours, slow, deliberate—a silent promise.

A promise that, for the first time in your life, someone’s touch wouldn’t bring pain.

And that was enough.

For now.

Xavier

The first time Xavier reached for you, you flinched.

It was instinct, sharp and immediate. His fingers had barely brushed your sleeve before you jerked away, stepping out of reach so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, tilting his head as if trying to decipher something unsaid.

You weren’t looking at him, though. You were staring at your own hands, fingers curled into fists at your sides, knuckles tight. Get it together.

"You okay?" His voice was light, easy, like he hadn’t just watched you recoil from his touch as if it burned.

You forced yourself to nod. "Yeah. Just—" You hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "You shouldn’t do that."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with something colder than you really felt. "Touch me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before his expression shifted back to something more familiar—a smirk, teasing but careful. "Alright," he said, as if it didn’t matter. "No touching."

Except it did matter. Because Xavier wasn’t someone who kept his hands to himself—not in an intrusive way, but in a way that made him feel real. He was the kind of person who nudged you with his elbow when he made a joke, who ruffled your hair just to annoy you, who tugged at your sleeve when he wanted your attention.

But he listened.

For the next few weeks, he was careful. He kept his distance, kept his hands in his pockets, kept a respectable space between the two of you even when it was just the two of you on a mission, walking side by side.

And for some reason, it made your chest ache.

You wanted him close.

You just didn’t know how to let him be.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. If anything, that was the problem.

Xavier had wormed his way into your life in a way no one else had before. He was constant—too constant, maybe. There was no hesitation in the way he cared, no moment of doubt in his affection. He liked you, so he showed it. He wanted to be around you, so he was. There was no second-guessing, no caution.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Because affection had always come with conditions. Because touches had always been accompanied by something sharp—by expectation, by control, by violence.

So the idea of Xavier touching you with nothing but warmth?

It scared you more than any fight ever had.

"You ever gonna tell me why?"

You blinked up from where you sat at the edge of a rooftop, staring out at the cityscape below. Xavier was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

"Why what?"

"Why you don’t like me touching you." His voice wasn’t accusing, wasn’t pushing—it was just curious.

You swallowed. "I just don’t."

Xavier hummed, as if considering that. "You sure about that?"

You tensed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, stepping forward—not close, but closer. "I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes."

Your heart skipped. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupted, voice softer now. "Like you want me to reach for you, but you don’t know if you should let me."

You exhaled sharply. "It’s not that simple."

"Then explain it to me."

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeves, gripping tightly. You should have expected this—Xavier wasn’t the type to let things go so easily. He was patient, sure, but he wasn’t blind. He noticed things, noticed you.

And now, he was waiting.

You stared at your hands. "If you touch me without violence," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "you’ll be the first."

Silence.

For a moment, you thought he might not have heard you. But then, after a long pause, Xavier let out a quiet breath.

"That’s a damn shame," he said. His voice was soft, but not pitying. "Because you deserve better than that."

You didn’t look at him. "Maybe."

"You do," he said, firmer this time. "And I want to prove it to you."

Your breath hitched. "Xavier—"

"I won’t touch you until you want me to," he promised. "But when you do?" His gaze was steady, unwavering. "I’ll make sure you never have to doubt it."

It took time.

Xavier kept his promise. He didn’t touch you—not even accidentally. He was careful, patient in a way that made your chest ache. But he never pulled away emotionally. He was still there, still unwavering, still him.

And slowly, slowly, you started to realize something.

You wanted to close that distance.

You wanted him.

It started small—lingering closer when you walked together, sitting next to him instead of across the room, letting your shoulders brush just slightly before pulling away. And Xavier noticed. He always did.

But he didn’t push.

He let you take your time, let you move at your own pace.

Until one night, after a mission, when you were exhausted and sore and tired of your own fear, you turned to him and—hesitantly, carefully—reached for his hand.

His fingers twitched in surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. He let you take his hand in yours, let you squeeze it lightly before letting go just as quickly.

You expected him to say something—maybe tease you, maybe push for more. But he didn’t. He just smiled, warm and real.

"Was that so bad?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Shut up."

Xavier chuckled, but there was something softer in his gaze. "Alright. No teasing. Not today, anyway."

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. "I hate you."

He grinned. "You love me."

You paused.

Then, quietly, you admitted, "Yeah."

Xavier stilled. His smile faltered—just for a second—before it softened into something genuine. Something real.

"Good," he murmured.

And for the first time, when he reached for you, you didn’t pull away.

Zayne

Zayne had always been patient. It was in his nature, woven into the fabric of his being just as much as his steady hands and level-headed presence. As a surgeon, patience was a necessity—an unwavering calm in the face of pressure, a stillness when chaos reigned.

But this was different.

This was you.

You, with your guarded eyes and the walls you built around yourself so high that even he, with all his skill, couldn’t navigate them easily. He had known from the start that you were different—not because you were difficult, not because you weren’t capable of love, but because the world had been cruel to you in ways it hadn’t been to him.

And still, he wanted you.

It started slow. The quiet companionship, the moments where neither of you needed to speak but simply existed together. A shared cup of tea in the morning. The warmth of his coat draped over your shoulders on a cold night. He never pushed, never asked for more than you could give, and yet…

Even he had limits to his patience.

Zayne had always been affectionate. Not in a way that was overwhelming, nor in grand declarations. No, his love was in the small things—in the way his fingers would brush against yours when passing you something, in the way his voice would soften when speaking your name, in the way he would lean in, close enough that you could feel his warmth but never quite touching.

And so, when he reached for you one evening—just a simple touch, the lightest brush of his fingertips against your wrist—he hadn’t expected you to recoil the way you did.

You flinched, your entire body going rigid, as if his touch had burned you.

Zayne froze. His hazel-green eyes flickered with something unreadable before he slowly withdrew his hand, watching you carefully. He wasn’t offended, nor was he hurt, but there was something in his expression that made your stomach twist.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice quieter than you intended.

His brows furrowed slightly. “I—”

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, raw and sharp. The room felt heavier in their wake, like the air had been sucked from it.

Zayne didn’t speak for a moment. He simply looked at you, studying you in that careful way he always did—like he was dissecting a puzzle, trying to understand without breaking it further.

You hated the silence. Hated the way it stretched between you like an open wound.

Then, finally, he exhaled softly.

“I see.”

And just like that, he shifted back, putting a comfortable distance between you. Not out of rejection, not out of frustration, but because he understood. He always understood.

You expected him to ask. To pry. To demand to know what had led you to this—why you had flinched, why you had spoken those words with such bitterness. But he didn’t.

He simply nodded, accepting it as fact, and changed the subject.

It should have been a relief.

It wasn’t.

Because Zayne, for all his patience and for all his understanding, was not one to simply forget.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Zayne hadn’t touched you since.

Not in the way he used to. No fleeting brushes of his fingertips, no teasing nudges, no quiet, lingering moments where his warmth bled into yours. It was as if he had drawn a line in the sand and refused to cross it.

You told yourself it was for the best.

So why did it feel so much worse?

You had never needed touch. Never craved it, never longed for it. But now, in the absence of it, you felt its loss like a phantom pain. You missed it.

You missed him.

And so, when you found yourself standing outside his apartment one evening, your fingers curled into fists at your sides, you knew you had to do something.

The door opened before you could even knock.

Zayne blinked at you, surprised but not displeased. He stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you in.

You hesitated.

And then, taking a deep breath, you walked past him, into the familiar warmth of his home.

He didn’t ask why you were there.

He simply poured you tea, as he always did, and waited.

You stared at the cup in your hands, fingers tightening around the ceramic.

“I don’t…” You hesitated. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet patience. “Stop what?”

You swallowed. “Touching me.”

For the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely surprised. Not in a dramatic way—Zayne was never dramatic—but in the way his fingers stilled against his cup, in the way his gaze softened ever so slightly.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

“I did.” Your throat felt tight. “I do. But I also… I don’t know.” You exhaled sharply. “I just… don’t want you to stop trying.”

Something in his expression shifted.

He set his cup down carefully before looking at you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. Not with judgment, not with pity—just understanding.

“I never stopped,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

“I just adjusted,” he continued. “To what you needed.”

And you realized, with startling clarity, that he had been touching you. Just not in the way you had expected.

It was in the way he always made you tea, the way he listened so intently, the way he never pushed, never pried, but always made sure you knew he was there.

He had been touching you in the only way you would allow.

And now? Now, you wanted more.

Tentatively, hesitantly, you reached out.

Your fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and you felt him still beneath your touch.

It was light. Barely there. But it was enough.

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t push for more.

He simply let you choose.

And, for the first time in your life, you did.

You let yourself be touched—gently, without violence, without fear.

Zayne, patient as ever, simply held still and let you set the pace.

And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Sick & Tired

How I imagine the LADS Men take care of you when you're sick [requested by: depressed but well dressed anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

ready and willing to take care of you, but also is in his ‘I told you so’ era because he knew you’d end up getting sick

will do everything and anything you tell him

would let you lay on his shoulder or in his lap while you nap

even though he’s with you constantly to take care of you he somehow manages to not get sick

brings you medicine and a glass of water

cooks you homemade soup and will feed you if you let him

depending on how sick you are he would take time off from work to look after you

for my girlies who cry a little when they dont feel good he would wipe your tears for you “Don’t cry this sickness is only temporary”

if hes still working he’ll always try to be there until you fall asleep and rushes home to you

leaves soup in the fridge for you when he’s not there

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

teases you for getting sick until he realizes youre sad “Aw cutie are you not feeling well?” “I hate it here” “Tell me what you need”

Doesn’t want to get sick so yes he’d bring you whatever you ask for but he’s wearing a mask and gloves ; avoids kisses “once you’re no longer contagious I'll give you a kiss”

doesn’t mind telling you stories or humming you songs to get you to sleep

would feed you, but be prepared to never hear the end of it “You’re just a sick girl who needs my help in your time of need I know I know my services are impeccable” “Can I have my tea now?”

mocks and teases you when you get fussy about anything “I can’t stand you” “Good thing you’re laying down then huh?”

gets sick anyway because his dumbass would eat off your spoon/fork or drink something of yours

you two end up sick in bed together and he’s even more whiny now

lots of cuddles and kisses now since he got himself sick

doom scrolls with you while laying in your lap

Thomas has to come and take care of the two of you

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

I wouldn't be me if I didn’t say it ; PAGING NURSE XAVIER

he’s at your side in a split second

so excited to have free reign in your kitchen ; immediately tries to make you soup and burns the pot

blows the kitchen up in your house/apartment ends up having to take care of you at his place

finally orders you soup and medicine after you cried because you didn’t want his cooking

he sleeps when you sleep

constantly checking your temperature

doesn’t mind carrying you around the house he knows you can walk, but he likes having you draped over him

blows your nose for you ; puts the tissue to your nose “Blow.” “Thats what she said” “…..your snot is dripping please blow”

sore throat? he’s right there daily with a spoonful of honey “Here its good for you”

can easily handle you when you get fussy about taking medicine “That was quite the tantrum” as he shoves the medicine in your mouth

𝚂𝚢𝚕����𝚜

already knew you were coming down with something he already has everything ready to go

picks you up and takes you to his place ;has his chef prepare home remedies tailored just for you

brings you everything himself ; you also have the twins at your disposal

sits bedside and encourages you to eat as much as you can “take two more bites and then you can go back to sleep”

still tries to kiss you even though you’re sick because he doesn’t give a damn “Sylus I'll get you sick stop” steals a kiss here and there anyway ; gets sick like two weeks later

wipes and blows your nose for you “You look like a sick kitten” “Shut it”

doesn’t care when you get fussy about taking medicine “Are you done? Good. Here.”

if you want to stay in bed all day thats fine ; if you want to cling to him like a Koala around the house thats fine too he’ll carry you

lets you sleep on him and steal his warmth

checks your breathing when you sleep longer than usual

leaves the twins to keep an eye on you if he needs to step out ; leaves Mephisto to watch you if he needs to take the twins with him

the type to give you a massage even if you’re not having body aches

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

is already at your doorstep with groceries and medicine

keeps you close to him and in sight at all times

your personal chef truly ; he’s wrapping you in a blanket and laying you on the couch while he makes you something to eat

checks your temperature regularly ; gives you medicine like clockwork

spoon feeds you so you don’t have to lift a finger

reminds you that you don’t need to thank him ; he’ll always take care of you no matter what

cuddles you while you sleep after cleaning your place ; puts a humidifier in your room if you’re congested

tries to make you laugh so you’re not sad ; reminds you that he’ll always be there for you so no need to be sad

wipes and blows your nose for you “Your scrunched up face is adorable”

teases you if you ask for a massage if you’re having body aches ; of course he’s overjoyed to do it though “You know I'll give you a massage whenever you want”

says he won’t kiss you while your sick ; ends up kissing you out of habit and gets a little sick “Now it’s your turn to take care of me”

[aventurineswife]

Reader is pretty bad at crocheting. Despite their lack of skill, they were determined to ALWAYS crochet something for their beloved partner. Making cursed looking plushies. They always thought that their partner would throw them away or pay them no mind.. heck, even laugh at them. But to their shock, their partner keeps all those cursed and bad looking plushies at their favorite place. (Dan heng, Veritas, Kaveh, Sunday, Ruan mei.)

Not Perfect, but Still Yours

Tags: Kaveh x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ruan Mei x Reader, Fluff, Soft moments, Imperfection, Comfort, Emotional Growth, Appreciation, Supportive Relationships, Gift giving.

Warnings: Mild embarrassment, Self-doubt, Lighthearted humor, Emotional vulnerability.

The soft light of the Astral Express flickered through the narrow window of the lounge, casting shadows on the scattered objects around the room. In the corner, a small, misshapen plushie sat, its lopsided eyes staring out toward the horizon. It was one of the countless failed attempts at crocheting you had made for Dan Heng. The yarn was too tight in some places and too loose in others, the colors clashed violently, and the stuffing was lumpy, giving the plushie a truly cursed appearance.

You couldn’t help but chuckle nervously as you held it, eyes scanning the room in search of a place to stash it out of sight. Maybe Dan Heng would never notice, or maybe he would laugh at it. It was far from the perfect gift you had envisioned when you started, but at least you had put your heart into it.

As you turned to place it on the shelf, you froze. There, perched next to the window where Dan Heng often sat, was not just one, but a collection of the most absurdly shaped, lumpy crocheted plushies you’d made. Their mismatched eyes, crooked smiles, and mismatched colors all stood proudly in their place, as though they were some kind of treasured collection.

Dan Heng sat across from them, his usually calm demeanor unchanged. He looked up at you, his deep, reflective eyes meeting yours with something resembling amusement, though his lips remained firmly set.

"You've been crocheting again," he said in his quiet, steady voice.

You stood frozen, your face burning with embarrassment. "I... I didn’t think you'd actually keep them..."

His gaze softened, though he said nothing else. His actions spoke louder than words ever could. He had placed them all so carefully in the space he cherished most—the quiet place where he could reflect on everything. You had expected ridicule, but instead, your clumsy efforts had found a place of honor in his world.

Dan Heng's soft sigh filled the room, but it wasn't one of exasperation. Instead, it felt more like a quiet acknowledgment of something that transcended words—something more meaningful than just a plushie.

Kaveh stared at the plushie you had given him, his sharp eyes wide with surprise. It was... a disaster. A mess of yarn in every possible shade of blue, with ears that were more like floppy lumps than anything remotely animal-like. The eyes were uneven, the stitchwork was clearly off, and the overall shape? Well, it was a stretch to even call it a plushie.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to laugh at it. He had seen you struggle for hours on end, your hands fumbling with the crochet hooks, muttering to yourself in frustration, and it made him smile. Not at the plushie, but at the sheer determination behind it.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, holding the plushie up carefully, examining it as though it were a fine piece of art, despite the chaos it embodied. "It’s... unique."

You looked down, embarrassed. "I know it looks awful, but I just wanted to make you something. I thought you’d throw it away, but... I wanted you to have it, even if it's terrible."

Kaveh chuckled softly, a sound that always made you feel warmer, even when the world seemed so cold. “Terrible?” He paused, looking around the room for a place to set it. “No, I think it’s just... different. And I like different.” He placed the plushie carefully on a shelf next to some of his architectural sketches, where he could see it whenever he needed a break from his work. “It’s special,” he added with a wink, “because it’s from you.”

You blinked in surprise, and before you could say anything, he turned to you with that familiar mischievous smile. "You’re not getting off that easy, though. The next one better have some structure to it!"

Your heart swelled at his words. It wasn’t about the perfection of the plushie, or even the art itself. It was about the thought, the care, and the effort you had put into it. And Kaveh, despite his sometimes chaotic nature, always saw the beauty in that. Even the cursed plushies you thought would be forgotten.

Kaveh placed a hand on your shoulder. “Keep them coming. I’ll cherish each one.”

You sat cross-legged on the floor, yarn tangled in your hands, struggling with your latest attempt at crocheting. It was a mess. The stitches were uneven, and the form barely resembled anything close to what you had intended—a plush owl. It looked more like a lumpy pile of yarn with mismatched eyes. A sigh escaped your lips as you tied off the last stitch, half-expecting Ratio to find it ridiculous.

Ratio was brilliant, confident, and quick to call out ignorance in any form. You had never imagined he would appreciate something as simple and imperfect as your crocheted attempts. Still, you found yourself crafting these weird, lopsided plushies for him. Every time, you feared he might mock you, dismiss the effort, or worse, throw them out. Yet, you persisted, as these small gestures were your way of showing him that you cared.

As you placed the little owl on the shelf, you couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. Would this be the one that pushed him too far? Would he finally tell you it was enough?

The next day, you walked into the room to find Ratio sitting in his usual chair, reviewing some ancient texts. As always, his gaze seemed focused, detached from everything around him—until his eyes flicked toward the owl. A small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gently picked it up, inspecting it with curiosity.

"It's... oddly endearing," he remarked, his tone as blunt as ever. "This owl lacks the symmetry I would expect from a creation of logic, but it... has its charm."

You blinked, unsure if he was mocking you or genuinely complimenting it. But then he placed it next to his prized collection of books, right on the edge of the table where he could always see it.

"I'll keep it here," Veritas added, his eyes meeting yours, his expression softening in a rare moment of vulnerability. "You made it for me. It’s a reminder that even imperfection has its place."

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. For someone who valued perfection and knowledge, this was more than just acceptance—it was a sign that, to him, your imperfections meant more than you could have imagined.

You stared down at the tiny, lopsided plush dove, your fingers trembling slightly. The stitching was uneven, and the wings were too big. Still, you had tried—really tried—to make it resemble the symbol of Charmony, something that would show Sunday you cared in the simplest way you could think of.

But doubt clouded your mind as you looked at it. Sunday, with his celestial grace and refined demeanor, surely wouldn’t appreciate such a... well, “cursed” gift. The way he carried himself, so composed, so perfect, made you think he would find your attempt childish, perhaps even laugh at it. He was a being of such beauty and wisdom; what would he want with a lumpy, hastily made toy?

