#genuinely want to collapse on the ground

[reidmania]

yall are fucking whores for soft dom spencer. dirty dirty dirty whores. u disgust me.

(its me im yall)

[liebrenado]

@saimatsu-week Day 5: Touch.

"Compassion makes people trust you. If you offer them your hand, they'll reach for it..."

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[peachesofteal]

Simon discovers something unexpected:

Light on masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader (single mom)

The first time Simon meets you, it’s on the rooftop of the apartment building in the middle of the morning.

He’s up here for a smoke, his first in hours, his body anxiously craving the nicotine after sitting on a cramped train for too long after the final debrief. His muscles are sore, stitches in his leg bothering him, mind is exhausted, and all he wants to do is smoke a cigarette and then collapse on the bed inside the flat that he hasn’t seen for months.

When he gets to the roof, after climbing four flights of stairs because the bloody elevator is broken, he’s greeted with two surprises. One, there is a garden up here now, multiple raised beds enclosed in sturdy two by sixes, and two… you are kneeling on the brick between them.

You’re on your knees, digging around, dirt smudged on your clothes, purple garden gloves caked with soil. You’re talking aloud too, rooting around in the plants and singing out names of vegetables and their corresponding colors, occasional pulling something green loose and stuffing it in a bag. He glances around the roof, confused, but sees no one but you, your voice carrying on the wind to where he stands by the clunky metal door.

When he gets closer, he realizes you’re not talking to yourself at all, but to a baby. A tiny baby tucked into a carrier, who’s eyes are wide and somewhat tracking your hand movements while you point to things in the garden bed, in the sky, on the ground.

“And this is a parsnip.” You say, brushing some rust-colored earth from the root and turning it in your hand. “They’re not very tasty raw but aren’t terrible cooked.” The baby watches you in awe, little feet and arms kicking and swinging while you smile and nod at them, like you think they understand anything you’ve just said. “Yeah! A parsnip!” You’re smiling, your face is bloody radiant as you nod down to the baby, one of your hands rubbing dirt from your skin onto your pants before you’re reaching out to grab a cloth from the baby’s lap and mopping up something on their chin. The action causes you to shift, your head turning enough to catch him in your peripherals, body tensing like you’ve been frozen, shoulders raising under your ears before you loosen and relax, squinting up at him in the sun. “Hi.” You blink, glancing back down to the carrier. “I uh, didn’t realize anyone else was up here.” He swallows, trying to give you a response, brain fracturing at the seam as it frantically attempts to recall words, civilian words like hello, or hi, or sorry. It’s difficult, because he’s a little distracted by how the light refracting in your eyes, the way it’s shining on your skin and hair, bathing you in the early morning glow like you’re some sort of angel. He’s still a few feet away, but he thinks he can see entire universes in your irises, every color ever imagined shimmering in the rays of the sun.

His brain finally catches up, and his mouth thankfully remembers how to form words.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” He’s polite and you shrug, nodding to your little companion.

“You’re not disturbing us. We were just harvesting some vegetables.” You smile brightly, casually stripping off the gloves while you rock up from your knees into a standing position. If the mask bothers you, you don’t outwardly show it, and your posture is relaxed when stand in front of him. “Isn’t that right, Emmaline?” You coo down to the baby, who wiggles in her carrier as a response, face lighting up at the sound of your voice, or her name. He’s not sure. Do you live here? Are you… her mum? The babysitter? Who are you?

You give him a once over, briefly, and he watches your smile shift from genuine to forced when your eyes land on his hands. The smokes. He’s holding a pack of cigarettes in one hand, and you clear your throat, brushing some dirt off the front of your clothes. “We were actually just finishing up.” You bend at the waist to pull the carrier into the crook of your elbow, supporting its weight with your hip, and slide the handles of the bag full of green things onto your opposite shoulder. “Roof’s all yours.” He feels a pang of regret, like he doesn’t want you to go, the sentiment unnatural to him, unsettling. You obviously live in the building, he thinks. But where? Do you lug that carrier up and down the steps all the time, just to get up here? He frowns.

“I can wait.” He tries to stop you, guilt running thick in his veins, and you shake your head.

“It’s lunchtime anyway.” You incline your head to little Emmaline, who’s face is growing a little scrunchy, like she’s upset, and he swallows.

“Alright, then.” You give him another nod, and head off towards the door. He grits his teeth, fingers tensing around the thin carboard in his hand, the little box holding his salvation safely in its grasp, but his eyes slide to where you walk away, and he can’t help but notice the way the carrier lightly bumps against your hips as they sway. Bloody hell.

[unclewaynemunson]

“I need to tell you something.”

Shitfuckno. Eddie doesn't even know why he's still surprised. This is how it always goes, after all. He should probably just give up and stop dating altogether – again.

Steve looks at him exactly as ominously as the words I need to tell you something require. Perfect Steve. Funny Steve. Sweet Steve. Sexy Steve. Steve, who Eddie had genuinely believed to be different.

Eddie sighs, barely suppressing a dark chuckle while he turns away from that perfect face. He doesn't want to look at Steve when he'll tell him the undoubtedly messed-up shit he's about to spill.

“Lemme guess, you're married?” That was what the last guy he dated told him, seven months after they got to know each other. It can't be much worse than that, can it?

Steve grabs Eddie's hand, causing him to involuntarily jerk up his head and meet his eyes.

“How did you know?”

Jesus H. Christ. Not again.

Eddie roughly pulls his hand out of Steve's grip and laughs a joyless laugh.

“Apparently I'm a good guesser.”

He stands up from the park bench the two of them had been sharing. “Well, Steve, this has been a blast. You should go back to your wife, or husband – don't tell me, I don't even wanna know – and I should um, get going. Maybe tell the next person right away what they'll be getting themselves into. Would save them a lot of wasted time, just in case cheating and going around other people's backs isn't really their thing, y'know.”

“Eddie, wait, let me explain!”

Eddie picks up his pace, but Steve, stubborn as he is, easily keeps up with him.

“I'm really not interested, man.”

“It's not – I'm not cheating on her!”

“Okay, so you have an open marriage, good for you. Still the kind of information you could've shared with me, say, three months ago, don't you think?”

“She's a lesbian.”

And that makes Eddie freeze on the spot. It takes Steve two steps before he realizes Eddie has stopped moving; he walks backwards until he's standing right in front of Eddie.

“She's my best friend,” he says, immediately using Eddie's stunned silence to his advantage. “Robin, my roommate – I told you all about her. We wanted to buy a house together and that turned out to be very complicated when you're not... Well, when you're not romantically involved. So we got married. For the, um, practical reasons. We never – we're like siblings. I love her like a sister. But she's also my wife. Platonically.”

It takes a few seconds until Steve's words sink in. Then, Eddie leaps forward and basically collapses into Steve's arms, needing to hold onto him to prevent himself from crashing to the ground.

Steve's arms are warm, strong, and as safe as ever.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Steve asks softly. His lips brush against Eddie's ear while he speaks, and worry colors his voice.

Perfect Steve. Too-good-to-be-true Steve.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” is the only thing Eddie manages to say.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Steve says. “It's just – I've gotten some, um... Less than ideal reactions, in the past, whenever I told this when I was seeing someone. So I thought it'd be better to wait until things were getting serious.” He sighs, tangling his fingers in Eddie's hair. “I didn't wanna scare you off. Are we – are you okay?”

Eddie nods. He lifts his head from where it's resting against Steve's shoulder and raises his hands to squeeze them around Steve's face.

“We're okay,” he says. “And I'm sorry I didn't want to listen to you. I–” He stops; he can't find the words right away. It's still difficult to talk about those things; to let himself be vulnerable. But Steve has been honest with him, so it's only fair to return the favor.

“I've been hurt, Steve,” he confesses. “More than once. I've had some really shitty experiences with dudes not being honest with me. I thought that that was what was happening again, and I couldn't – I couldn't go through that again. Especially not with you.”

“Jesus, Eddie, I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Eddie rushes to say, pulling Steve even closer towards him. “I trust you.” And as soon as these words leave his mouth, he knows it's the truth.

“I do want to be absolutely clear about one thing, though,” Steve says.

Eddie leans back in Steve's arms to give him an expectant look.

“Robin is my wife. I'm not planning on that to change anytime soon. We've been through a lot together. She's been the most important person in my life for years. We own a house and a dog together, and I love her more than anything. I like you a lot, and I promise you I'm all-in with you, but... Robin is still my number one. And that's not gonna change overnight. I need you to be okay with that.”

Eddie swallows. He looks into Steve's eyes. All he sees is a man who is honest, who loves his friends deeply, and who refuses to make any compromises when it comes to love – whether it be the platonic or the romantic kind.

It doesn't scare Eddie off; it only makes him fonder of Steve.

He smiles, glances around to check if they're alone, and presses a quick kiss against Steve's lips.