You took a deep breath and placed the plush dove in the corner of the room where he often meditated, hoping it would at least bring a smile, even if it never left that spot.

Days passed before Sunday came by, his eyes scanning the room, and then, to your surprise, he made a soft sound of recognition. He knelt down beside the dove, lifting it up gently, his expression unreadable as he ran his fingers over its wings.

“It reminds me of something,” Sunday said, his voice softer than usual, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Of the Charmony dove, yes, but also of simpler things. The kind of things we forget to appreciate sometimes. Thank you.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. He was holding the plush with such care, as if it were something sacred, placing it right next to his meditation cushion. Every time you saw it there, you felt a little less doubt in your heart. The dove, imperfect as it was, had a place in his life—just as you did.

The yarn slipped between your fingers, tangled and frayed, as you struggled to crochet another creation for Ruan Mei. You had tried your best, but the result was far from the elegant designs she would create. It wasn’t even close to the delicate perfection that she embodied in her work. Instead, your plush was a strange amalgamation of mismatched colors and poorly sewn stitches. It looked more like a confused blob than a creature.

You sighed and set the plush down, a small knot of worry forming in your stomach. Ruan Mei was brilliant, precise, and focused. She could easily craft life from data or manipulate biology to create perfect forms—what would she think of your chaotic mess of yarn?

Despite your doubts, you carefully placed the plush on her desk, right next to the microscope where she often worked. You felt foolish for thinking she’d notice or appreciate it.

The next time you saw her, she was sitting at the desk, inspecting the intricate DNA strands she had created. Her eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on the plush, you held your breath.

At first, she merely stared at it, her expression unreadable. Then, with an almost imperceptible smile, she reached for it and held it up to her face, examining it carefully. “This is...” she began, and your heart sank. “...unexpected. But I suppose life has its imperfections, doesn’t it?”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard her correctly. She placed the plush next to her notes, her delicate fingers smoothing over the yarn. “It’s... a reminder that even in something this simple, there’s beauty. You made this for me, didn’t you?”

A warm, familiar sensation bloomed in your chest as she looked up from the desk, her eyes softening. “Thank you. I’ll keep it here. It has... its own kind of elegance.”

Her words, though quiet and understated, were everything to you. Even in her scientific, precise world, your imperfect creation had a place—a place she had carved out for it, just as she had carved out a place for you in her life.

[meadowfics]

postpartum

husband!babyfather!kang dae-ho x f!wife!mom!reader

in a world where you did get to have your family, unlike what happened here

warnings: mentions of normal post-pregnancy stuff like breastmilk pumping. postpartum depression. dae-ho being ALIVE in this one and being the best husband to you and father to your babies <3

heavily requested in my inbox after what I posted yesterday LMAO

the weight of it all is suffocating.

you sit on the couch, your body sinking into the cushions as exhaustion drapes over you like a heavy, unshakable blanket. 

in your arms, tiny and delicate, byeol drinks from her bottle, her little fingers curling and uncurling against your chest, her slow, steady suckling the only sound anchoring you in the moment.

the babies tiny body is warm against you, her breaths soft, her features too much like dae-ho’s that it makes your heart ache.

normally, you would be lost in adoration, in awe of this little life you brought into the world. you would trace her perfect cheeks with your fingers, marvel at the way her lashes flutter as she drinks, kiss the soft long hair she inherited from her father. 

today, you are simply trying to hold yourself together.

your body is sore, aching from the endless cycle of feeding, pumping, and barely sleeping. your mind feels foggy, tangled with thoughts you don’t want to have, emotions you don’t want to feel. 

you love your daughters, you love dae-ho, you love your family. you would never trade this for anything. 

however, the love isn’t enough to make the heaviness go away.

across the room, seo-ah plays on the floor, a bright burst of energy that fills every corner of the house. she chatters to her stuffed animals, her high-pitched giggles filling the space, making everything feel alive in a way that you cannot.

“appa! look! teddy is dancing!” 

she exclaims, lifting her stuffed bear into the air, twirling it in circles.

dae-ho, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her, gasps in exaggerated excitement. 

“wahhh! so cool, teddy is so talented!”

seo-ah beams at the praise, her eyes crinkling as she twirls again, her joy infectious, her laughter like sunshine.

normally, that sound would lift you. 

normally, watching dae-ho be the incredible father that he is would warm your heart, remind you that you are not alone in this, that you have him.

today, it only makes the exhaustion worse.

dae-ho’s gaze flickers toward you, sharp and observant, even as he stays engaged with seo-ah’s game. 

he doesn’t miss the tension in your shoulders, the blankness in your eyes, the way your responses are slower, quieter than usual.

he gets up, making his way to you, crouching in front of the couch so that he’s level with you. 

“baby,” he murmurs, his voice soft, careful. 

“are you okay?”

you manage a small smile. 

“yeah, just tired.”

the marine’s warm, calloused hands settle on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow, comforting circles. 

“do you want me to take byeol for a bit? you’ve been holding her all day.”

you shake your head, your arms instinctively tightening around byeol’s small frame. 

“no, i got it.”

dae-ho doesn’t push. he never does. 

he simply nods, but the concern lingers in his eyes.

after twenty minutes, when byeol finishes her bottle, you sigh, shifting in your seat. 

“love, can you do their bedtime routine tonight? i feel… gross. i just wanna shower.”

dae-ho’s expression softens instantly, and without hesitation, he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your temple before carefully lifting mini byeol from your arms. 

“of course, baby. take your time, okay?”

he doesn’t say it to make you feel better. he means it. 

every time, every single time, he is happy to take care of his girls. 

he never complains, never hesitates. 

he loves them, loves you.

as he walks away, bouncing byeol gently in his arms, calling for seo-ah in that affectionate tone he always uses, you make your way to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you.

unfortunately, the moment you step into the shower, the relief you so desperately crave does not come.

the warm water cascades down your skin, but it does nothing to ease the exhaustion weighing down on you. 

the pressure is strong, firm against your sore muscles, but you still feel tense, wound so tightly that no amount of heat can unravel you.

you let your head drop forward, resting your forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall. your arms hang limply at your sides, the steam rising around you in thick waves. 

for a moment, you try to breathe…slow, deep, steady. but it doesn’t help. nothing does.

your body doesn’t feel like yours anymore.

your breasts ache, swollen and sore from pumping, tender in a way that makes you wince when the water hits them. your stomach, still soft and a little stretched from carrying byeol, stirs something sharp and cruel inside you, something that whispers that you’ll never look or feel the same again. 

honestly, you cannot recall if you felt like this after having seo-ah.

you press your palm against yourself, fingers tracing over the faint marks left behind from your pregnancy, and you don’t know whether you love them or hate them.

a lump forms in your throat as your gaze flickers downward. 

your thighs, your waist, the curve of your hips—none of it looks the way it used to. 

you know, logically, that your body is healing, that you just brought a life into this world. 

sometimes logic doesn’t quiet the thoughts that get at you, that tell you you are different now in a way that you can’t come back from.

you reach for your vanilla body wash, desperate for something familiar, something comforting.

the moment your fingers curl around the bottle, you realize it’s empty.

your breath catches.

it’s stupid. 

it’s just body wash. you can use dae-ho’s. 

it doesn’t matter.

it does.

your hand trembles slightly as you pick up his bottle instead, the scent of cedarwood and musk filling the space. it smells like him, like the warmth of his embrace, like the shirts you steal from his side of the closet. 

you squeeze the soap into your net sponge, rubbing it over your arms, your shoulders, your chest. the wrongness lingers, settling into the hollow of your ribs like an ache that won’t fade.

when will this get easier?

the thought slams into you like a wave, sudden and suffocating.

your chest tightens, and before you can stop it, tears spill over your cheeks, mixing with the water streaming down your face.

you bite down on your lip, trying to keep the sobs at bay, but it’s useless. the emotions hit all at once, hard and overwhelming, crushing under the weight of everything you’ve been holding in.

your shoulders shake as the sobs build, as the exhaustion and frustration and sadness pour out of you in waves you can’t control. 

you press a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds, trying not to let it get too loud and scare seo-ah from her bedroom.

no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you tell yourself to just get over it, to just be strong…you can’t stop.

the walls feel too close. the steam is suffocating. the sound of the water is deafening.

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping onto the tile as you try to catch your breath, try to pull yourself together, try to remind yourself that you are okay.

you don’t feel okay.

you don’t know when you will again.

your body still aches. your breasts are sore from pumping, tender in a way that makes you wince when the water hits them. 

the final straw.

and then—

the door creaks open.

you don’t hear footsteps, don’t hear anything other than your own quiet cries. 

then the shower door slides open, and suddenly, there he is.

dae-ho.

your husband.

your breath catches as he takes you in….your trembling frame, the water streaming down your face, the way you try so desperately to wipe away the evidence of your breakdown.

he’s not having any of it.

without a word, he steps forward, his black shirt and joggers instantly soaked as he pulls you into his arms.

“baby,” he breathes against your wet hair, his voice thick with emotion. 

“don’t do that. don’t hide from me.”

you break.

your hands clutch at his shirt, your sobs shaking your whole body as he holds you. his large hands cradle the back of your head, his fingers slipping through your soaked hair as he rocks you gently.

“i know it’s hard,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“but i’m right here. i’ll always be right here.”

and you believe him.

he stays with you until the tears slow, until your breathing steadies. 

then, gently, he helps you out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you before drying you off with so much tenderness it nearly makes you cry all over again.

you don’t lift a finger.

he stands behind you, brushing through your damp hair before braiding it, his fingers moving with practiced ease thanks to his older sisters. 

he massages your vanilla body butter into your skin, his touch warm, comforting. when he helps you into your nightgown, his fingers linger at your waist, his gaze full of something so raw, so real, that it makes your breath hitch.

in bed, he helps you pump, his hands resting on your thighs, his presence a grounding force.

finally, when you’re settled against him, you whisper, 

“did they go to sleep easily?”

dae-ho hums. 

“byeol was easy, but seo-ah went on a five-minute rant about oreo ice cream before tiring herself out.”

you giggle softly, your heart swelling. 

“she really loves that ice cream.”

you don’t speak again until the question that has been weighing on you slips past your lips.

“dae…will i feel beautiful again?”

dae-ho’s response is immediate.

he pulls you close, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“you are beautiful now,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“you’ve always been beautiful. you gave us the most perfect babies. and i promise, baby, you’ll feel normal again. until then, i’ll be here. every step of the way.”

and in his arms, in his warmth, you believe him.

you will be okay, even if postpartum depression keeps trying to consume you.

masterlist

[kawhh]

I apologise in advance. I'm on a Jack binge. A Jack being manipulative towards his innocent friend binge. Enjoy.

1.9k words.

Warnings: Jack being manipulative, 'forcing' you into situations. Abusing your emotions. Non-con in a way. You aren't aware of what's going on.

He'd taken a hard knock into the boards at the end of a long roadie. Brushed off the medical staff even though his whole side is painted black and blue. Every step makes him hiss, biting his jersey and lip to not alert anyone to how bad he is.

Struggling through the pain to dress after the game, shoving the loosest clothing he owns on his body, not having the strength to squeeze into something.

Side throbbing so much that it feels like a burn, every accidental touch against the bruises feeling like it's being prodded with an branding stick.

He's just missed you. Needs to visit you. He can't have the medical staff holding him back, wanting to assess him. He'll be fine. He can cope, he's had worse. Just needs to get to your place. You'll take care of him. He'll get to see you adorably worried about him, playing nurse.

You'll be all over him, touching his bare skin, innocently feeling him up.. he's taking that over the medical staff all day.

Texting you on the way out of the locker room, giving you plenty of warm up time to panic. Not answering your follow up texts, wanting to see the pure panic on your face when he gets there.

Resting his head on the steering wheel in the parking lot, trying to breathe through the pain. Getting to you is gonna be horrific. Every single time he moves his leg it's going to strain his side. Every arm movement that makes him stretch is going to sting.

He just has to keep reminding himself that it's worth it. Every second of suffering.

He's staggering up to your door, feeling a little dizzy and disorientated, resting on the door before he knocks. He barely has to wait.

You're so cute.. the tears streaming down your face for him when you see how banged up and exhausted he is. He's playing it up a bit, hanging his head, moaning in pain. You're so delicate when you try and lead him to the couch, hesitating to even touch you.

Letting himself fall back when he's close enough, using it as a reason to lightly drag his hand down your body. He's just trying to find his balance, obviously.

Lifting the edge of his shirt, hiding his smirk as he sees your face light up red, your hands trembling. A glimpse of his abs and you're already like this? You don't even know what's coming.. he almost feels bad. Almost.

"Angel, need you to help.. can't reach that far down. You'll help me, yeah? You got any of those ice packs I left here last time?"

You're rushing off in a panic, almost tripping as you run to grab a pack, blushing deeper at the thought of having to touch him, having to be that close to his.. thing.

Stripping his shirt off fully when you're gone, not wanting you to realise that he's already feeling better than when he left the arena. You need to think he's a wreck.

He's pulling you closer, staring up at you, eyes half-lidded as you stress about touching him, just letting it happen. You're cute enough to eat. The flush is slowly advancing down your chest. Stammering before you hold the ice pack against his skin. That gets a real hiss out of him.

He can't resist reaching up to lightly tug the strand of hair falling down your face.

"That.. that wasn't so bad, was it? Am I really that awful to touch?"

He can barely hide his smirk as you rush to apologise, resting your hand on more of his skin as a way of apologising.

"Hey.. d'me a favour? It's kind of personal.. so if you're really against touching me, I won't be mad."

He can't help it. You're so easy to tease. You almost look like you're gonna cry, he's pretty sure those are tears forming in your eyes. You really do think you're being cruel to him while he's banged up.. so innocent, so gullible. You're nodding like a bobblehead. Wanting to do anything for him.

"Can you.. can you help me in the shower? Didn't get the chance to have one before I left.. it'll help with the soreness."

He's slinging his arm around your neck before you can even fully agree. Tightening his grip a little just to see you panic and react. Putting more weight on you than he needs, wanting to force you closer to him. You're having to wrap an arm around his waist. Your touch feels like a brand on his skin, it's addicting.

Stumbling together towards the shower, you're resting him up against the shower wall. He can't let you go that easy. Can't just let you leave now. You'll have too much time to think. Too much time to startle.

"Angel.. I'm feeling dizzy, can you.. can you stay in here? The shower's massive.. can you come sit in here? You won't get wet. If you don't, I might fall..."

He can see how hesitant you are, but the threat of him injuring himself is enough for you to be fighting against your embarrassment. He knows you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if he was hurt. He'll even stumble a little bit against the wall, holding his head like he's in distress.

You look like a little bunny, the way you slowly walk over, sitting as far away from him as you can get in the shower. How small you look on the floor.. the way you can barely look at him.

"Can you.. can you help me strip? Hurts too much when I try and pull my pants off..?"

The way you squeak in panic is intoxicating. The way your hand shakes as you reach out, terrified that you'll accidentally expose him. The way your cheeks puff out in concentration.

"Don't worry.. I'll keep my boxers on. Wouldn't want to traumatize my best friend now would I?"

Resting against the shower wall, hair covering his face as he watches you. Observes. You're trying so hard to not look at his dick. Have you even seen one before? Ever been like this with someone? Is he the first to share this with you? He's getting hard just thinking about it.

Turning on the water to try and calm himself down, hoping he can calm down what's surely a clear tent in his boxers. Even the sound of the water makes you startle, you're so on edge.

"Angel... can you.. can you come closer? The wall isn't enough.. I'm gonna fall."

You're slowly creeping towards him like he's a predator. Every inch you move makes it harder for you to avoid looking at him. Harder for you to ignore his cock. The way you're flushing only confirms his theories. The feel of you against his legs, the way you rest against them.. head filling with dangerous thoughts as you look at up at him, all wide eyed.

Would you look up at him like that if he just.. forced you to suck him off? If he just.. locked the bathroom door and caged you in. Told you that it'd make him feel better. Would you cry if he slapped your face with his cock? Would you even be able to look at him? Would you choke? Fuck.. you'd look so cute.

"Here.. you're getting wet. Why don't you sit more between my legs? Can't have you getting sick while you're being such a good friend, taking care of me."

He's forcing you in with his hand, feeling your head rest against his thigh. Struggling to hold back a laugh at how his cock is basically resting on your head at this point. He can't see your face now but he bets it's priceless. You aren't even trying to squirm away. Too afraid that he'll fall.. thinking he's not doing it on purpose.

He'll let you calm down for now.. as much as you can. Taking his time washing his hair, enjoying the feel of you. Washing his body in your usual scent, making sure that you're directly under the suds that wash off. He needs you soaked for later..

"Close your eyes f'me a sec? Need to wash under my boxers.."

He's reaching past his waistband before your eyes are even fully closed, half resting his hand against your head as he grips himself tightly.

Slowly dragging his hand up and down his cock, feeling his hand drag against your head at the same time. Slow enough to not raise too many flags in your innocent little mind. You're too nervous to open your eyes, to question why he's taking so long. Scared to ask what the occasional noise is..

What if he.. with how innocent you are.. could he pretend that it's shower gel? Could he..?

He's lowering his boxers to give him more room before he can fully think it through. It'll be fine. You won't open your eyes. He's basically fucking his fist now. His head throbbing. Pre-cum drenching his hand. Fuck. Even that's falling on your hair.. look so pretty already. Mixing with the water falling on you, watching it follow the curves of your body.. he can't hold back.

He's cumming in his fist, watching it drip through his fingers, watching it land on you. His. His fucking girl. His girl being soaked by him. You don't even make a noise. You're clearly his. Fuck, what'd he give you fully cum on your face. To make you watch. To fuck it into your mouth with his fingers.. baby steps.

Tipping his head back against the cold shower walls, needing the chill to help keep his head straight. You're so pure. Friends.. he can't help the smirk that forms on his face. You really think friends do this.. so adorable.

He's dragging his boxers back up, needing to look at your face again. Needing to see if there's any cum on your face. Needing to try something new with you.

"Angel.. you can open your eyes now. I feel a little better, just needed the hot water to relax."

The way you're looking up at him almost sets him off again. Most of it's washed off.. but there's enough still on your body to make him feel feral. Dragging his tongue across his lip as he watches it wash off into the drain.

"You got a little dirty... can I.. wash you off? I don't want your skin getting dry from the suds."

The cum's made him more impatient, forcing you up from your knees. His half-lidded gaze returning, fully focus on you, grabbing your chin to make you look at him.

"Such a good friend to me.."

Grabbing your leg, forcing it up against his non-injured side, making you squeak as you wrap your hands around his waist, trying to keep your balance. Edging his hands up your thigh.. resting his fingers where your thighs end.. rubbing against the lace trim of your underwear.

"Shhh, shhh, I'm just.. cleaning you up. You've got suds here. Stay very, very still."

Sliding his fingers past the line, stretching them out, an inch away from touching your cute pussy.. slowly stroking. Hovering his finger over your hole, pushing in slightly before withdrawing, snapping your underwear back in place. Giving your ass the littlest slap.

"There's my good girl.. all cleaned up. So lucky to have a friend like you.."

[i-am-countess-olivia]

This isn't some novel thought, but for me Fitzier begins in ep2, when Silna's father is brought onto Erebus

(a long-ish, GIF-heavy scene breakdown follows)

I won't cover the violations of Silna's beliefs, feelings and bodily autonomy which happen in these moments - they are of course terrible and very important. Instead, I want to focus on how the scene kicks off a new dynamic between Francis and James, how it lays a foundation for their subsequent closeness and how it changes our view of who James might be as a person.

Let’s begin.

Sir John and James arrive in the sick bay to join Stanley and Goodsir. Stanley says: "nope, not touching this one". Goodsir asks for leave to save the shaman's life. Franklin, already looking deeply disturbed by what's happening, hesitantly agrees.

Francis arrives. The operating table divides him from Franklin, Stanley and James — he is literally not on their side. All three men glare up at him as one: How is this maudlin MF going to make this horrible situation worse for us?

But while the three of them just stand there, Francis puts himself in charge. With a bit of help from McDonald, he takes hold of a distraught Silna and tries to explain what is happening, who they are, that they're not trying to do harm. It is in this moment that James becomes the only one on the opposite side of the table to step forward (to help Francis control the situation or at least to do something). He looks compelled to action but cannot act.

Okay... so here we see that maybe this guy isn't just Franklin's poodle (we saw a bit of that earlier in the episode - more on that later).

Meanwhile Franklin, as soon as Francis takes control, BUGGERS OFF. Of course this can be justified by him already having given his orders and no longer needing to be involved, but we know that a) he sneaks off when the situation is clearly fraught and Francis is clearly better suited to handle it, knowing Inuktitut among other things and b) he actually ends up hiding out in his cabin, freaking out while listening to the howls of the dying man. This is too strange, too awful for him. Not to mention: oh god, I'm stuck in the ice, I've just lost a lieutenant, I keep losing men, what are they going to think of me?

While Sir John is off having a lil meltdown.... James' eyes are firmly on Francis.

We don't even see him acknowledge his captain's departure.

But why is James there? The obvious answer is: to report back to Sir John, to make sure things don't get weird and that Francis doesn't do anything stupid on THEIR ship. After all, let's remember the last scene before this one where James is focused on Francis:

Here he was describing Francis as if he's got him pegged: he's a disappointed man, Sir John, he was no one's first choice etc etc.

I know what he is. Do you now, James?

(interesting framing the above scene, btw - James standing, active, Sir John focused on his creature comfort, the pipe, and questioning himself. James speaking in firm tones to his commander: "I will not allow..." — James is literally being reframed as a leader.)

Anyway, back to where we were.

While Goodsir sets about trying to remove the shot, we get a little glimpse of James: he looks frozen, uneasy, swaying in to stare at the wound (Oh Tobias, the actor that you are). Can we say flashbacks to the Chinese sniper? This must be seriously triggering for him. Something is shifting.

(Another aside: James is standing next to Stanley, the man who dug out the shot when he was hit by the sniper. That same man is now refusing to help. Hm.)

Next, Goodsir says: I can't save this man. Here something important happens: James and Francis share a look.

This is Francis, for the first time, acknowledging not just James still being in the bay at all — but that the two of them are in this moment together! Francis' eyes saying to James: I'm about to tell this woman her father is going to die and James acknowledging in return how awful that is. He presses his mouth, drops his eyes.

The little flash of connection doesn't last. When Silna starts to plead with her dying father, James once again reaches out across the table to Francis: what is she saying? But it's maybe too pushy, too "I need to be told what's going on" so Francis ignores him and it's McDonald who answers.

Next, Silna launches herself at her dying father. Here, once again, James tries to take an active role, to "help" by following Francis' cues on what to do.

James has been watching, learning, asking questions and now looks desperate to be part of the solution to this awful situation: to be in this with Francis. Look how similar their gestures are, how James looks to Francis for direction.

---

STOP - DOOM HAMMER TIME

The VERY first scene in which Francis and James become partners, take action together to keep something from happening, they effectively set in motion one of the biggest causes of their doom: Silna's father doesn't die as he should, Tuunbaq is not bound to anyone. Oh man. That's a whole other essay.

---

(Back to the scene....)

While they're wrestling with Silna, James, clearly emotional and upset by what is taking place, reaches out again, perhaps this time more sincerely: Look at me, Francis, I'm trying to help, at least tell me what's happening? This time Francis acknowledges him — actually SPEAKS to him for the first time.

In response, James looks particularly vulnerable and distraught.

Silna's father dies. We see how different James' reaction is to Francis'. Poor James. Maybe he wants a little bit more from Francis in that moment, one more shared look. Francis doesn't give it to him.

Aaaaaand here we are, it's almost over. Franklin swans in, the really bad, bloody stuff having already been dealt with. He re-asserts his command by giving an order to James to escort Silna off the ship. James… doesn't exactly spring into action. In fact, he doesn't even acknowledge the order verbally, unlike Stanley. What's going on in his head? What does he think about Francis in that moment?

Anyway, let's wrap up.

So much of this scene is about the shift in James’ perception of Francis. He suddenly sees a man who is hands-on, who can take charge, who doesn't walk away from a terrible and unusual situation, even when it's clear there's no good outcome. And of course he knows Sir John skipped off at first opportunity.

Francis, meanwhile, only briefly appears to acknowledge James —but only as far as we can see. Francis of course knows that James was there, that he stayed behind, that he tried to help, that he tried to understand.

This knowledge and this changed dynamic become apparent immediately, in the very next scene.

LOOK HOW THEY ARE FRAMED!!!

Sir John is already receding into the background. James and Francis sit — still opposite sides of a table but in essentially the same pose. They are partners, mirrors, leaning into each other. The few glances here, small as they are, are NOT at Sir John, but between James and Francis.

Anyway, here you go, that's me done. I fucking love this show.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Jason Todd x gn mean!reader

I love you mean!reader take jason by the balls like he deserves

(Short, fluff, established relationship)

Swearing, no use of y/n

———

“Shit.” The knife slips off the onion yet again and Jason feels like driving it into the countertop. Instead, he takes another go at the onion and almost nicks his finger.

He throws the knife onto the cutting board with a clatter. This is so fucking stupid. Jason is exhausted and starving and at his wit’s end. All he wants is to make himself some pasta, why can’t he cut this goddamn onion?

It isn’t helping that he came home pissed to begin with. The night was a complete waste of his time. He’s spent weeks sniffing around for one of Bane’s weapons shipments and finally tracked it down to a warehouse on the south side. Jason had got himself all gussied up to go in guns blazing, but he kicked in the door of an empty warehouse. They had already cleared the fuck out, they were one step ahead of him. It was so goddamn embarrassing, all he could do was shuffle home in the rain and try not to picture how Bane was probably laughing at him.

And now even this onion is getting the best of him. Can’t Jason have anything?

He perks up as he hears the clank of your key in the lock. You’re home, thank god. He abandons the onion and goes to meet you at the door.

“Hey, babe.” Your cheeks are pink from the cold. Jason ignores your words and pulls you into his arms, jamming his face into your neck. Your hand comes up to card through his hair. “Huh. Rough night?”

He grunts, and you huff out a laugh. “Aw, poor baby.”

“It was so fucking stupid,” he mutters. “How was your work dinner?”

“Fine. Nothing to report. Drinks went on forever.” You slide your fingers under his shirt and pinch at his waist. “You eat yet?”

“Hm.” He bites lightly at your neck. You tug sharply at his hair. “C’mon, Jay, you have to eat.” You gently shove him aside so you can slip out of your coat and slip off your shoes.

“‘M trying to,” he sulks.

You raise your eyebrows. “Well, what does that mean?”

He sighs, gesturing toward the kitchen, and you go investigate. “Couldn’t cut the fucking onion,” he grumbles. It’s so annoying; normally he’s not a complete idiot in the kitchen, but tonight his skills are failing him.

“Ah,” you say as you approach the cutting board. “Well, unfortunately, you’ve done it wrong.” You take his place at the countertop. Grabbing the knife, you hold it to the onion but then stop, turning to squint at him. “You want me to do it?”

Jason looks at you blankly. You nod. “You want me to show you how to do it or just do it?”

He smiles ruefully. “Good.” You start slicing. “Didn’t want to teach you anything, anyway.”

Jason sighs contentedly, putting his arms around your waist and leaning into your back. Your work steadily for a few minutes, before nudging him with your shoulder. “What were you going to put in the sauce?”

“Garlic,” Jason shrugs. “Onion.”

“Hm. It would be better with cherry tomatoes. And white wine.”

“Mm.”

“Go get the tomatoes. And the wine from the fridge,” you order. Jason blows meaningfully at your neck. “Please,” you add.

Jason knocks his head lightly against yours, then goes to get the requested ingredients. Soon, you’re frying up the onions, garlic, and tomatoes, pouring in some white wine, and setting some water to boil. Jason half-heartedly offers to help, but you take one look at him and wave him off. Fifteen minutes later you’re handing him a fork and sliding a bowl of pasta his way.

He digs in hastily. “Thanks, babe.”

You smile in satisfaction, stealing his fork to take a bite. “Hm. Pretty good.”

Jason wolfs it down before getting up for seconds. He grins at you, and you smile softly back. “Fuckin’ delicious.”

“Damn right. I’m gonna shower.” You move toward the bedroom, pulling your shirt over head. Jason gets momentarily distracted by your bare skin.

“Tsk.” He glances at your face, you’re smirking at him. “Eyes up here, big guy.”

“Can’t blame me for lookin’, sweetheart.” Jason smiles cockily at you, and you roll your eyes.

“Finish your dinner.” You turn back to the bathroom.

He picks up his fork. “I’m cleaning up,” he offers.

“You bet you are.” Jason grins cheekily, and you disappear into the bathroom.

———

He needs to be bullied.

[mintfullyyours]

I don't know where this falls in the time line of ex-husband!simon but he's been brewing in my mind and I love him so much. You can read the first part here: patching up exhusband!simon and as always thank you for reading!!

& lmk what you guys think about ex-husband!simon.

thinking about the night of your first date out while "single." You sigh, putting the car in park and resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Jeff. That was his name, right? He wasn’t a bad guy—asked the right questions, paid for dinner, had a steady job that kept him local. A fine first date. Predictable. Safe.

Then why did it feel so… empty?

Rubbing your temples, you tell yourself this is for the best. Stability. Normalcy. That’s what you need. What you deserve, too. Maybe, in time, you’d even believe it. Sliding your key into the door, you frown. It doesn’t click. A chill slithers down your spine as you push it open, your stomach knotting at the sight of the dim light bleeding into the hallway from your bedroom.

You already know who’s inside.

Your breath hitches as you swing the door open, and there he is—Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward. The faint gleam of metal catches your eye. Your engagement ring. It rolls fluidly between his fingers, like a an awful habit he never broke.

His gaze lifts, pinning you in place.

"Took it off, did ya?" His voice is eerily calm, but there’s something coiled beneath it, something ready to snap. "Wonder if he knows you still wear my name."

Your stomach tightens. You take a good look at him—really look at him—and the past five months apart have not been kind. His beard is thicker, his jaw sharper, his frame even larger than you remember. Like he’s been drowning in something darker than loneliness.

"Simon, I’m not in the mood. You can't be in here, shouldn't be in here." Your voice is firm, though your chest heaves with the effort to keep it that way. "Just because you refuse to sign the papers doesn’t mean we’re still together."

A slow, humorless chuckle rumbles from his chest. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lets the ring settle in his palm before closing his fingers around it.

"That’s where you’re wrong, love."

He stands, and in an instant, he’s in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. His scent—familiar, overwhelming—wraps around you like a pretty string tied in a bow.

His hand trails up your arm, slow, deliberate, until his fingers ghost over your pulse. His eyes drop to your lips, then flick back up, dark and unreadable. The silence was deafening. It was as if he knew the power he still had over you, or at least your body. Simon wedges his muscular thigh between your legs, and your hips buck ever so slightly.

You whimper and he smirks, knowing your body would never betray his.

"You think a piece of paper makes you any less mine?" His grip tightens, not enough to hurt—but enough to remind you just how easy it would be.

"Any less of a Riley?"

You swallow hard. He leans in, lips a breath away from your ear.

"Tell me, dove— and he honest, because you know I hate liars, did he make you feel anything at all?"

tag list

@ebodebo @meheheasasa @thegirlintheshadows101

[boybandbaby]

A Love Like This (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 2149

warnings/tags: scary Halloween decorations (monsters), motherly insecurities, sick child, as always if I missed anything please let me know

note: part of my single mom reader universes which can be found here

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

5 times your daughter prefers Buck, 1 time she prefers you

1️⃣

It was a nice summer day, good for a picnic at the park. Buck had the day off and promised to spend some time with you both this weekend as he’d been so busy all week.

You packed a large blanket and a cooler of sandwiches, snacks and drinks for a few hours at the park. Buck had even brought some slices of cake he had made.

Evie helped you set up the blanket on a fluffy patch of grass while Buck carried all the other items.

“Do you want to play for a little bit then come and eat?” You asked, sitting down and kicking your shoes off.

“Yes! I’m not hungry yet.” She claps her hands.

“Alright, put on some sunscreen and you can go.” You beckon her forward. She groans, hating the feeling of the sticky lotion on her skin.

“Come on kid, sunscreen isn’t so bad.” Buck laughs, handing you a water from the cooler. “Make sure you stay close by, we’ve got to see you at all times.” Buck reminds her as you slather lotion on her face and arms.

“Do you want to go on the swings?” You ask, rubbing her arms. “I can come push you for a bit.”

“I want Buck to do it.” She demands, not unkindly.

“Hey! Why not me?” You pout.

“Buck has bigger arms and he’s stronger so he can push me higher and faster.”

“That’s probably true.” He shrugs.

“So mean you two.”

“Awe, don’t get jealous.” Buck teases, leaning down to peck your forehead. “Can’t help that I’m the favorite.” He shoots before picking Evie up and running off.

They’re both laughing as they run to the swings.

2️⃣

Buck had been lucky enough to get Halloween off this year. Most of the 118 decided to spend the night together and take the kids trick or treating. For most of the night Evie stayed by Jee and Mara’s side but when a particular house with some scary decorations came up, she refused to go up.

A soundtrack of eerie sounds, a fog machine, and all types of mannequins replicating movie monsters littered the yard.

“Babe, they’re just decorations. It’s okay to be scared but I promise nothing bad will happen.” You rub her back.

“Why don’t you walk between me and Chris?” Denny offers.

She shakes her head quickly and clings to your leg. “Do you want to skip this house?”

“I want to go with Buck.” She grabs his hand, leaving no room for argument.

Buck grins and holds her little hand in his. She stays behind his leg as she shuffles up to the door. Buck can see the bowl of candy on the floor in front of the monster on the rocking chair.

“Okay, keep your eyes closed and I’ll guide your hand to the bowl.” Buck kneels down and guides her hand into the bowl. Her other hand holds her bucket. She grabs a mini candy bar and throws it in her bucket. She finds Buck’s hand again as she pulls him in a jog back to you.

Buck lets out a dramatic breath, “That was so scary, he almost got us.”

“Did he really?” You raise a brow, laughing at him.

“No, Buck scared him away!” Evie looks through her candy bowl.

“With that face, I bet he did.” Eddie jokes causing Chris to laugh loudly and Buck to nudge his shoulder.

3️⃣

“Can we read a book tonight?” Evie slips off the couch and slips her feet into her slippers.

“Okay, go brush your teeth and pick out a book, I’ll be there in a minute okay?” You begin to fold the blanket as you stand.

Buck takes two corners and brings them together. You bring your side to meet his, receiving a cold, chocolatey kiss from him as he grabs the blanket and finishes folding by himself. He tosses the blanket onto the back of the couch.

You collect the bowls and spoons from the coffee table and began heading to the kitchen. Just as you’re washing the residue from your sundaes, you hear Evie’s feet pattering back into the living room.

“I got my book!”

“Alright babe, I’m almost done!” You shout back.

“Can Buck read to me instead?” You peek your head from around the kitchen wall.

“But I always read to you.” You don’t conceal your hurt this time.

“I know mommy but I like when Buck makes his funny faces and voices.” She hugs the book to her chest.

“Oh, okay. Go ahead then. I’ll be there later to kiss you goodnight.” You duck back into the kitchen to dry the dishes. You hear Buck telling Evie to go get settled and he would be there soon.

You then hear and feel him creeping into the kitchen behind you. His arms wrap around your waist and he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Baby…”

“It’s fine, Buck.” You lean your head against his. “Go read, I’ll get our bed ready.”

“You know she loves you and only wants me because she doesn’t get to see me all the time.” He ignores your previous comment and kisses your neck.

“You’re stealing all my mom duties!” You pout. “It’s not funny! You wormed your way into her little heart and she’s forgotten all about me.”

Through giggles he says, “That’s not true. You’re literally her entire world she just likes having me around. And I mean I’m really funny when I read to her.”

“Funny looking, yes.” You agree.

“Hey! Don’t be a jerk. Would you rather her absolutely hate me?” He pokes your sides.

“I guess not.” You sigh, “you better get in there before she comes back out and asks why you’re taking so long.”

“I know, she gets bossy like her mom.” He sticks his tongue out, the tip pressing to your cheek.

“You’re disgusting and I’m not bossy. Now go.” You push his stomach and swat his butt with the hand towel.

4️⃣

You’re spreading the Nutella onto the piece of bread when Evie comes out of the bathroom. She is already changed into some comfy sweats as she climbs into the seat.

“What worksheets do you have today?” You slide over her toast and cut up strawberries and bananas. “I have to do a math sheet and some reading.”

“Okay, which one are we doing first?” You sit beside her, stealing a piece of her fruit.

“Can Buck help me with my math?”

“He’s at work babe.”

“Can we call him?”

“We can try but he’s usually really busy. Don’t be upset if he can’t talk okay?”

She nods.

You: hey, are you super busy right now? Evie would like your help with her math homework 🥹

Buck: give me 5 minutes and I’ll give you a call

Buck: also hi gorgeous, I miss you ❤️

You: miss you too, can’t wait to see your cute face even if it’s through a screen 🥰

Buck gives you a FaceTime call a few minutes later. You scoot closer to Evie and prop your phone up so they can see each other.

“Hey kid! How was school?”

“Buck!” She says through a mouthful. “I made a new friend today.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.” He grunts as he slumps into a chair.

“Mommy says you’re busy.”

He chuckles and nods, “okay, what’s the first question?”

She reads off the question and you can see him leaning forward to grab a pen on the table then a napkin.

Buck watches as she holds up her fingers and counts. She reminds him to hold his fingers up too.

“You’re super smart, Buck.” She mentions as she finishes the last few questions.

“Takes practice.” He shrugs.

“Or getting struck by lightening.” You raise a brow.

“What do you mean mommy?”