“I think I can live with that,” he says. “As long as I'm the only one who gets to do this.” He closes his eyes and lets his lips meet Steve's again.

The sigh that Steve breathes into their tentative kiss is one filled with relief.

[yourmidnightlover]

the sun

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: after the events of the snap, you find out news that's both heart wrenching and warming. what happens five years later when bucky's back?

warnings: death, mourning, pregnancy, childbirth, canon-typical violence (not much but just adding to cover all the bases), loosely based on end game and infinity war (as in ignore my mistakes lmaooo), if i failed to mention any warnings PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

wc: 2.6k

a/n: dude idk why i've had an urge to write such heart wrenching angst lately. i'm actually in a decent place rn. i tried to cut this fic down bc originally it was SOOOO long i felt like a lot of it was just filler and i feel like shorter fics of mine tend to do better... ANYWHO! this does have a happy/hopeful ending so no worries! also picturing this beefcake for this story is AGHHHHHHH!

you never thought two lines on a stick could ever break your heart the way they did.

tears clouded your vision as you gripped the counter, trying not to crumble or succumb to your grief.

6 weeks ago, the avengers lost. everything.

half of the world, gone in a moment.

in one moment, your world collapsed. seeing bucky fade to dust right in front of you...

sobs wracked through your body as you crumbled to the ground.

this was supposed to be a happy moment. there should be tears of joy, not sobs of sorrow. your heart should feel full of love, not like there's a super-soldier sized hole in it.

"y/n," nat's voice rang outside the door, giving you a moment to yourself.

"just-," you tried to level your breathing before she opened the door, knowing but not understanding the grief you were feeling.

she wrapped her arms around your body, tucking your head into her neck as she gently rubbed your back soothingly. steve leaned against the bathroom door, glancing on the counter to see what they had all expected.

a positive pregnancy test.

you were having bucky's baby.

without bucky.

you gripped his dog tags that you had been wearing since the funeral. they were the only thing that could truly ground you.

they brought back happy memories of cuddling in bed, the cool metal shocking your skin for only a moment before realizing that it was only bucky and smiling at the memory.

god, it hadn't even been two months.

how were you supposed to do this alone?

"we're here for you," steve's voice called from the doorway, as if he could hear your thoughts. "you'll never be alone. not in this... not ever." he shook his head, his brows furrowed in a serious, straight line.

eventually, your sobs subsided. you stood with nat from your seat on the ground, wiping your own eyes mustering up a pathetic smile before she left you and steve to work out your grief together.

"we didn't even know it was possible," you shrugged. "it's like he sent me them..." you placed your hand on an invisible bump before facing steve, his teary eyes reminding you that he had lost his best friend, too. "he sent us this baby."

you reached your hand out for steve to hold. he took it gratefully and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight and letting only a few tears slip his waterline before pulling back.

"if you'll let me, i want to be there for you for everything," his chin wobbled. "buck would kick my ass if i let you go through this alone." a genuine laugh left your lips for the first time in nearly two months.

"i would be so grateful for that," you nodded as you let go of his arms. "part of me still can't believe that it's real. it's like part of me still expects him to walk into the compound from a long mission or something..." you shook your head. "i know that sounds so stupid."

"it's not," he shook his head with a smile. "it's what i wish was true, maybe it's your subconscious trying to preserve your mind?"

"maybe," you shrugged before continuing, "i should probably talk to tony and bruce, huh?"

-

you knew you were around eight weeks along.

according to the doctors' tony had enlisted, however, you were already 12 weeks along, which was impossible.

bucky had been gone on a mission at that time... but it's whatever. you got to hear the heartbeat. steve went with you, too. you both bawled together. you kept three copies of the ultrasound and he kept two.

banner had already offered to do some testing on the dna of the baby, noting that the serum would likely affect the pregnancy (as it probably already has).

you had talked to tony about retiring from the whole superhero gig for the time being. you needed to mourn and prepare for a new life simultaneously. tony had promised to provide anything you needed at the drop of a hat, and he sure as hell delivered.

within no time, your pregnancy was being measured at 20 weeks while only being pregnant for 12. banner was concerned for your body's ability to keep up with the rapid rate of growth of the baby. he had you on a strict, hefty diet with two different prenatal vitamins in attempt to help your nutrition.

in spite of your best efforts, you were always exhausted and in pain. but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. this was bucky's baby. you didn't care how much pain you went through when you had half of him growing inside of you.

you couldn't walk for long without feeling like passing out, which banner chalked up to low iron. steve had grown progressively more worried for you and the baby the longer the pregnancy went on.

as a result, he had moved into the spare room that was in your and bucky's house. truly, it just made it easier for him to help you finish up the nursery anyway.

he was very handy about it all, painting, building furniture from scratch, the whole deal.