“Nothing, she’s just making a joke.” Buck gives you a look. Buck had mentioned getting stuck under the fire engine once while giving you two a tour and Evie refused to go near the engine. It took Bobby carrying her and letting her wear his captain helmet for her to finally sit inside the truck.

You hear the chimes and bells signaling Buck has to go for a call. “Be safe, we love you!”

“I will, I’ll call you before bed okay? I love you.” You can see him rushing downstairs and grabbing his gear with one hand.

“Thank you, Buck!” Evie shouts before the call hangs up.

5️⃣

“How’s my girl?” Buck says through the screen.

“She’s sleeping now but still has a fever and tummy ache.” You run your fingers through her hair as she rests her head on your thigh.

“Did you tell her that I’m coming over later?”

“Of course.” You roll your eyes, “she’s refusing to eat the canned noodle soup.”

“I can’t help that she likes my cooking.” He laughs.

“You got everything you know from Bobby.” You bite.

“Yeah whatever, she still likes my cooking better no matter where I learned it from.” You can see him pulling items from the shelves as he swerves through the grocery store.

“You don’t make me soup when I’m sick.”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair. You’ve been sick once since we’ve been together and you wouldn’t let me come see you.” He shakes his head.

“Is that Buck?” You hear from below you.

“Yeah baby, he’s at the store.” You feel her forehead.

“Evie!” Buck cheers through the phone. “I’m coming over to make my magic soup.”

“Can you hurry?” She whispers. “My tummy hurts.”

“I’ll be there soon, try to sleep some more okay?”

She nods and rests her head back down.

By the time she wakes up again, Buck is carrying her to the table.

“Buck? When did you get here?”

“A few hours ago, can you sit?” He kisses her forehead before setting her in the chair.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” She rubs her droopy eyes.

“Because you looked so cute sleeping.” You smile, setting her bowl in front of her. “It’s hot so don’t eat it just yet.”

“Do we have crackers?”

“Yup, made sure to get you the little ones you like.” Buck sits beside her, feeling her forehead.

“Can I have some water?” She shivers, scooting closer to Buck for warmth.

“Of course babe, how are you feeling?” You rush to the cabinet to pull out a cup.

“My tummy still hurts.” She curls in on herself. “And I’m hungry.”

Buck gives her a few crackers and spoons some soup onto the plastic Bluey spoon. He blows twice before bringing it to her lips.

“Good?” He searches her face.

“I feel better already.” She smiles, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Told you the magic soup always works.” He gives you a wink.

*️⃣1️⃣

“Where’s mommy?” Evie asks, skipping into the bedroom. Buck sits on the bed scrolling through the tv.

“She’s in the shower. What’s up?” Buck pats the bed. She walks over to the side he’s on and lifts her arms. He leans over to pick her up.

“Just want a hug.” He sits her in the middle of the bed, pulling the blanket over her lap.

“I’ll give you a hug.” He opens his arm.

“I want a hug from mommy. She has the best cuddles.”

“I can attest to that.” Buck smiles over at her. “I’m sure she’ll be out soon. Want to watch something with me?”

“Okay.” She nods and lays back against the pillows. Buck watches as she looks to the bathroom door several times.

“You okay?” He pats her knee.

“Yeah, mommy is taking a long time.”

“She’s just having some mommy time before bed.” He assures. “You sure you don’t want to snuggle with me? I can keep you warm until mom gets out.”

“No, that’s okay.” She sighs before resting her head back onto the pillow.

She lifts her head a few minutes later when the bathroom door opens and steam drifts out.

“Hey girly, what are you doing up?” You smile, adjusting your towel around your body.

“I want cuddles.” She pleads.

“Is that so?” You smirk at Buck as you trail over to the bed. “Guess, I’m good for something.”

Evie bolts up onto her knees and wraps her arms around your shoulders, climbing into your lap.

“I’m still a little wet on my shoulders, you might get cold.” You wrap your arms around her waist.

“Don’t care, just want a hug.” You smiles into your neck.

“Okay, whatever you say.” You kiss her cheek. “Feeling lonely over there Mr. Buckley?”

“Yes.” He immediately says.

“Come join our mommy cuddles!” Evie exclaims. Buck doesn’t hesitate to scooch up against your back and hug the both of you.

“Best cuddles ever.” He whispers into your ear.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[hanalyrata]

[Full ver. on AO3 - NSFW / MDNI] - Ficlet also under cut

Ifrit was pacing.

It had been little more than ten minutes, but it felt more like hours. A frustrated, restless circuit in the common room, irritation radiating off him in waves. His body was burning from the inside out, skin too hot, far too sensitive, and nothing he did was enough to ease the ache.

And Alpha was watching him.

Sprawled on the low couch, legs spread like he had all the time in the world, the elder fire ghoul was infuriatingly relaxed, one arm slung over the backrest, the other drumming clawed fingers against his knee. His sharp, dark eyes tracked every movement, every twitch of Ifrit’s fingers, every shift of his weight.

The amusement in them made Ifrit bristle.

"Something wrong, pup?" Alpha drawled, voice low and smug. His tail flicked lazily, the rings threaded through it glinting in the dim firelight, "You're making me tired just looking at you."

He knew what was bothering him, he could smell it, the mingled scent of dying embers and phosphoric touch of spent matches. But he couldn't help but tease.

Ifrit stilled—his whole body vibrating with need. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, jaw locked tight as he looked back at the other,

"Alpha," he ground out, his voice raw, strained, and Alpha merely arched a brow,

"What?"

Ifrit snarled—the sound rough, unsteady. Embarrassed. His heat-addled brain felt scrambled, making it impossible to think straight, impossible to do anything except feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the frustration that had been building for hours, days even.

And Alpha was fucking smirking.

Ifrit couldn't take it anymore.

With a frustrated growl, he stalked toward him, grabbed Alpha’s wrist, pulling him up from the couch and pressed his body flush against his.

Alpha let out a soft chuckle, his grin widening as he looked down at him, entirely unbothered by the smaller ghoul pressing his face into his neck, "Ahh, there it is," he rumbled, his tail curling around Ifrit’s thigh, the heat of his own body soothing against his burning skin.

Ifrit shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut, "Don't start," he muttered, his voice shaking, "Just—just do something."

Alpha hummed, thoughtful, his claws trailing slow, deliberate circles over Ifrit’s hips, gripping just tight enough to make Ifrit’s breath catch.

"You sound awfully desperate," he mused, tilting his head, his sharp teeth flashing in a grin, "Begging already, pup?"

Ifrit growled—but it faded into a whine at the end. He hated it, hated how easy it was for Alpha to turn him inside out. His hands curled into the fabric of Alpha’s pants, his nails digging into the course fabric as he exhaled shakily, pulling at them.

"Alpha."

The elder fire ghoul exhaled through his nose, his smirk shifting into something darker, hungrier. He slid his claws slowly up Ifrit’s back, dragging against the overheated skin, watching with sharp amusement as Ifrit twitched at the sensation.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, pressing his mouth to the underside of Ifrit’s jaw, his fangs just barely grazing his skin, "I'll take care of you, little ember."

Ifrit—desperate, aching, burning—all but melted into him as clothes were discarded, leaving them both bare.

Alpha chuckled, the deep rumble of it vibrating against Ifrit’s chest, making him shudder. He could feel the way Ifrit tried to hold himself back, how his body tensed even as he pushed his body tighter against him.

"Aw, pup," Alpha murmured, his lips curling against Ifrit’s temple, pressing a soft kiss there as he seemed to try to hide his face more, "Don’t tell me you’re shy now."

Ifrit buried his face deeper against the crook of Alpha's neck, trying to hide the heat spreading across his face, his breath coming in short, uneven puffs against the elder’s skin.

But there was nowhere to hide.

Not when Alpha was holding him like this, one strong, clawed hand wrapping around both of them, the easy press of his palm sending white-hot friction sparking up Ifrit’s spine.

And the piercings—fuck, the cool brush of metal against his fevered skin had him trembling, his breath hitching sharply as Alpha squeezed just a little tighter.

Ifrit jerked, gripping onto Alpha’s shoulders, his fingertips digging in, "F-fuck," he hissed, biting down against the skin of Alpha’s neck to stifle the noises threatening to slip free.

Alpha grinned, exhaling heavily, his fingers tightening in rhythm with the quick, desperate roll of Ifrit’s hips, "That’s it," his voice was thick with heat now, punctuated by the wet slide between them as he dragged his claws against them both, "That’s my good boy."

Ifrit made a broken noise against his throat, his whole body shaking in Alpha’s hold. He hated how much that did to him. Hated how much he liked it.

And Alpha knew.

Alpha always knew.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hii do u have any headcannons for reader being Baji's little sister and Mikey having a huge crush on her, but Baji is like suuuper protective of her and refuses anyone from the gang to date her because him being her brother is already dangerous as is, I hope this ask isn't too complicated 😅

Ok I set this in the good timeline and there's also two endings. We have the sfw ending which is with all the other hc's and we have the nsfw ending which is clearly labelled at the end. You guys can choose which ending you want to read (the bullet point with the star is where you should switch if you only want the nsfw ending).

Baji is very very vocal about the rules around his little sister, makes it very clear to all the guys that you're off limits and "too good for all of them anyway".

Unfortunately for Baji though, he's keeping an eye on the wrong ex gang members. He eyes the way Hakkai blushes to you, chases Kazutora and Hanma for saying they plan on dating you (they're actually just teasing Baji), raises his eyebrow at how friendly Chifuyu is with you and yells at the Haitani's for trying their pick up lines on you. The point is Baji is so distracted by the others that he never sees Mikey coming until it's too late. 

Mikey starts off simple, just getting you alone one day and asking you what you really thought about your brother's "rules". And as he watches you giggle and call Baji caring but too overprotective, he thinks he falls even more in love. 

And so operation "make y/n fall in love with Mikey" begins. Of course Mikey assembles a mini team for this. Including Draken (he think this is an awful idea and Baji will kill them all), Emma (she thinks the two of you will be cute together), Takemichi (he is very scared of the consequences of doing this), Sanzu (anything for Mikey) and Kisaki (has no idea why he's here and thinks this is a waste of time). Of course these meetings don't do much but Mikey does get some advice.

You start getting mini anonymous presents daily, always pretty or thoughtful things, the card is always just signed with a heart. (Baji is very concerned when he finds out).

Mikey also comes up with elaborate plans to get you alone so the two of you can hang out and get to know each other more. These mostly involve distracting Baji in some way, either by telling someone to hang out with him or by telling him a cat needs his help a few miles away. Baji falls for it everytime, rushing off and leaving you alone. 

He's very touchy with you whenever the two of you are together. He'll happily hold your hand, hug you and lean his head on your shoulder if he gets tired.

Also loves to take you for rides on his bike, Baji barely ever let's you ride with him because of the risk so Mikey figures it's up to him to show you how much fun it is (the feeling of you clinging to him is great too). 

Mikey really likes hanging out with you and get's a little sad whenever it ends but he can't risk Baji seeing this, not yet.

He takes you to the sea often too, sharing a taiyaki with you and talking about anything that comes to mind. It's here that he finally confesses to you and here where the two of you share your first kiss after you confess back to him too. 

You two become experts at secret dates and secret looks at each other. 

Even in front of Baji the two of you find ways to flirt and be affectionate with each other. Mikey whispering you a compliment as he walks past you. You telling Mikey he dropped something but when he picks up the paper it's just a note from you telling him how much you miss him during these big gatherings. Baji never even suspects anything at all.

It is a little difficult hiding your relationship at times but the two of you feel like you could do this forever but of course nothing can last forever.

☆It was a pretty big day for the two of you, Baji had gone on an out of town trip, leaving you alone in your shared apartment. So of course you took the opportunity to invite Mikey over.

The two of you had just settled down to watch a movie, happily sharing a blanket and cuddling when Baji walked in. Turns out the trip had been cancelled but that's nothing compared to the chaos that was about to go down.

Baji stands there for a moment, staring in disbelief at his oldest friend and his baby sister together. You and Mikey stare back in shock, no one daring to move until Baji opens his mouth to start yelling or talking. You're not sure what he was about to say because before he could get even a word out Mikey launched a pillow at his face, giving himself a head start to start running.

Baji very quickly shot out of the apartment after Mikey all while yelling "MY SISTER!!!!" You watch them for a moment before sighing and calling Draken. Before then calling Ryoko, if anyone could talk sense into your brother it was definitely your mother. 

After Draken (and Mitsuya, who he brought along as backup) separated them and Baji got yelled at down the phone by Ryoko a truce was made. You and Mikey could date and Baji wouldn't kill him if you kept all of that relationship stuff away from him and out of sight. It was a lot better then either you or Mikey had expected (largely thanks to Ryoko) so you both happily agreed. Holding hands and walking off together to Mikey's apartment this time (all while Baji yelled about how holding hands counts as "relationship stuff"). 

Nsfw ending

It was a pretty big day for the two of you, Baji had gone on an out of town trip, leaving you alone in your shared apartment. So of course you took the opportunity to invite Mikey over.

Eager to see and feel each other, things got steamy very quickly. Mikey was just in the middle of thrusting into you, in and out, getting lost in the warm, velvety feeling of your walls. While you were letting small moans and whimpers slip as Mikey went deeper, hitting your spot and making you see stars everytime. Both of you were so close and lost in each other that neither of you heard the key in the door or the door swing open. You moaned as it finally became all too much and you came, the feeling pushing Mikey over the edge with a groan as he releases his thick load into you. Neither you get to enjoy it for long though as Baji announces his presence with a dangerous growl.

Mikey frantically tries to cover you before putting his clothes on in record time and racing out of the door with Baji quickly pursuing him. All while he yells "MY SISTER!???? AND ON MY SOFA!?????" 

Putting some clothes on and cleaning up the mess as quick as you can, you frantically run after them. Who knows what Baji will do to Mikey after seeing that, whatever it is you need to stop it.

You think you're getting close as you hear raised voices but suddenly your wrist is being grabbed and some strang man is holding you still.

"Hey I recognise you! You're Baji Keisuke's sister, yeah. That fucker beat me up years ago, made me lose my gang and my reputation, I've always wanted to make him pay..."

You only see the knife for a second before it's being kicked out of the guys hands and you're being pulled away. Baji holds you in his arms, both of you needing that comfort while Mikey knocks the guy out. They worked together to save you and without knowing it, Mikey proved he's more then capable of keeping you safe. 

He's still a little reluctant but Baji gives you his blessing, after muttering about needing to bleach his eyes out. 

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US - 07

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: +4.6k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

Jungkook stared at Jimin’s message for a while before locking his phone the moment he heard you move. He placed his phone on the nightstand and turned his attention to you, propping himself up on his elbow. You’re going to hate him. He just got you back, and he’s terrified you might slip through his fingers again. 

He knows what he did is wrong, that Hina is waiting for him. But he can’t help but wonder where you two could be or what you could become. Your story wasn’t over when you broke up with him, and now that he knows the reason, he wants you even more.

“What are you looking at?” you mumble, burying your face in the pillow. Jungkook chuckles softly.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, and you shake your head. “How do you feel?”

“Like a truck hit me,” you groan, your hand blindly patting the bed, searching for his touch. He smiles, knowing exactly what you're doing.

His fingers find yours as you pull both hands against your chest. He knows he has to learn all about you again, the woman you’ve become. Jungkook leans closer, brushing the messy strands of your bangs away from your forehead.

“What do you want to do?”

“Die,” you mumble, making him chuckle. “Sorry... about last night.”

Jungkook tilts his head curiously as you sigh and lift your eyes to meet his.

“When... I tried to ruin everything with sex,” you confess, swallowing hard. His eyes soften at your words.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Can we... just stay like this for an hour or two before going out?” you ask, clearly embarrassed, like a child requesting something timidly.

He closes the distance between your bodies, wrapping his free arm around you and kissing the top of your head.

“Anything you want, Nabi,” he murmurs against your hair as you relax.

His fingertips trace the curve of your spine softly while your hands find their way under his shirt to caress the skin of his back. It’s something you used to do when you were a couple, and Jungkook feels content. 

He doesn’t want to think about the mess he’s in, or about his fiancée. Right now, he just wants to stay with you—forever, if possible. He hopes you want the same.

“Are you still up for that date?” Jungkook asks, watching as you lift your head to meet his eyes.

“Pay me,” you joke, your face deadpan.

“How much?” he plays along, freezing when you close the distance and kiss him softly.

Jungkook cups your face, deepening the kiss just a little. He doesn’t want to go further; he just wants to feel you.

“Fuck, Nabi,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours, his eyes still closed. “I need an extra pillow now.”

“What?” you chuckle, confused, as he grabs a small pillow and places it between your bodies near his crotch. “You’re getting hard from a kiss?”

“I always get hard when it’s you,” he groans, embarrassed by his body’s lack of control.

Before you can tease him, he’s kissing you again, mostly to shut you up but also because he can’t resist. You let out a slight moan that makes his situation worse, but he pushes his dirty thoughts aside and focuses on enjoying the moment. His body has always reacted to you. He realized this when you sat on his lap at sixteen, and he had to hold his breath.

Jungkook spends the morning watching you walk around the hotel room—first to wash your face, then to grab your clothes. Even when you scold him for staring, he just grins. On your way to your father’s apartment, his hand reaches for yours while he drives. He needs to touch you, too scared that this might all be a dream.

Your father is the first to make fun of you when he sees you step inside, still wearing Jungkook’s clothes. Jungkook smirks as you head to your room to take a shower and get ready for your date. He sits next to your dad on the couch, extending his hand as your father groans and reluctantly hands over some cash.

“You should be ashamed, taking advantage of your in-law,” your father grumbles, and Jungkook smirks.

“You’re the one who loves to bet,” he says playfully.

“Sometimes I forget how competitive you are, kid,” the older man says, shaking his head in amusement.

“I always win,” Jungkook replies with a grin. “And this time’s no different,” he adds, glancing at the bathroom door.

Your father studies Jungkook's profile for a moment before sighing with a fond smile.

“Thank you,” he says unexpectedly.

“For what?” Jungkook asks, surprised, turning to face him.

“For loving her, even through the bad.”

Jungkook’s expression softens as he chuckles.

“Ah, Ahjussi, you’re getting sentimental,” Jungkook teases, nudging his shoulder playfully.

“Always when it’s about her,” your father replies, patting Jungkook’s arm affectionately. “But I’m serious. You know how much I love her. I’d never let any man get close if I wasn’t sure his intentions were good.”

“She’s twenty-seven,” Jungkook reminds him with a soft smile.

“She’ll always be four years old to me,” your dad retorts, and Jungkook nods, understanding.

Jungkook wonders if he’ll see his future daughter the way your father sees you: his little girl, no matter how old she gets. Or if he’ll even have a daughter one day.

“I know you’re a good guy. I’ve seen you two grow up together. If it were up to me, I’d have married her off to you a long time ago.”

“Argh, stop, I’m blushing,” Jungkook laughs, still watching your father. “Too bad fathers can’t decide that stuff anymore,” he jokes, and your dad smiles.

“Even if I could, she’d beat both our asses if we tried,” your father chuckles, and Jungkook agrees.

Jungkook knows your father was—and still is—your biggest supporter in your relationship. When Jungkook was younger, he thought his future girlfriend’s father would be an overprotective bear who would make his life difficult. But your dad was different. From the moment they met, your father treated Jungkook like his own son, teaching him how to fight, letting him stay at his apartment when he needed, and even after you two broke up, Jungkook would still visit your father whenever he was in town, always bringing a bottle of sake.

“I’m going to win her back,” Jungkook whispers as he hears the shower stop.

Your father’s lips stretch into a soft smile before he turns his attention back to the TV. It doesn’t take long before you appear, dressed warmly for the cold November weather. Jungkook can’t help but smile. He remembers how nervous you were on your first date, spending hours picking out the perfect outfit and styling your hair.

“I’m ready,” you say, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and shoving your hands in your pockets.

He loves how comfortable you’ve become, casually dressed for what feels like a second-first date. Jungkook stands up, waving at your father as he joins you.

“I’ll be back before eight,” you say. Your father nods and hums softly as you turn away, Jungkook placing a hand on the small of your back as he follows you out.

After stopping at a convenience store for snacks and a fast-food market, Jungkook parks the car in the familiar spot you used to visit together. He refuses to let you carry any of the bags, which frustrates you. When you reach the shore, you immediately kick off your shoes to feel the sand beneath your feet.

“I’ll spend the day with my parents tomorrow,” he announces as he sits down beside you.

“I told you,” you reply, opening the bag and pulling out your drink. “I knew your mom wouldn’t be happy that you’re in town but not with her.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know everything, don’t you?”

“Call me God,” you smirk, and he chuckles, pulling a blanket from the car and draping it over your shoulders.

“You should put your shoes back on, ‘God.’ You’ll lose a toe,” he teases, and you simply tuck your feet under yourself, sitting on your knees.

“How long are you staying at Jimin’s?” you ask, taking a bite of your burger.

“Maybe another month or two. I’m looking for a place. Why?” he says, tossing a fry in his mouth before opening a can of cola.

“Just asking,” you shrug, swallowing your bite as you look out at the shore. “If you get too annoyed with him, I have an extra room. For a few days, I mean.”

“We spent the night in the same bed,” Jungkook raises an eyebrow, amused.

“I was drunk.”

“Not when you kissed me this morning.”

“Shut up,” you groan, pulling your knees to your chest as you eat your burger in silence.

Jungkook presses his lips together, trying not to grin as he unwraps his own burger. He’s holding back his feelings. If he were alone, he’d probably be kicking his feet like a giddy teenager because right now, he finds you incredibly cute with your blushing cheeks. No other woman makes him feel like this.

“But... I’m serious. If you want to stay at mine... I know how Jimin can be overwhelming. So, if you need a place to breathe, you can come to me,” you mumble, looking away.

His smile softens as he nods.

“You know, you shouldn’t say things like that because I hear you loud and clear, and I’ll be at yours the second we get back to Seoul,” Jungkook teases, taking a sip of his drink.

“Maybe I want you to,” you nearly whisper, making his heart skip a beat as you shift your attention back to the beach. “The sunset in Busan is prettier,” you say, quickly changing the subject.

His eyes follow yours, staring out at the horizon before drifting back to you. He knows you can feel him watching you, but he doesn’t care.

“Do you really want to try again?”

The question lingers in the air, surprising him. Are you opening the door?

“Do you?” he asks, his fingers playing absently in the sand.

“I... I think you’re right. Our story wasn’t over when I broke up with you,” you say, taking a deep breath. “And I think we won’t be able to move on unless we see where... this could take us,” you add, gesturing between the two of you.

The way you say it makes him frown slightly. It’s almost as if you’re giving your relationship a second chance to prove that you weren’t meant to be together—to help you grieve properly.

“Do you really want to try again?” Jungkook asks softly, watching as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“I... want to,” you reply shyly before meeting his gaze.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” he replies gently before taking a deep breath. “Do you want this?”

His eyes never leave yours. He’s holding his breath, terrified of your answer.

“Yes,” you say with more conviction. “I hate when you make me say things out loud.”

“I’m a little dumb. I need to hear it clearly,” he jokes, pushing the food aside to scoot closer, stealing a corner of the blanket to wrap himself with you. “I want to try again. But only if you want that too.”

Jungkook gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“I don’t want to try again just to properly grieve the breakup. I want this because I know we’re meant to be.”

“Says who?” you ask with a playful smile.

“Me. You. We both know we’re meant to be together. Ever since I saw you hit that girl with your tray,” he teases, and you scoff, shaking your head.

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“That was hot.”

He watches as you move closer, your fingers brushing his cheek before you lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, so softly that he almost doesn’t feel it.

“Let’s try again,” you whisper, resting your forehead against his as you close your eyes. He can sense the vulnerability in your words. “Not to grieve. Not to stay stuck in the memories we made. I want to learn about the person you’ve become. And...”

Fall in love again. Jungkook knows what you’re about to say. But both of you leave the words unspoken. You need to rediscover who you are now and learn to love the new versions of yourselves.

“I want that too,” Jungkook murmurs before pulling back, smiling at you. “Alright. Once we’re back in Seoul, I’m taking you on a fancy date and wooing you properly.”

You chuckle softly at his words, watching as he gets up while you wrap the blanket around yourself like a cocoon.

“Aren’t we already on a date?” you ask, pushing your hair away as the wind whips it back across your face.

Jungkook takes off his cap and places it on your head to keep your hair out of your face. He remembers how you always forgot to bring a hair tie. Back then, your hair was long enough to twist into a bun without one.

“Of course, it’s a date. I plan on driving you home and stealing a kiss after complimenting you all afternoon,” he grins as you stand up, wrapping yourself tightly in the blanket.

“Please don’t,” you laugh, shaking your head, and he shrugs, making no promises.

Jungkook pulls his mother into a warm hug with one arm, his other hand carrying his travel bag. He had spent the day with his family, and since he was leaving today, his mother had prepared way too much food for everyone, even for his brother and sister-in-law.

“Don’t forget this,” she says, handing him plastic bags full of packed lunches for him and Jimin. “And tell Jimin to visit us next time.”

“Yes, mom,” Jungkook smiles, amused, kissing the top of her head.

When he hears the honk of your car, his eyes shift toward it, and a grin spreads across his face.

“Ah, my Uber is here,” he jokes, giving his father a quick hug before gathering all his bags. As you step out of the car to open the trunk for him, his mother calls out.

“Y/N?” She sounds unsure, making Jungkook scrunch his nose. “Oh my, look at you!” she beams, walking over to you as you shift awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Hello, Ahjumma,” you greet her with a smile before she pulls you into a hug. “You’re looking great.”

“You too. You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” his mother compliments while Jungkook places his bags in the trunk, leaning his hip against the car. “How long has it been since I last saw you?”

Jungkook smiles proudly at your interaction, watching from the sidelines as his mother holds your hands. She’s a chatterbox, and he knows you’ll be stuck here for at least ten or fifteen minutes. He frowns slightly when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he swallows hard. Fuck. Excusing himself, he walks a few steps away from you and his mother to answer the call.

“Hi, darling,” he whispers, turning his back to you.

“Hi, my love. How’s Busan? You didn’t send me any pictures,” Hina says, and he knows she’s probably pouting.

“I, uh, I’ve been busy with family... But I did take some photos. I’ll send them to you once I’m back in Seoul.”

His eyes drift back to you, laughing with his mother, and guilt washes over him. It feels wrong to be playing both sides.

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Hina coos, while Jungkook bites his bottom lip, his gaze still on you.

“How are you? It must be getting colder there now,” he asks, trying to focus on the conversation. He hears her soft hum and the sound of her settling into bed.

“I can’t wait to explore Seoul with you. I’m starting to pack next week. Our apartment is already on the market. Have you found anything interesting in Seoul yet?” she continues, but his attention is elsewhere, on you now hugging his mother—albeit, a bit awkwardly.

“Hm? Oh, uh, yeah. I’ve started looking. Jimin’s helping me,” he responds, scuffing a rock with his foot, preoccupied, before her words fully register. “Wait for me; I’ll book a ticket to Tokyo to help you with the move.”

He hates what he’s doing. He should break up with her now—to avoid hurting her and to fully focus on you. But breaking up over the phone would be an asshole move. He owes her a face-to-face conversation. Plus, he doesn’t want her preparing to move to Seoul for nothing.

“Oh, my love, that’s so sweet of you,” Hina replies, her voice pitched a little higher. “I miss you. Should I start looking at tickets for next week? The sooner you’re here, the better.”

“No, don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, as you wave at him, signaling that it’s time to leave. “I have to go now. I’ll call you when I’m back in Seoul.”

Hina sighs softly, clearly disappointed not to have more time to talk with her fiancé.

“Alright... I’ll wait for your call,” she murmurs. Jungkook adjusts his cap. “I love you. Drive safely.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheek. Hina has no idea that he didn’t go to Busan with someone, and certainly not you. He told her that Jimin let him borrow his car.

“I... me too,” he replies, his voice nearly a whisper before ending the call.

His stomach churns, twisted with guilt. Lying to two women feels awful, and he knows the feeling won’t go away until he resolves this mess.

“I’m going to leave you here if you don’t start running,” you tease playfully, and he nods, jogging back to the car.

Both of you wave one last time to his mother, his father now standing at the door. Once you start the engine and leave Busan behind, Jungkook is quiet, staring out the window, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Are you okay?” you ask, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies, though it’s brief and followed by a shake of his head as if trying to shake off the feeling that’s eating at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re usually more talkative.” You glance at him quickly before focusing back on the road. “Do you miss your mom already?” you tease, lightening the mood, and he groans.

He’s well aware of his “mama’s boy” reputation—something both you and Jimin always teased him about.

“I didn’t think your mom would be so welcoming,” you say softly, and he arches a brow.

“She’s always loved you. She hated my first girlfriend, and all the ones after you. But never you,” he replies, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Even after we broke up, she blamed me, said it was my fault for not being able to keep you.”

Jungkook watches as you press your lips together, trying not to smile. His mom always wanted daughters, but she got two sons instead. So, when Jungkook introduced you, his mom had been over the moon—a well-mannered, lovely girl who loved her son unconditionally. You instantly became her favorite kid.

“You cut your hair?” you ask, noticing the buzz cut at the back of his head, partially hidden by his cap.

“Actually...” he grimaces, taking off his hat and glancing at himself in the rearview mirror before brushing his bangs. “My mom did. She said I have a ‘girl’s face on a man’s body with my long hair.’”

He carefully watches your reaction as you quickly glance at his new haircut before stopping at a red light, then turn to really stare at him.

“Oh, hell no,” you chuckle softly. “Forget about that second date.” You joke, and he groans, playfully nudging your shoulder.

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters, giving his reflection another look on his phone.

“It’s actually worse,” you grimace before bursting into laughter. “Does your mother know any haircut other than the awful chestnut style you always have?”

He has to admit, he does look like a chestnut. It never bothered him until you started teasing him about it.

“Argh, shut up. I think I look cute,” Jungkook sighs, adjusting his hair again.

“The ‘Kookoonut’ era is back,” you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m heading straight to the hairstylist as soon as we’re back in Seoul.”

“You have the same face as when you were sixteen. Except for the buff body and tattoos, I mean.” you say, sneaking another glance. Inside, he knows you’re warming up to his new look, maybe even liking it. But of course, you’d never admit it out loud.

“You still fell in love with me, even with that haircut,” he boasts, smirking when your cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.

“I didn’t fall in love for that haircut back then,” you mumble, blushing so hard that even your ears are red. You crank up the radio to signal that the conversation is over because you’re too embarrassed.

Jungkook chuckles softly, shaking his head before turning his gaze back to the window, pulling his cap down over his head again.

“Oh, she’s going to hate you,” Yoongi chuckles, taking a sip of his beer as Jungkook palms his face. “They’re both going to hate you.”

Jimin lets out a chuckle as he sits next to Jungkook on the couch, handing him another beer.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Jungkook asks dramatically, falling back against the couch, hiding his face in his hands.

“Which one do you love more?” Yoongi asks, earning a slap on the back from Jimin before laughing. “What? It’s easier that way—to know what you want.”

“Neither Y/N nor Hina deserves to be treated like disposable objects,” Jimin scolds, and Jungkook stares blankly at the coffee table.

Jimin’s right. Neither of them deserves to be treated that way.

“I thought Jimin would pull a shitty move like that, not you,” Yoongi adds, wetting his lips as Jimin gasps dramatically.

“I’ve never done that to any woman,” Jimin groans, and Jungkook arches a brow.

“You dated three girls back in high school,” Jungkook reminds him.

“I was a teenager,” Jimin defends himself. “A stupid teenager.”

“You’re still stupid. Just now you’re an adult,” Yoongi retorts, shrugging.

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle slightly. He likes how unbothered Yoongi is, saying things casually. To people who don’t know him, Yoongi might seem pretentious, but it’s just his humor.

“So, what are you going to do?” Jimin arches a brow, ignoring Yoongi’s remark.

Sighing loudly, Jungkook looks down at his beer bottle.

“I don’t know… Should I leave Hina and try my luck with Y/N? I feel bad for her. Or should I give up on Nabi and continue with Hina?” he mumbles, wiping the condensation off his bottle with his thumb.

“Which one do you love more?” Yoongi repeats his question.

Jungkook sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. It’s an easy question, but he can’t say it out loud.

“Hina’s always been there for me…” He begins, and the other two roll their eyes. “I can’t just dump her like a trash bag, guys. She’s nice, I like her. She’s always supported my dreams and plans in life. She accepted the heartbroken guy I was and helped me get better. It would be ungrateful and disrespectful to leave her for my ex. I just can’t.”

“So, you love Nabi,” Yoongi concludes with a shrug. Jungkook groans, throwing his head back.

“Honestly, I feel bad lying to both of them,” Jimin says, absentmindedly scratching a stain on the table. “Nabi is one of our oldest friends. And Hina… she’s a sweetheart.”

“I know that,” Jungkook says, raising his voice slightly. “I know, okay? They’re both great in their own way. And I hate that one of them is going to get hurt.” He frowns, frustration creeping in.

The two men exchange a glance before Jimin sighs. “I know it’s hard, Kookie. But sooner or later, they’ll both find out. And Hina will be here soon.”

Jungkook tries to push those thoughts aside as he knocks on your door two days later. It’s Friday night, and as promised, he’s here to take you out. You open the door, your nose nearly brushing his chest before you lift your eyes to meet his.

“Sorry, I’m almost ready,” you say, stepping aside to let him in while putting on some golden earrings.

“No problem,” he replies with a smile, following you into the living room.

His eyes wander over your figure, appreciating how you’ve dressed up for him. He can’t help but admire how the black dress hugs your body. His gaze follows you as you disappear into your room, returning moments later with your heels in one hand and your iPad in the other.

“I finished the design. Tell me if you like it,” you say, handing him the tablet as he sits on the couch. He forces himself to focus on the sketch instead of you. “If something doesn’t fit right, just tell me, and I’ll correct it.”

Jungkook smiles at how meticulous you are with your work. Every little detail is exactly how he envisioned it.

“It looks good to me,” he says, watching as you sit on the coffee table to put on your heels.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, and he nods, taking one of your heels from your hand. “Alright. If you’re free next week, I’ll fit you into my schedule,” you say.

“Already eager to see me again?” he teases, gently grabbing your ankle to help you with your heel.

You don’t protest to his gesture, and stare at him with a slight smile.

“Can I ask you something, Nabi?” he says softly, and you hum in response.

“I have this friend… back in Japan. He’s seeing two girls,” Jungkook begins, focusing on slipping your foot into the heel, letting his fingers trail lightly along your leg.

You frown slightly as he picks up your other foot.

“He likes them both, but one of them is his greatest love. The other is… someone special to him.”

“Do the girls know?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“No, neither of them knows. But he knows he has to make a choice before hurting both,” Jungkook continues, busying himself with putting on your other heel.

He avoids meeting your gaze, focusing on the task.

“How would you react if you were in his position?”

You take a moment to consider the question.

“I can’t put myself in his position,” you finally reply, crossing one leg over the other, eyes still on him. “But it’s not fair to the girl who’s just ‘special.’ Deep down, he’ll always be thinking about his greatest love while he’s with her.” You continue and Jungkook nods, taking in your words. “If I’m being honest, if I were him, I’d choose the greatest love.”

“You would?”

“Hm… I have a lot of affection for Baekhyun. But you, you’re my greatest love,” you mumble, your cheeks turning rosy. Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, his eyes softening. “But if I were either of those girls, I’d dump his ass for trying to have it both ways,” you add, colder this time as you stand up.

His heart drops at your words, and he mechanically stand up too. His hands are shaking. Jungkook takes a deep breath, hiding them in his pockets.

“I hope they both find out and that he ends up alone,” You add, walking to the door. “Let’s go, I’m starving.” You smile, grabbing your coat and Jungkook knows deep down—he’s screwed.

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[gremlin-girly]

Valentine's Night

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, established relationship, petnames (dolll)

I don't want to spoil the story with the last tag but it's all Fluff I promise.

Not beta'd and I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI Machine.

Summary: Your boyfriend is determined to ensure you have a good Valentine's day.

Word count: 752

Dividers by: @/enchanthings-a

Navigation | Valentine's Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist

Bucky used to be a romantic. Emphasis on used to be.

It's not that he wouldn't buy flowers or do romantic things but more the mindset of life being lovey-dovey, sunshine and rainbows after living 70 years as a ghost was seemingly pointless.

Until he met you.

Re-learning to be a romantic was probably one of the hardest things Bucky had re-learned to do. Turns out, what used to be normal in the 30s was now one of many things; misogynistic, toxic, too fast, desperate, archaic, or bordering on stalker behaviour.

He hadn't wanted to come on too strong but your patience with him and slowly fanned the embers deep within his soul and now flames soared in their place. You'd only been dating a short while, although Bucky had been pining after you for some time, and when he'd mentioned Valentine's Day (hoping to gauge your thoughts on a romantic dinner) he was surprised to find that you despised the holiday and all that it (currently) stood for.

"It used to be a celebration of love," you said, scrunching your nose in disgust as you stab at your food. "Now it's commercialised by companies to make a major profit."

Bucky smiled half at your cute expression and half relieved that it wasn't something he had to plan for in too much detail.

"So, what would you want to do doll?" He'd asked, testing the waters.

You blinked in surprise, faint splash of pink gracing your cheeks. "Oh. Well. Erm... I'd like a quiet night in with some wine."

Bucky nods, taking a forkful of food and chewing thoughtfully. If a quiet night in was what you wanted, it was what you'd get. However, Bucky was determined it was going to be a night to remember.

Bucky had set up everything perfectly. A dozen red roses (because he couldn't help himself), wine, ice cream, blanket fort and a good movie.

Nothing over the top, no glitter, no hearts.

But Bucky was still nervous when you came over after work. He wrung his hands and raked his hair every two minutes, completely restless. Moreso when you handed him a card and a bar of his favourite chocolate.