"i've been thinking... and if it's a girl, i want to name her evangeline james barnes," you informed steve as you ate the steak he had been making for the past few weeks of your pregnancy, as ordered by dr. banner. that with carrots, broccoli, potatoes, and for dessert strawberries, blueberries and raspberries over ice cream. "and if it's a boy, cyrus james barnes. evangeline means good news, and cyrus means sun."

steve placed his hand over yours, "i think buck would've loved them." he smiled warmly as you downed the food in a few minutes.

you had begun showing soon after you found out you were pregnant, but now, it felt like it was impossible to hide. nat had been wonderful about helping you keep up with the changes your body was going through, getting you new maternity clothes every week.

she even made sure to get you every single craving that wasn't in accordance to banner's hefty diet. not that he didn't want you to eat more, he thought it was best you did! but he also wanted to make sure that with all that you did eat, your body got as many nutrients as possible.

just to be safe, he kept you on other vitamin supplements anyway.

you couldn't help but imagine what bucky would say or do about everything now.

he would hold your body closely, pressing firm kisses to your bump every chance he could get while whispering some sickly sweet sayings to your unborn child, words that would melt the winter soldier's cold exterior.

he would whisper words of encouragement any moment you felt worried about your abilities to be a mom. he would say how beautiful you were, in spite of being bloated in places you didn't know could bloat.

he would be wonderful, and in your mind, he was still alive and vibrant. well, as vibrant as bucky ever was, at least.

truthfully, that's the only way you were able to keep going on like this. steve was wonderful, but you couldn't help but want the love of your life by your side as you tried to navigate this new chapter.

in a couple more weeks, you were projected to be at 32 weeks. bruce and tony were talking with your doctors about the safety of inducing so early, both for you and the baby.

oh, and you wanted the gender to be a surprise.

and within the week, you were having your baby.

steve and nat were by your side during the birth, whispering encouraging words and compliments of your strength.

"i need him!" you screamed in pain as you held one of each of their hands, sobbing in agony. "i need james! i need my bucky! i can't do this alone, i can't-i can't!"

"you can," nat reminded you. "this baby needs you," she held your face to look at hers. "bucky is a part of this baby." you swore you could see tears in her eyes before turning to face steve.

"remember what you told me when you found out you were pregnant?" he didn't bother wiping the tears from his face. "bucky sent you-sent us this baby. he knows you can do it." you sniffled before nodding at your two best friends, pushing with one last scream and a second later, you had...

"cyrus james barnes," the nurse called to you. "it's a boy, congratulations mom."

-

the next few years went by quicker than you could've ever imagined.

crawling, first words, first steps...

you missed bucky. not a day passed where you didn't miss him.

but, having cy helped a lot. he looked just like his father. dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, a cute little nose... not to mention his father's stubbornness.

you made sure he knew who his father was. you took him to the museum often, showing him the statue of his father and his background in the world war, him saving the world so much. you told him how you fell in love with him.

how you fell for the quiet man before ever really talking to him. how you were partners on a long-term, undercover mission and that's where your love ignited from the sparks.

not that cy understood any of what you told him. you just felt it was important to know that his parents loved him, and each other dearly.

you never took off his dog tags, either.

steve was a huge help the whole time. he kept working for the avengers, so he was gone often, but he provided a good male role model for cyrus. after all, he was his uncle steve. he already taught him how to throw a ball, albeit a little softball, but it counts!

you made sure to document everything that went on in yours and cyrus's life.

banner had said that cyrus was growing at an exceeding rate, but nothing to be concerned about. in fact, cyrus was turning five in almost half a year, meaning the anniversary of bucky's death, or disappearance or whatever you called it, was coming up.

then, you got a call from tony and banner.

it all happened so quickly, from testing to planning to the execution. pepper watched cyrus for you while you went back with steve, scott, and tony to get the tesseract.

of course, the men being men had to come upon a few hiccups, but eventually, after going as far back as the 70s, you brought back the tesseract.

the only thing is that nat never came back...

next thing you know, bruce is snapping his fingers and clint is getting a call from his supposedly deceased wife. your eyes fill with tears, hands searching in your pockets for your phone to see if you've gotten anything yet.