He hadn't gotten you a card, he felt awful. But every card had "I love you"'s plastered all over them and Bucky didn't want to scare you off, even if he really wanted to give you one.

You, on the other hand, were also a nervous wreck. You'd tried to downplay your expectations for Valentine's Day, not wanting Bucky to feel pressured to do anything extravagant given how early you were in your relationship, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want anything at all. Despite being concrete in your stance that Valentine's Day was now a horrid money-making scheme, Bucky had exceeded your expectations by miles and you were struggling not to blurt out something that could potentially tank your relationship, and ruin your card, in mere seconds.

Bucky gently opened the red envelope, muttering an apology for not getting you a card, pulling out a card covered in red hearts and two cartoon bears hugging eachother.

The front of the card read "To the one I love on Valentine's Day" and the inside of the card had a message scrawled in your handwriting, and a printed Happy Valentine's Day in red slap bang in the centre. It read as follows;

"To Bucky,

Happy Valentine's Day!

I know I said I didn't like Valentine's but I couldn't not get you something. These last few months have been amazing and I look forward to many more together.

Love you lots,

Y/N xxx"

Bucky's breathing all but halted, his blue eyes scanning your message over and over again. You shifted uncomfortably, wondering if you'd been too forward, if he was scared by your very roundabout declaration of love for him.

"Listen if it's too much too soon I-"

"I love you." Bucky blurts, flushing red. Your face follows suit as heat rolls up your neck and your heart thuds happily. "I mean, too. I love you too."

"I love you too, Buck." You reply, a giant beaming smile appearing over your face. "And happy Commercialised Heart Day."

Making your first declarations of love on Valentine's Day took the sourness out of the day itself, and replaced it instead with a tradition of wine and ice cream every year from then on - with plenty of kisses and "I love you"'s to make any Valentine's card jealous

End

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[dustpages]

Nanana

I've had long hair since I can remember, but it felt like the right time to trim it. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my face looked so different with this new haircut.

The hairstylist seemed to be at a loss for words. "Ma'am, this cut suits you incredibly well." 

I smiled at him, paid up, and headed home.

When I got back, my baby boy was at home studying. He's always been such a good boy; he never gives me trouble. He just needs some motivation to keep going.

I approached him and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed and said, "Mum, you look astonishing."

I blushed and lifted him in my arms, he weighed light a leaf.  "Thank you, darling."

He was still red as a tomato; he didn't even know where to put his hands. I slowly undressed until I was down to my underwear.

His eyes widened. "Mum, what are you doing?"

"Relax, baby boy, we are going to take a shower." I affirmed. " Tonight your mum will head out with some of her friends." He nodded his head; he knew he had to stay alone sometimes.

I got him dressed in his pyjamas and kissed him on his forehead. He went downstairs to watch something while I got ready to leave.

I opted for a black set of bra and panties that would accentuate my curves, along with some high heels and a skirt that showed off my legs. My outfit made me feel sexy as hell; I couldn't wait to go out tonight.

I called my son upstairs to give him a goodbye kiss. He walked into my room and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued onto my cleavage.

"Mum... You look amazing," he whispered. His eyes wandered from my tits to my hips, then to my legs.

I smiled at him and patted his head. "You're such a sweet boy; thank you, darling." He was still looking at me with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mum, I don't want you to go." He confessed. His voice trembled as he wrapped his arms around my naked legs. He was rubbing them gently; I was sure he didn't realise what he was doing. I cupped his cheeks and tilted his head up to meet my gaze.

"Baby boy, I have to go. But you can sleep in my bed so we can cuddle all night when I come home," I proposed. He smiled at me and agreed.

I kissed him one last time on his lips; he held it for a little longer than usual, but I let him; I was his mother after all.

I left my flat and headed to meet my friends for dinner. The evening was quite nice; we laughed about silly things and enjoyed each other's company.

We ended the night by going clubbing. I danced like crazy and drank far too much alcohol. As predictable as a guy hitting on me, he was quite handsome. He was called Yuki; he was toned and tall; he had messy brown hair and brown eyes. He had a cute smile, and he smelt incredible.

We danced glued together, and his hands groped my waist and my ass; he tried to touch my tits, but I slapped his hand away; it wasn't the time yet. He did get discouraged and moved his lips on my neck, exploring every inch of it.

I was getting horny; I took his face between my hands and brought him close enough to lock our lips together. Our tongues intertwined, and I moaned into the kiss.

Yuki was shocked; he hadn't expected a woman like me to be so forward. We broke the kiss, both of us panting hard. He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the exit.

Once outside, he asked."Want to go to my place or yours?"

"My place." I answered quickly. I wanted to fuck him before I forgot how he was done.

The cab ride was a crescendo of tension and anticipation. We were kissing each other without any shame.

I unlocked the door and walked in first when we got to my apartment. Yuki followed behind me and locked it again. He pushed me against the wall and resumed his assault on my mouth.

I felt like a teenager again, not caring about anything except him.

He pressed his body on mine, making me feel every inch of his muscular build. He started sucking on my collarbone and moved lower and lower until he reached my tits.

He pulled my top down, revealing my breasts. He gasped in awe, taking a breast in his mouth and starting to suck and lick it. It was absolute heaven, I moaned in delight as he switched between my two nipples. My pussy was soaking wet at this point.

Yuki grabbed me and hoisted me up; I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me into my bedroom.

Before we entered, I got off of him and proceeded into the room first. My baby was sleeping in the middle of the bed, looking like an angel.

I crawled on the bed, leaning on my side. He didn't flinch at my presence; he was sleeping soundly.

"Yuki, come inside." I whispered. In the meantime he had gotten naked; I gasped at the sight of his cock. It was huge and girthy; my pussy clenched in anticipation.

He lay beside me, giving me a sweet kiss. "Can I ask, who is he?" He said, pointing at my child. He wasn't awake yet, thank God.

"He is my son." I admitted shyly. Yuki smiled and said nothing more, instead opting for kissing my lips passionately.

I felt my son moving behind me, I hoped he wouldn't wake up yet, I really needed this release.

I rolled on my other side, giving Yuki my back. "You know what to do with my underwear." I mumbled. 

He unhooked my bra and slid it off my shoulders; he caressed my back softly and slowly started to pull down my panties. He threw them on the floor and resumed kissing my back.

His lips travelled from my shoulders down to my ass, which he gave a soft smack. He licked and sucked my ass cheeks, giving me goosebumps everywhere.

After he was satisfied with my butt, he leaned down behind me in a spooning position. He rubbed his cock against my pussy, teasing me. I tried to reach behind me to grab his dick and guide it into my pussy. But he blocked my hands.

"Not yet." He whispered. He kept rubbing himself against me, making my pussy drip with arousal.

Suddenly I felt my son waking up; he stretched and yawned, giving a big sigh. Yuki held still, his breath halted on my skin. I waited for what felt like hours to see if he woke up completely, but he settled back down.

Yuki exhaled in relief; I could feel his heart pounding on my back. He continued his tease, sliding his cock between my thighs, but not entering my pussy yet. He massaged my clit and played with it until I came hard.

I covered my mouth with my hands to avoid waking my son. He whimpered in his sleep.

Yuki wasted no time; he aligned his cock with my entrance and shoved it in with one thrust. I stifled another moan, biting on my fingers. I felt so full, his dick bottomed inside out with ease.

He stilled, letting me get used to his size; one of his hands roamed over my tits, squeezing and playing with them.

I tried to rock my hips backward, wanting him to start fucking me, but he didn't move.

 "Please..." I begged quietly. His other hand hovered over my vagina, moving his digits on my clit. I came once again, feeling my orgasm wash over me like a wave.

Finally, Yuki started pumping in and out of my cunt. His movements were slow and deliberate, making sure I felt his entire length.

 My tits jiggled with each thrust; I felt my pussy eating his dick with hunger.

He sped up his rhythm, fucking me like his life depended on it. His hands on my boobies tightened, squeezing them harshly. I moaned loudly, unable to hold it anymore.

Yuki slapped his hand over my mouth, muffling my cries. He fucked me faster, ramming his dick into me brutally. I was screaming behind his palm, quivering under his ministration, my orgasm rolling through my whole body.

Yuki grunted; he kept fucking me with all his might. "Ahhh." I moaned into his hand. 

The bed was shaking like crazy; my baby stirred once more. This time he sat up, rubbing his eyes confused. He opened them and found his mother being fucked mercilessly by a stranger. 

My son's eyes grew wide in shock, and his face paled. My mouth was still covered by Yuki's hand, preventing me from talking to him.

I bite on his palm, hoping to make him remove his hand. He finally understood and released my lips.

"Mum!" My son exclaimed, tears forming in his eyes. "What are you doing?" He asked hurtfully.

"Honey, I'm sorry." I whispered while Yuki didn't budge and continued fucking me.

The situation was getting embarrassing by the minute; my son was staring at me horrified.

I sighed. "Baby boy, this is Yuki. He is a friend."

My son looked at Yuki with confusion but didn't say anything. "Go back to sleep; I will explain everything in the morning." I reassured.

He shook his head. "No, I want to stay." He insisted.

I pouted. "Okay then, sit on the edge of the bed and watch." I told him.

Yuki withdrew his length. "Let's switch positions,” he said, pulling me on my knees. I leaned my chest on the mattress, my ass facing upwards.

Yuki smacked it with force, making me cry out. "You naughty girl." He growled. My son's eyes were fixed on my buttocks, his mouth hanging open.

"You liked it when I did that, didn't you?" Yuki questioned. I nodded enthusiastically.

He positioned himself behind me and plunged into me deeply. My pussy hugged his length eagerly; he grabbed my ass and fucked me rougher than ever.

My tits swung freely, slapping on the bed. My son stared at them intently; he was licking his lips unconsciously.

I cried out in pleasure; Yuki kept ramming inside me, his balls smacking loudly against my pussy. He groaned, grabbing my ass harshly. "You feel so good, you slutty bitch." He grunted.

My son's eyebrows furrowed; he looked offended at those words. I smirked and wiggled my butt enticingly.

Yuki spanked me again, eliciting a squeal out of me. "Dirty girl." He muttered.

I rocked back to meet his thrusts, my tits bouncing wildly. My son looked hypnotised by their movement, he was stroking himself through his pants. I winked at him; he turned bright red in embarrassment.

Yuki was getting close.” Turn around, I miss your lips," he panted.

I flipped over, allowing him to continue fucking me while lying on my back. He bent down and kissed me passionately. His tongue danced with mine, making love to my mouth.

I could feel his cock throbbing inside my pussy, stretching me out. I squeezed his length tight, trying to milk him dry. He moaned and picked up pace, his hips snapping fast.

"Ahhh." I screamed out as the most powerful orgasm hit me. "I'm cumming." I screamed at the top of my lungs.

My juice flooded his dick, making him slippery and allowing him to move easily. Yuki fucked me wildly; I came multiple times while he ravished me. My tits bounced violently; my son looked entranced by them.

Yuki tensed up; his moans turned into growls. "Ahhh, I'm going to cum." He announced. 

"Do it outside." I ordered him. I didn't want my pussy overflowing with his semen.

He groaned in frustration but obeyed my command. He pulled out of me and sprayed his cum on my belly and tits. He shot rope after rope, covering me completely in his load.

Yuki collapsed on my chest, panting heavily. "Fuck." He cursed.

"That was amazing." I giggled and gave him a peck on the lips. "But now leave. I need to handle this situation."

He stood up and gave my son a nod. "Goodnight." He wished him well and left the room.

I sat on the bed beside my baby, looking at his flushed cheeks. "Are you okay, baby boy?" I asked.

He nodded and whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be; I love you whatever you do." I cooed. He sighed and snuggled into my arms.

"Did you enjoy watching me and Yuki?" I questioned.

"Yes." He mumbled. "And no." He added. He looked conflicted.

I squeezed him. "What did you not enjoy?" I probed.

"The things he said to you." My son whispered. "They were mean; he shouldn't talk to you like that." He explained.

"Oh, baby, don't worry about it. He meant those as compliments."

My son frowned; he wasn't convinced. I kissed his head. "Come here." I said.

I scooped him up in my arms and brought him to lie on the mattress. I cleaned myself with a bunch of wet wipes in front of him; his blue eyes were eating me up.

"Lie next to me." I demanded. He did so hesitantly, his eyes wandering from my boobs to my crotch.

I took my breasts in my hands and squeezed them together. "Like these?" I asked him.

He nodded enthusiastically; he was practically drooling. I brought a tit close to his mouth and whispered, "Taste."

He latched onto my nipple, sucking it like he was hungry. I groaned loudly as he played with my breasts.

"Baby, please." I whined. I felt like he was awakening something inside me.

He sucked and licked my tits with gusto, switching between the two enthusiastically. My pussy started dripping again; his innocence was turning me on so much.

I pushed my tit further into his mouth; he started to gag but kept sucking. I shuddered and came on him; his spit dripped down my breast.

I pulled him up for a kiss. "You're an amazing kisser." I complimented.

He smiled at me shyly, his lips red from my lipstick. He got bolder poking his tongue in my mouth. I moaned and allowed him to explore my mouth thoroughly.

I wrapped my arms around his small frame; his body was on fire. His chest rubbing against mine was setting my pussy on fire.

I broke the kiss. "Is there anything else you'd like to do?" I offered.

He stared at me with more lust than I could expect; his fingers moved my hair away from my eyes. "Anything that stranger did to you."

His words sent chills down my spine; I smiled seductively. "Okay, baby boy." I consented.

I rolled on the bed and showed my bare pussy to him. "Look at how wet you made me, you little scamp." I teased.

His eyes were glued to my cunt; he swallowed thickly. Mum,"" he said. His voice was shaky. "Please..."

"What is it, baby?" I cooed.

He pointed at my pussy, his cheeks burning. "May I touch?" He begged. His voice sounded almost pitiful.

"Of course you may." I encouraged.

He scooted closer to my crotch, his finger hovering on my folds. He dipped his finger inside, making me gasp.

"Oh baby, that feels great." I praised him. "Keep touching me." 

He explored my cunt slowly, learning every crevice of my pussy. "How does this feel?" He asked curiously.

"It feels amazing, like you're caressing my soul." I praised. He chuckled and kept fingering me.

My son's fingers were clumsy but perfect; he hit every spot inside my cunt perfectly. My tits wiggled as I rode his fingers; I grabbed my breasts and squeezed them tightly.

"Mum." He whispered, his eyes looking at me adoringly. "May I taste?" He asked shyly.

"Yes, baby." I replied without hesitation. 

He lowered his head in between my thighs and licked my slit. His tongue was clumsy at first, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly.

He sucked my labia in his mouth, flicking his tongue over my clit. I was so sensitive to Yuki, it didn't take much to send me into oblivion. 

"Ahhh, I'm cumming, baby." I cried out. "Suck harder." I urged him.

My son hummed in agreement; his mouth worked its magic on my pussy. My juices dripped on his chin, but he didn't mind; instead, he sucked harder. I orgasmed like crazy, shivering under his ministrations.

My son removed his tongue from my pussy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You taste better than my favourite juice."

I chuckled, pulling him into a hug. "Thank you, baby, I think you are pretty tasty too."

He smiled widely and buried his face into my shoulder. "More, I want more of you," he whispered.

I smirked widely. "To have more, you have to remove your clothes." I hinted. He nodded and got naked.

I watched him, my eyes feasting on his skinny body. I noticed he had an erection; he looked embarrassed about it.

"Don't worry, baby, it's normal." I assured. His fully erect cock was a sight to behold; I grabbed his hands and placed them on my tits. 

"You know how to play with these." I reminded him.

He grinned mischievously and started kneading my boobs harshly. "Ow." I protested weakly.

He apologised. "Sorry, Mum, I forgot you're sensitive." He murmured.

I smiled and grabbed his cock, bringing it close to my mouth. "Open your legs wider." I commanded. He complied without question.

I licked his cockhead, swirling my tongue around his pee hole. He moaned loudly at the sensation.

I opened my mouth wide and swallowed his length until he hit the back of my throat. He tasted salty but not bad; my baby was clean after all.

He gripped my hair in a fist and started thrusting into my mouth. I relaxed my throat, allowing him to fuck it as deep as possible.

"Ahah, Mum." He cried out. "I'm going to come soon."

I sucked on his length eagerly; I wanted to taste his load. He grunted and filled my mouth with his hot cum. 

I swallowed all of it and cleaned his dick with my tongue. He fell on his back, breathing heavily. 

"I'm tired." He confessed. 

I chuckled. "Hold on, baby." I purred. "The best is yet to come."

His eyes shone bright at those words. "Really?" He asked excitedly.

I nodded. "Lay down on the bed." I instructed.

He complied, his cock already showing signs of life. I straddled his lap and sat on his thighs, my pussy inches away from his cock.

I grabbed his dick and brought it to my entrance, pushing him inside me slowly. My cunt hugged him tight; he moaned at the feeling.

"You're so tight." He commented. I smirked and started to bounce on his cock; I felt him filling my walls perfectly.

I ground on his length, moaning as he stretched my pussy out. His cock twitched inside me, and his hips rose to meet my thrusts.

"You feel amazing, Mum." He whispered. I bit my lip and rode him faster, my tits bouncing wildly.

"Ahh." He gasped. "Faster."

I obliged, impaling myself on his length roughly. His eyes glowed brightly as he watched me.

His hand sneaked down to rub my clit; his thumb brushed over my nub. My pussy contracted; my muscles spasmed around his cock. 

"I'm going to cum." I warned. I didn't stop; instead, I bounced harder, wanting to milk his cock dry.

His hips snapped upwards, fucking me as hard as he could. I cried out, squirting all over the place; my body collapsed on him.

His mouth attacked my tits, sucking them roughly. I moaned, grinding myself on his still-hard cock. He rolled me over and pinned me under his small body. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head.

"Now it's my turn." He declared.

He fucked me wildly, slamming his hips into mine. "Ahh, baby." I cried out, my tits swinging to and fro. I was riding a new wave of pleasure. 

"Take all of me." I moaned. I felt my second orgasm building up.

Yuki's words echoed in my ear. 'You naughty girl.' I felt empowered by the phrase, and I started calling myself dirty names.

"Fuck your whore mum." I moaned. "Make her cum."

He grunted, fucking me harder. His grip on my wrists tightened, and I felt the pressure build up in my belly. 

"Harder." I demanded, lifting my hips to meet his. 

His balls slapped against my ass loudly; he pounded into me relentlessly. I clenched around his shaft and came like crazy.

I screamed out loud, my voice echoing in the room. He didn't falter his rhythm, fucking me through my orgasm.

I felt his cock swell inside me, he shouted. "Ahah, I'm cumming."

He exploded inside me, bathing my womb with his seed. He collapsed on top of me, panting like a dog.

"That was amazing." He breathed.

I smiled widely, kissing his lips. "We aren't done yet."

His eyes lit up; he grinned at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "Sit on the edge of the bed."

He complied. I straddled him and sat down on his dick, taking it into my pussy fully.

My baby gasped in shock; I held still for a few minutes. I leaned back and lay on his chest; his hands held my hips and kept me steady.

I stayed in this position, feeling my son's cock throb inside me. After a few minutes, he was ready to fuck again.

His mouth attacked my neck, sucking it softly. His hands made me grind on his dick. I moved my hips up and down, fucking him slowly. 

His mouth trailed down to my tits; he licked and sucked them greedily. "You have amazing breasts." He complimented.

"Thank you, baby." I cooed, moaning loudly. He was playing with my nipples, pinching them and tugging them.

He kissed his way to my lips, swallowing my moans with his mouth. I could feel his cock twitching inside me; I moved faster and deeper.

His breath hitched. "Mum..." he warned.

His cock bottomed out inside me, making me scream in pleasure. I clamped my legs around him, keeping him deep in my cunt. 

"Fuck me, baby." I pleaded. He did just that, fucking me so deep I thought his cock was going to split my pussy in half. 

I came so hard I lost count, his cock milking my cunt for every drop of my arousal. His teeth sunk into my collarbone, his hips moving erratically.

"Yuki had fucked me much better." I taunted, slowing down my rhythm.

He glared at me and made me take his cock as hard as I could. "Nasty girl, mocking me to get fucked more." He growled.

He slammed his hips against me, my pussy clamping on his cock desperately. "Yes, baby, use those dirty words." I begged.

He grunted in frustration. "Nasty whore." He groaned. His fingers dug into my hips, bruising the skin.

"Harder." I yelled. I wanted him to break me in half with his cock. I lifted my ass and impaled myself on him again and again.

His cock swelled inside my pussy; he was about to come. "Ahh, Mum, I'm coming." He shouted.

He spurted inside my cunt, filling me with his warm load. He fucked me through his orgasm, making me quiver underneath him.

We collapsed back on the mattress; he was holding me tight, his cock still twitching inside my pussy. 

"Mum, that was incredible." He admitted, his voice sounding dazed.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." I smiled and kissed his lips lightly. He held me tighter, not wanting to let go.

I wrapped my legs around him and rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair soothingly. "Sleep, baby boy; tomorrow we are going to talk." I whispered.

Morning arrived; the air was still in my bedroom. My baby boy was asleep on my chest, his breathing heavy.

We were sweaty and stinky; we need to get cleaned. I dismounted him carefully and got to the bathroom to run the water for a bath.

I turned back to my room and crawled to him. I brushed his hair out of his face and kissed him gently. "Wake up, baby boy."

His eyes fluttered open, his blue orbs meeting my black ones. He smiled at me shyly and sat up. He yawned and stretched his body.

He looked at me confused. "Where am I going?" He asked.

"Bath." I explained simply.

He got off the bed, following me to the bathroom. We got into the tub, sitting in front of each other. I poured some shampoo on my hand and washed his hair tenderly.

After he was clean, he returned the favour. He lathered up his hands with soap and started washing my body slowly.

His fingers roamed over my breasts, making me shiver. He kissed my neck and trailed his mouth down to my shoulders, his lips ghosting over my skin.

I sighed in contentment. "This is so nice." I murmured.

He hummed in response and continued his work. He cleaned my belly, his fingertips trailing over my hipbones. 

He reached down and soaped up my thighs, spreading them apart to clean in between. I gasped as he touched my pussy.

"Relax, Mum, I won't touch your private parts." He promised.

His hand lingered on my inner thigh for a few seconds before continuing to clean the rest of my body.

We rinsed ourselves and dried each other. Once we were done, he asked. "Do you want breakfast in bed?"

I smiled. "Yes, that sounds lovely."

He nodded and left my room to prepare us food. I changed into a simple robe and lay down on the bed.

Twenty minutes later he walked back carrying a tray of food. There were pancakes and fresh fruits, along with some juices.

We ate our meal happily, feeding each other bites. Once we finished, I cleared the plate and put it aside.

"So, what do you think happened last night?" I asked curiously. He looked at me for a second, deciding how to answer.

"As far as I'm concerned, we copulated a few times; I definitely fancied every single second of it," he stated seriously. "I beg your pardon, but restrain from bringing strangers into this house; it's unpleasant for me and not necessary."

I looked at him in surprise; he sounded so mature and adult. "Of course, baby, only you and me." I agreed.

He smiled in satisfaction. "Good." He paused. "No more strangers roaming around you."

I chuckled at his possessiveness and sat him in my lap; my hand ran through his hair. "Only you, baby boy, I promise."

He melted into my embrace, his head resting on my shoulder. He closed his eyes and relaxed; he felt safe and loved.

"Mum, can we go to the park later?" He requested softly.

"Sure, we can do that." I nodded. He sighed in happiness and snuggled deeper in my arms.

I held him close, running my fingers through his silky hair. We stayed like this for a while, enjoying each other's company.

After a while he got up from my lap. "I need to brush my hair and wear something comfortable." He informed me. I nodded and let him go.

A few minutes later he appeared wearing some shorts and a shirt. He looked adorable, his black hair combed back neatly.

"Ready?" I asked. He nodded and took my hand, leading me out of my flat.

The walk to the park was enjoyable; the weather was sunny but breezy. We were holding hands, walking side by side. 

Once we got to the playground, I sat on a bench, watching my baby run and play with the others.

I was wearing a simple dress, but my tits were clearly visible. Some of the fathers were ogling me, it made me giggle. 

After a while Yuki messaged me asking me out. I replied dryly. "That was a one-night stand and nothing more." I texted. "Also, I'm not interested; I have someone else." I concluded.

The day passed peacefully; we spent some quality time together. He climbed on the jungle gym and waved at me, his grin reaching his ears.

I waved back at him and blew a kiss; he pretended to catch it and put it in his pocket. He jumped off and ran towards me.

Once he reached me, he straddled my lap and hugged me tight. "Can we go home?" he begged.

"Just if you let me carry you." I replied, knowing how much he hated to be treated like a kid. 

He pouted, making my heart skip a beat. "Okay, but you owe a favour." 

I hoisted him up in my arms and carried him like a baby, his arms around my neck. His face nestled on my neck, his lips brushing my skin occasionally.

We walked back home, enjoying the silence of the evening. I laid him down on my bed and tucked him in, giving him a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Wait for me; don't fall asleep." I ordered him to leave for the dressing room. I needed to change into something comfy for the night.

I went to the closet and slipped off my dress. I opted for grey underwear; I desired to let my baby have fun again. I walked back in my bedroom and found him sleeping.

I crawled next to him and spooned him from behind, giving a kiss on his shoulder. His scent invaded my senses; he smelt so good.

He woke up and rubbed his eyes. "Mum..." he murmured, turning around to face me. His eyes landed on my tits and widened.

"Nice bobbies." He appraised.

"Thanks, baby." I chuckled; his compliment warmed my heart.

"You want to play some more?"

He nodded eagerly. I pulled him on top of me and started playing with his hair. "What do you want to do?" I questioned.

His face reddened; he seemed unsure on how to reply. I laughed at him. "Come on, baby boy, tell me."

He gulped. "Kiss." He muttered quietly. His request surprised me, but I decided to comply.

I pulled him in for a kiss, his lips opening slightly as he let our tongues intertwine. His kisses became hungrier; he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled it lightly.

I moaned into the kiss, feeling desire pool in my stomach. His little hands wandered over my body, making goosebumps appear on my skin.

He pulled away from the kiss. "Touch me, Mum." He pleaded. 

I smirked at him. "Where do you want me to touch you?"

He gestured at his cock, which was poking out of his shorts. I reached down and cupped it in my hand, stroking it lightly.

His head fell back, his mouth opening in a silent moan. I continued to stroke him, his cock growing harder in my palm.

He started rocking his hips, humping my hand. His eyes met mine; they were blazing with lust. 

"Take off your clothes." I whispered. 

He nodded and stripped himself out of his clothing. I admired his small frame; his muscles weren't defined, but he was lean and sexy.

I pushed him on his back and took his cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue over the tip. He gasped loudly, his hand tangled in my hair.

"Shit, Mum, you're amazing," he groaned.

I smiled and sucked his cock into my mouth, bobbing my head up and down. His cum leaked onto my tongue; it tasted bitter but not unpleasant. 

I pulled away to catch my breath; he looked at me pleadingly. "Please don't stop." He begged.

I licked my lips and swallowed his length again. I sucked him faster this time, my tongue working the underside of his dick. 

His hips started bucking, fucking my mouth harshly. I gagged around him; he apologised for being too rough. 

He grabbed my head and kept it in place, fucking my face brutally. His moans filled the room, his eyes wild with pleasure.

His thrust became erratic; he was close to coming. "Aaaaah, Mum," he cried out.

He exploded in my mouth, spurting rope after rope of cum down my throat. I swallowed all of it and licked his cock clean.

He lay down panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I crawled on his lap, straddling him and lining his cock with my pussy.

I sank down on him slowly, making sure he was comfortable. He hissed in pleasure, his length hitting my cervix. 

"You're so deep." He moaned, his fingers digging into my hips.

I started to move up and down, my tits swaying wildly. His hands came up to squeeze them, his thumbs tweaking my nipples.

I rode him fast, bouncing on his cock hard. He moaned in bliss, his hands grasping my tits harshly.

"Harder, Mum." He urged.

I sped up my rhythm, impaling myself on him brutally. "Look at how wet you make me." I praised him, rubbing my clit roughly.

His eyes widened in shock. "So wet..." he gasped.

I clenched around him, his cock swelling inside my pussy. "You're so big." I moaned.

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. Our lips met again, our tongues dancing together.

I felt my orgasm building up; I needed more. I moved my lips to his neck, sucking a mark on his skin.

"I'm a naughty girl." I whispered in his ear. "All wet for you." I licked his earlobe.

He growled, pounding me in the earnest, his lips reciprocating my kisses. "Bad girl." He agreed, his fingers pinching my nipple.

I moaned loudly, grinding myself on him. He matched my rhythm, slamming into me roughly. "That's it, fuck me, baby boy." I urged.

He grunted, his hips pistoning into me wildly. My tits bounced in his face; his tongue licked them eagerly.

"Baby boy." I whispered, my orgasm approaching. "You feel so good."

His lips captured mine in a kiss. I shuddered around him, clenching his cock tight. He kept fucking me through my orgasm; he was relentless.

"More." He demanded, his voice low and raspy.

I agreed and lay back on the mattress, my legs spread wide. He followed me; he rubbed the head of his dick on my sensitive clit, and my hands flew to cover my pussy.

"No, no, no." I cried out. "Too much." My voice sounded strained.

He smirked and slapped my hands away, rubbing his cockhead on my clit. I sobbed, my orgasm still rolling through my body.

"Naughty girl." He taunted and carefully plunged his shaft inside of me.

He leaned on my body, his mouth kissing and sucking on my lips. His hands roamed over me, one of them settling on my clit.

He rubbed my nub in circles, his hips pumping into me slowly. His mouth trailed down my neck to my tits, sucking on them gently.

I gasped and writhed under him, my orgasm building again. "Don't stop, baby." I begged.

His thrust sped up, fucking me roughly. His cock was bottoming out inside of me, hitting my cervix with every thrust.

"Bad girl." He murmured. "Look at you begging for my cock."

I nodded frantically, desperate to get him to fuck me harder. His hips snapped into mine; he fucked me with total abandon.

My orgasm crashed into me, my body convulsing. I felt my pussy flooding with arousal, his cock slipping easily inside of me. 

He moaned and continued fucking me, his breath hot on my ear. "I'm going to fill you up, naughty girl." He warned.

I came again and again, my body shivering. "Please, baby." I begged, my voice barely audible. 

He ravaged me, slamming his dick into me like his life depended on it. I orgasmed once more, my cunt clamping on him hard.

"Your cunt is eager to suck me dry." He grunted. He fucked me fast, his balls slapping loudly against my ass. 

He stilled suddenly, his moans filling the air. He exploded inside me, shooting rope after rope of his seed.

His lips brushed against mine, his tongue tasting me gently. He rolled off me, collapsing next to me.

I felt exhausted but happy. I cuddled him in my arms, his head finding a spot on my shoulder.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"You're welcome, baby." I kissed his forehead and hugged him tight.

We slept like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's embrace. We woke up late, the sun shining brightly on us.

He stretched his small body and snuggled against my boy. His hand squeezing boobies, he was clearly in love with them.

"What's your plan for today?" I asked, running my fingers through his silky hair.

"Spending time with you is the only thing I care about; the kind of activities we do are the same with you by my side," he answered, meaning his words. 

I blushed at his sweet words; I really loved spending time with my baby boy. He was so attentive and caring. 

We spent the rest of the week together, fucking whenever we wanted. I discovered he loved oral sex, both giving and receiving. 

One evening I woke up with a wet pussy; I realised he had been playing with my cunt while I was sleeping. He sucked my clit hungrily, making me squirm under his attention.

"Bad boy." I chastised him, but secretly loved every moment of his ministrations.

He licked my pussy with gusto, slurping my arousal greedily. I came on his tongue, crying out in pleasure. 

He pulled back and smiled widely at me. "Tastes delicious." He praised.

I chucked and pulled him into a kiss, licking my juices from his mouth. "You're so talented." I complimented.

He glowed in pride at my praise. "I'll try to do better," he promised.

"Oh, you are not going to get free with your sweet words; now you have aroused me." I retorted, smirking.

He blushed; he was still my little adorable baby. "What do you want me to do?" his voice was full of lust.

"So far you have been excellent; you have been mastering everything I ask you to do." I praised him. "Now I want you to give attention to the last hole you haven't touched yet."

I turned on my side and presented my ass to him, my pussy still dripping with arousal. "Please don't be too rough." I begged. 

His hands roamed over my backside; he kissed the spot where his hand had connected. "I promise I'll be careful." He vowed.

He lapped at my arsehole, making me gasp. I never knew rimming was so good; his tongue felt amazing on my starfish.

"Ohh fuck, yeah." I moaned. "Lick it harder." I demanded.

He sucked and licked my ass, his tongue probing my hole lightly. I cried out in pleasure, my pussy soaking my thighs.

His hand sneaked down to rub my clit; he played with my nub expertly. I was in heaven; he was playing my body like an instrument.

"Bad boy." I gasped. "Too much." My orgasm approached; I was ready to come.

He inserted his tongue into my hole, making me shudder in pleasure. I clamped on it hard, his finger rubbing my clit furiously.

I came like crazy, screaming out my pleasure. "Ahahah, keep going, baby." I pleaded.

He kept licking and sucking my ass, adding another finger to rub my G-spot. His fingers moved in a curl motion, rubbing my nub perfectly.

I orgasmed again and again, losing count. His tongue was magic; he knew exactly where and how to lick me.

He inserted another finger into my ass, making me cry out in pain. His fingers worked me slowly, expanding my hole.

When he deemed it, I went on all fours, raising my butt in the air. "I'm going to fuck you." He warned.

I nodded, desperate for him to penetrate me. He lined up his cock and slowly slid into me.

His cock stretched me out, filling me whole. His hips moved slow and steady, allowing me to adjust to his length.

Once he was fully seated inside of me, he sped up his rhythm, fucking me in the earnest. His cock was so deep inside of me I felt like I was going to split in half.

My body trembled under his ministrations; he pounded me like a man possessed. He reached down to rub my pussy, making my cunt clamp on his shaft.

"Ahah, baby boy." I cried out. My body shook like a leaf; I couldn't hold my orgasm in.

He growled in my ear. "Don't hold back; I fancy seeing you coming."

I came loudly, my body convulsing under him. My pussy squirted with force, coating everything beneath. 

His free hand ran through my short hair, his mouth biting my earlobe. "You're so dirty for me." He whispered. His words set me off again, making me climax harder.

He kept fucking me ruthlessly, my body unable to take more. My pussy was sore and my ass hurt, but I couldn't help the needy noises that escaped my lips.

"Fill me up." I begged him.

"Ask it properly." He rubbed my clit more intensively. 

"Please fill my arsehole with your cum, daddy." I cried out.

"Daddy?" He raised his eyebrow in amusement. I shrugged; I didn't have the energy to explain my reasons.

"Tell me why you call me 'daddy' or I won't finish you off." He warned me. 

I turned my head to face him. "Because it makes me horny, and you own me, Daddy." I replied honestly.

He grinned at me, his cock swelling inside me. "Then call me again," he commanded.

"Daddy, please, I need you to come in my ass." I begged.

He moaned and picked up the pace, going in and out of my back door like a piston. His fingers tweaked my nipples; his mouth sucked and bit my neck.

"Fuck me, daddy." I whimpered, his cock hitting a spot inside me that made me see stars.

His hands spanned my waist, pulling me onto his cock. He bottomed out inside my ass, making me scream.

His teeth sunk into the crook of my neck. "Dirty girl, look at how much cum you produce," he whispered. His thumb rubbed my clit furiously, sending me into oblivion.

His name spilt from my lips repeatedly. "Daddy, daddy, daddy." I called out, my body trembling like crazy.

He exploded inside of me, his cum leaking down my leg. I clenched around him as hard as I could, milking him for more.

He kept thrusting into me through his orgasm, his teeth marking my skin. "Such a nasty slut for me." He grunted.

His words set me off one last time, my body shaking so hard I was afraid I would collapse. 

He rolled me on my back and kissed me deeply, his tongue invading my mouth. I returned the kiss fervently, his taste making me drunk.

When we broke apart for air, he smiled at me lazily. "You look adorable, covered in our nasty fluids." He complimented.

I chuckled. "You should see yourself, Daddy."

His hand groped my breasts and ass; he was claiming his ownership.

"I love you, baby boy," I admitted.

"I love you too, Mum," he replied. We cuddled together, enjoying each other's warmth. 

"We might burn in the heavenly fire, but I don't give a damn fuck till I'm with you." I kissed his lips like it was for good. 

[im-a-mess-of-a-person]

how the marauders & co. would dance

james: he’s so confident that he looks cool even when he’s doing stupid moves, which is most of the time. he always looks really relaxed and chill. when he really gets into it though, he’s gooooddd, and no one can look away.

sirius: he had to learn ballroom dancing when he was younger, so he has really good rhythm. ho matter what other moves he’s doing, his hips are always swinging with the beat, and it drives remus insane. he’s also just a realllyyy good dancer over all

remus: he thinks he’s an awful dancer so he won’t do it at all unless he’s drunk. but even when he finally loosens up a little, he’s still kind of stiff and self conscious. it’s kind of adorable though. he’ll dance when sirius drags him out to the floor.

peter: he has so many fun dance moves that make everyone laugh. they’re lowkey impressive though like i feel like he would randomly be able to breakdance really well and everyone is just like ??? he definitely can’t slow dance for anything though.

mary: she should be illegal. she is an absolute goddess. hips, shoulders, butt… she is a master and she knows it. she loves to dance and show off, especially for lily. she’s also always wearing the perfect clothes that swish and flow with her body.

lily: she can dance, and she knows it. she doesn’t usually go too hard until she’s had something to drink, and her moves slowly become for suggestive. lowkey feel like she had a ten things i hate about you dancing on the table moment one time and she’s never living it down.

marlene: she doesn’t like dancing. it feels unnatural and weird and the only person she’ll do it with is dorcas, or maybe mary if she’s feeling particularly tipsy generous. she’s not bad at it at all, she just doesn’t like it very much.

dorcas: she can take it or leave it. she’ll usually dance a little at parties, and occasionally she gets in a mood randomly where she really wants to dance in the middle of the day or night. marlene will always sometimes indulge her and dance with her.

pandora: nobody dances like her. she loves to dance, she can feel the music run through her soul. it possesses her, and she flows so beautifully and perfectly with it. she’s so elegant and mesmerizing and the entire room is transfixed and just stops to watch.

evan: he doesn’t much care for dancing. he can ballroom dance, but club/party dancing just isn’t really his thing. he can occasionally be convinced by barty, and he’s pretty decent at it, but he just doesn’t get the hype. he’d rather just watch

barty: oh, he is downright sinful. how does one even move like that?? he loves to dance with sirius when they both know evan and remus are watching. they get so into it and their boyfriends are over there pretending to be jealous but actually just drooling over them.

regulus: he also learned ballroom dancing, which he much prefers to anything that goes on at parties. he loves to watch james, and although he’ll deny it, he loves when james pulls him out on the floor to dance, even if it’s not a waltz. he has impeccable rhythm too, so he’s naturally good at any kind of dancing.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Two lonely souls

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I wrote part of this for the big story, still waiting editing, but then it suddenly trailed into a different direction and this didn't fit anymore so I had almost 2K words and didn't know what to do with them as to write more... 😅

Warnings: SMUT 18+, a bit of heartbreak but all in all nothing really serious. It might be a first part in a small series as I have a feeling the story still has something to give, but it depends whether it finds enough readers

Word Count: 3,5 K

Summary: it's was supposed to be just an exciting night of reckless pleasure but it seems that the Nornes have wowen a different path for the reader and Sihtric

A soft murmur rippled through the crowd crammed into the grand, vaulted chapel, swelling into a collective gasp of awe. Even Aethelwold’s grating voice faltered mid-sentence, though that might have had more to do with Finan’s whispered threat to kill him in his sleep. Yet the rest of those gathered under Alfred’s roof that day were left speechless for a different reason: the arrival of Lady Aethelflaed.

As if drawn by an unseen force, every head turned toward her, as she entered through the big heavy wooden door and with slow, deliberate steps headed toward the altar, every head but one.

Soft, delicate fingers, light as a whisper, traced down Sihtric’s forearm from elbow to palm, their touch sending a shiver through him as they wove between his own.

"I've missed you," a breath of warmth ghosted against his ear from behind, stealing his focus entirely.

He still couldn’t quite grasp how it all had happened, how he had let himself be drawn into it, but there he was, following the gentle pull of the small hand in his palm, teasingly leading him away from the gathering. 

Fortunately, they had been standing at the very back, behind the noble and important guests, making it much easier for Sihtric to slip away unnoticed, except for Finan’s questioning gaze, which trailed after him.

When he first met you, he hadn't thought much of it. In truth he hadn’t thought about anything at all. 

They had only just arrived in Winchester, exhausted and road-worn, and after a heated exchange with Uhtred, the king had begrudgingly ordered food to be served for the heathen lord and his men, along with accommodations in the servants’ quarters.

Uhtred had wanted to refuse. He would have preferred to find a few spare beds at an inn, somewhere beyond the palace walls, away from the wary, unwelcoming eyes that followed them, but his men were weary, their strength worn thin after two days of relentless riding. One glance at their haggard faces had been enough to make him swallow his pride and accept Alfred’s offer, even if unwillingly.

The meal had been better than expected, there was ham, cheese and freshly brewed ale -  things that rarely graced Alfred’s own table these days. The king had soured, as he always did, his appetite as fragile as his health. It seemed the last time he had truly enjoyed a meal had been in the marches, when Iseult’s tonic had granted him a brief respite from his pain.

Sihtric, however, had been in an even fouler mood, having drained a few mugs of ale too much, he had made himself underway to his room, trying to ignore the smug, knowing grins Finan and Clapa exchanged across the table.

He had truly believed it would be different this time, he had believed in the soft, sweet words, the sighs, the kisses, the sorrowful eyes that had looked at him as if he were something precious. He had wanted to believe. He always did.

"She's gone," he had confessed to his lord just before, his gaze fixed on the ground, arms hanging limply at his sides, shame burning hot in his cheeks. “She took everything. My silver. My arm rings. She didn’t even have to steal them. I gave them away willingly.”

Uhtred sighed. "Sihtric, I told you not to give her any of your arm rings or silver, didn’t I?"

"Yes, Lord," he murmured, his head sinking lower. Of course, he hadn’t listened, it had felt too good, to be able to give, to see the flicker of surprise in her eyes, to hear the warm laughter that followed. For once, he had been the reason someone smiled.

And now, it was all gone, his silver, his rings and the girl for whom he had so foolishly asked permission to marry, and it was not the first time. They always left, the moment things became real, the moment the softness turned to something solid, something he could hold, they slipped through his fingers like river water.

You had crossed his path just as he rounded the corner, the chatter and laughter of the evening meal fading away. A fresh breeze of rose oil mixed with the faint scent of ale and the lingering warmth of the hall wrapped around him as you passed by, your appearance so sudden that he nearly stumbled. 

“You drink like a man with a heavy heart,” you had said softly, tilting your head. “Or a man running from something.”

“I just have no luck with women,” he had muttered, surprising even himself with the confession.

Your fingers had traced a slow path up his chest before curling around the back of his neck, drawing him down until your lips brushed against his ear.

“Maybe,” you had whispered, “you’ve just been looking in the wrong places.”

It must have been the ale, or the sorrow, or the gnawing loneliness, or all of it tangled together. You were beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he was heartbroken. It all just fit together, and before he could think better of it, before doubt could creep in, he let himself lean in, just slightly, just enough to test the waters. And you didn’t pull away.

That night you had fucked like animals in heat, filthy, hungry, desperate, reckless, passionate. It hadn’t been slow, it hadn’t been sweet nor soft, no whispered promises, no careful restraint. Just heat and hands, and teeth grazing the skin, leaving marks that wouldn’t fade by the morning. It had been need, pure and raw, burning through the both of you like fire through dry grass.

Sihtric had fucked you like a man drowning, grasping for something to hold on, sinking into  you with the force of a wild boar and you had answered him with the same fervor, taking his cock like you had been waiting for this all your life, your body arching to meet every punishing thrust, clawing at his skin like a lynx, as if you could tear the sorrow straight from his chest with every scrape of your nails, every wild, unrestrained moan.

You had fucked for hours, until the embers in the hearth had slowly died out, until the first traces of dawn had started to creep through the cracks in the shutters, until the urgency finally gave way to something else. Until your fingers, still tangled in his hair, had softened and your lips, still swollen from his, had lingered instead of devouring, until his hands once rough and insistent, had begun to soothe and cradle and his breathing, still ragged, had fallen into the rhythm with yours.

You had fallen asleep, tangled and lost in each other, unable to tell where one ended and the other began. 

Sihtric had woken first. He could still feel your body pressed against him, your leg draped lazily over his, your skin warm against the chill in the air. 

In the pale light, you looked untouched by the wildness of the night before, serene and at peace, nothing like the wild thing who had clawed at his shoulders, gasped against his throat and  moaned his name like both a prayer and a curse.

He had shifted, carefully, hesitantly, fingers twitching as he pondered to leave now, before you woke, before you could open your eyes, before you remembered who he was, what he was, and decided this had been a mistake. Before you could look at him with something different in your eyes – regret, distance, a polite, meaningless smile and an excuse.

But just as he moved to slip away, your hand had reached for him, brushing against his skin like you had always meant to find him there. A sleepy sigh, a shift of your body against his, and your eyes opened. You didn’t flinch, you didn’t pull away, you simply looked at him, slow and steady, and then, you smiled. 

Sihtric swallowed hard. He shouldn’t have let it happen, shouldn’t have let himself believe, even for a moment, that this could be anything more than what it was. 

So he did what he had always done. Silently, he slid the last silver ring from his finger and held it out to you. It wasn’t an offering meant to insult, it was the only language he knew, the only way to show gratitude. He simply didn’t know that love and affection couldn’t be bought. 

You only laughed, a quiet, breathy sound, your lips curling in something between amusement and disbelief. Shaking your head, you reached for his hand, wrapping his fingers around the shiny thing as if it had no worth to you at all, as if you were giving it back not because you didn’t want it, but because you never needed it in the first place. 

You had left him with a lingering kiss, the ghost of your lips still burning against his, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll see you again, Sihtric,” you had whispered, before slipping through the door and  disappearing into the narrow corridors with the quiet, effortless grace of a wild creature.

And that had been the end of it, or so he had thought, until later that very same day, when his jaw had nearly dropped and he almost choked on his own breath, as Lady Aethelflaed had introduced her cousin to Uhtred.

And there you stood, his wild lynx, the very same mischievous grin dancing on your lips.

He had tried to avoid you, to forget you, to erase your image and your scent from his mind but you wouldn’t let him. 

That very same evening, he had found you waiting for him, leaning lazily against the wall beside his room, the dim torchlight flickering across your face. You had smiled, warm and knowing, your fingers had teasingly trailed up the stiff leather of his armour, tangling in his hair, as you pulled him down to your lips.

He had wanted to ignore you, to turn away before he fell even deeper into something he couldn’t control but the moment your lips brushed against his, he lost himself, the last remnants of reason, of restraint, dissolved into nothing. His arms wrapped around you as if they had a will of their own, drawing you flush against him, caging you in his hold.

And all he could think about was the sight of your heart-shaped ass moving back and forth, the way you had taken him so greedily, so perfectly, as he pounded into you from behind.

Sihtric’s heart hammered against his ribs, though he couldn’t say if it was from the rush of sneaking away or the warmth of your hand in his. 

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

Sihtric swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I don’t know where you’re taking me,” he admitted.

“Would it matter if you did?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No, it wouldn’t.

You stopped abruptly, turning to face him and placing your free hand against his chest as you guided him back, pushing him into an alcove barely deep enough to cover you both from the sight.

“You looked miserable back there,” you murmured, leaning back against the wall and pulling him closer until his body was pressed flush against yours, and your lips crashed against his.

A low growl rumbled in Sihtric’s throat as his hands found your waist. 

He didn’t understand this. Didn’t understand you. Why you had sought him out, why you had chosen him, but he wasn’t about to question it. 

Your teeth scraped against his bottom lip, and he groaned, his fingers tightening at your hips.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, teasingly grazing the laces of his armour, and a shiver ran through him at the promise in your touch.

“I want you on your knees, pretty boy,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding, eyes alight with mischief.

Sihtric’s brows shot up, the walls felt impossibly thin, the distant hum of voices reminding him of the wedding gathering just around the corner. “Lady, what are you doing? Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, glancing back toward the doorway. “The wedding ceremony will be over in a moment, we’ll be seen.”

“Then you’ll have to be quick,” you smirked. “Come on, don’t tell me that a handsome warrior like you doesn’t know what to do with his tongue.”

A blush spread up Sihtric’s neck to his cheeks. “This is madness,” he muttered, licking his lips, his voice hoarse, but his body betrayed him, his knees bending as he sank to the ground.

It was madness, the wedding ceremony with over hundred guests was just over the corner, the corridor lay epmty for the moment but the narrow alcove barely concealed you both, anyone could walke past, anyone could see. It was reckless, it was wrong and yet neither of you was willing to stop.

His hands rested lightly on your skirts, unsure but willing, and you cupped his jaw, tilting his face up to meet yours, the hunger in his eyes sending a jolt straight through you..

“Good boy,” she murmured, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. “Show me what you’ve got.” 

Your hands gathered the fabric of your dress, lifting it up your thighs, as you spread your legs just enough to make his breath hitch. The sharp exhale that left Sihtric at the sight of your bare center as he licked his lips, made you giggle softly, your fingers threading into his dark hair. 

Sihtric’s hands settled on your buttocks, fingers curling into your plush flesh as he pulled you closer, easing you away from the wall, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle tremor in his grip betraying his nervous excitement. He leaned in, his cheek brushing against the exposed skin of your inner thigh, sending a delicious shiver up your spine.

“You are trouble,” he murmured, the soft sound of his voice vibrating against your skin. “Do you know that?”

“And you like it,” you shot back, tugging at his hair just enough to draw a soft groan from him, the sound sent a surge of heat through you, and you couldn’t resist a wicked smile. “Now, stop stalling.”

You barely had time to brace yourself before his lips started to press a trail of feather-light kisses up your thigh, his tongue flicked against your core, teasing, testing, savouring, and you whined out feeling your knees getting weak.

“Sihtric,” you whispered, your voice breaking as his lips sealed around your perl, his tongue swirling in steady, devastating circles and your knees nearly buckled, but his hands slid down the backs of your thighs, holding you steady as he obeyed your command with a fervor that left you breathless. His lips, his tongue, his mouth worked against you with sinful precision, he sucked, just lightly at your pulsing bundle of nerves, and a broken moan tore from your throat. 

“Oh God,” you gasped as his hot tongue kept brushing against your bud, diving deeper between your folds. You glanced down and another moan clawed through you from the sight of him on his knees, cheeks flushed, eyes half lidded, his tongue buried between your legs like a starved man at a feast. 

It all had started as a passionate one night stand, a meaningless adventure. Having grown up in your fathers estate far away from cities and noble ways, you still couldn’t grasp why you were sent to Winchester. 

“To learn the ways of a lady,” your father had told you.

You hadn’t wanted it, not if that meant to bow your head and accept the place in the shadows. 

After your mother’s death your father had withdrawn into himself, often neglecting his duties as a landlord. That’s when you had stepped in. The small, mischievous girl he once knew had grown into a strong-willed young woman, one who spent her time hunting, sparring, and settling disputes with an authority that overshadowed his own. By the time he finally realized how little he had shaped you into the daughter he had imagined, it was too late to change you, but he had tried anyway, and as a last resort he had decided to send you to Winchester, hoping that your aunt, Aelswith, still had a chance to mold you into something more acceptable.

“Nobody will want to marry a wildling,” he had said, and you had scoffed, marriage being the last thing you cared about. 

So you found yourself trapped in a world that did not fit you, bored of the pious, rigid life under Alfred’s roof, of endless prayers, oatmeal porridges, hushed voices in candlelit halls. The few times you could practice swordplay with Steapa were the only times you truly felt alive, until the group of warriors under Uhtred’s command arrived and you noticed him – the strikingly handsome, quiet young Dane, who seemingly carried the weight of something unseen on his shoulders. Sihtric – you had heard others call him.

That night, he had looked more than miserable. Seated at the long table in the servants’ quarters, his head rested in his hands, avoiding conversation, avoiding eye contact, as if the very air around him was too heavy to breathe.

You had watched him from the shadows, knowing full well that you had no business lingering there, but you couldn’t help it. There was something about him – the way he sat apart from the others, lost in his own thoughts, drowning in ale and sorrow that made you even more curious.

And when he finally pushed himself up from the table and slipped away into the dimly lit corridors, you had made a decision, you were going to tease him. Just a little, just enough to shake the brooding warrior out of his misery.

You hadn’t expected the night to turn into something else, something more.

What started as playful distraction quickly turned into something raw and unrestrained. The moment his lips had met yours, any hesitation melted away, replaced by hunger and need. He had kissed you like a man starving, touched you like there would be no tomorrow and when he finally took you, it had been with a ferocity that left you breathless, reeling.

By God, you had never had a more passionate lover, firm and demanding, even rough, yet so attuned to your every breath, every whimper and moan. You had never met anybody who took so much delight in giving you pleasure before taking his own, watching you unravel beneath him as if nothing else in the world mattered.

You had thought it would end there. An exciting night of reckless pleasure, a moment of indulgence before returning to the monotony of prayers and duty. Little did you know how wrong you were. 

Was it the way he had looked at you that morning, with quiet sorrow in his mismatched eyes, as if expecting nothing but rejection? Or was it the way his fingers lingered on your skin, hesitant, reluctant to let go? Maybe it was the way he had held out his last silver ring to you with gratitude in his gaze, not knowing you had no need for it. 

You weren’t sure what it was, but something stronger than reason had guided your legs back to the servants’ quarters the next evening and the moment his lips crashed against yours, the whole world began to spin. 

You had never expected to feel something like this. It seemed you were made for each other, equally eager to dominate and to surrender, to give and to take. Two lonely souls starved for  love and affection. 

And you couldn’t decide what unraveled you more – the way his touch brought you indescribable pleasure, or the way he came undone at yours. 

The game had begun, and neither of you had any intention of stopping.

You moaned and Sihtric’s lips curled into a smirk, a flicker of pride in his expression as he glanced up at you. “Is this what you wanted?” he rasped against your core.

“Yessss - ahhh, don’t stop, don’t you dare to stop,” you mewled, your voice shaking. You leaned heavily against the cold stone wall, and your head snapped back as his tongue lapped over your swollen perl, dragging you mercilessly to the edge. A wicked heat coiled low in your belly, tension building up faster than you could grasp and then you shattered.

A cry left your lips, your fingers curling desperately in his hair as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your thighs trembled, threatening to give out, but Sihtric held you firm, his mouth never leaving your center, prolonging your pleasure until you were gasping, panting,  boneless mess against the cold stone wall. 

When you finally caught your breath, you reached for him, cupping his face and pulling him up to meet your lips, kissing him slowly, deeply, as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

"You’re far too good at that," you whispered, your heart pounding against his chest.

The moment ended as abruptly as it began, the faint creak of the main door jolting you both back to reality. Sihtric pulled away, his hands steadying you as he glanced toward the sound.

You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his flushed cheek. “We should go before someone finds us.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, helping you adjust your skirts, but his hand lingered at your waist, his eyes still dark with longing. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for another kiss. 

“And you’ll enjoy every moment of it,” you teased, stealing one last kiss before slipping out of the alcove.

Sihtric let out a slow, unsteady breath, watching you disappear down the corridor, leaving him flustered, aching, his breeches painfully tight.

And even as every fibre of his being screamed that this was madness, that it couldn’t last, that it shouldn’t last, his lips curled into a dreamy smile as he imagined you this night, your little wicked smirk fading into something darker, something hungry, you hands gripping his tights, your warm breath ghosting over his skin before your soft, sinful lips wrapped around his aching length.

He groaned under his breath, fingers clenching into fists at his sides, as he could almost feel it, your tongue teasing along his shaft, your mouth taking him deeper, your nails digging into his skin as he tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you.

And gods, you would enjoy it, like you had done it so many nights before. The thought alone made his breeches even more unbearable, his breath coming quicker, his pulse hammering.

Gods help him, he knew he was in trouble, deep, deep trouble, but he didn’t care.

Because for the first time in his life, losing himself didn’t feel like drowning, it felt like breathing.