is it possible he wasn't brought back? he was the first to... disintegrate. die. maybe that meant something in the eyes of the stones?

then, you felt a buzz in your hand.

although, you didn't have any time to try to grasp what that meant, because more aliens came to earth.

shocker.

after yet another war, one that you weren't even prepared for, after losing more people, again. after losing tony...

but amidst the chaos of the aftermath of the fight, with screams of joy and shock and grief surrounding you, tears streaming down your face, your eyes met the blue ones you only saw in your son.

he slowly walked towards you as the tears sped up. you didn't even realize when your feet began running towards him.

when his arms wrapped around your waist, you finally felt the home you thought you had come to terms with never feeling again. your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder as you breathed in the scent of gunmetal that had overtaken him in the battle.

"oh my god," you cried into the leather of his jacket. he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist as you felt his smile on your cheek. "i can't believe you're really here."

"i'm here, doll," his hands cradled your head so tenderly. "i'm not ever leaving again. never."

you pulled back before your eyes widened in realization. "you've gotta meet someone, jamie."

his brows furrowed in confusion, just smiling and nodding along with whatever you said.

within the next few hours, simply being held by bucky before steve stole him away with a hug, you finally brought him home.

"so, steve moved in," you started as you pulled your car into the driveway, turning to see bucky looking at you with an incredulous look. "you'll see why." you reached to hold his hand before he brought yours to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

you told him to wait in the car as you went inside to relieve the babysitter for cyrus. after giving him some cash, he went outside, knocking on your car window to let bucky know he should make his way inside.

upon entering, he saw you sitting on the floor with a little boy with striking blue eyes that seemed so familiar to him. his nose, too. his lips though, they were all yours. he had a slight grin plastered on his lips, one that matched yours to a t.

"daddy?" suddenly, it all clicked.

his heart, his mind, his fucking soul, everything made sense now. the pain, hydra, the mind washing, the torture.

meeting you. falling in love. dying?

his son.

he started walking closer to bucky before the steady walk turned into a run. bucky knelt down, wrapping the boy in his arms, cradling his tiny frame in his arms protectively. his son.

"cyrus james barnes," you said with a teary smile on your face. bucky, without breaking the hug with his son, looked up at you with a smile that matched yours. "cyrus means 'sun', and i thought it was fitting. he brought me so much light and hope after you..." you choked up before he stood up with cy in his arms, walking towards you before wrapping you in the big, family hug.

"i love you so much, both of you."

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ Cooking & Cleaning; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: service sub!art donaldson, dom!reader, afab/fem reader, use of ma'am as an honorific, brief food play, oral sex (reader receiving), begging, handjob, brief edging, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms (character receiving), dry orgasm

wc: 6.3 k (whoops)

note: this was pulled from the most depraved parts of my brain. i refuse to be held accountable for the absolute filth this contains ! :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

The very second that your key is in the apartment door and you're finally home, you find your legs nearly collapsing underneath you as you step inside and kick off your black kitten heels.

"God," you groan, shutting the door behind you before you move to peel your chic new blazer off of your shoulders. You toss it onto the coatrack nearby and bring a handful of your fingers up to your forehead to rub at it tensely, sighing deeply.

It had been a long day at the USTA (United States Tennis Association) office, and all you wanted to do was come home and see your husband.

-

After Art had lost several important and consecutive tennis matches, as well as his confidence on the court (despite his actual tennis skills still being phenomenal -- he just psyched himself out too much), he had decided to give up his life as a professional athlete.

At first, this devastated you. Not only did you love your partner and believe in him throughout his career, as well as believing in his very real ability to eventually win the US Open, but this decision of his also meant that your position as his coach would become obsolete..

You actually became quite anxious about you and Art's future at the time.. you had needed a purpose, and so did he. You both were just those kinds of people; you and him both wanted to feel that you were contributing to something bigger than just yourselves, and that you were being useful to someone or something.

Luckily, his many previous years of successful tennis playing had scored you and him a shit ton of wealth. Like, genuinely a lot. You were beyond grateful, but you still wanted a life of your own. You didn't dare to think about the idea of becoming a stay-at-home wife while he went out and did whatever he wanted. Yuck. It just wasn't for you.

Your fears and inner turmoil about this change in your lives were quickly eased once Art had sat you down about two weeks after he had left his tennis career behind. He had taken your hands in his, smiled softly like he always did, and told you that he wanted to stay at home and take care of everything in it while you went out and continued your career in the field of professional athletics.

Of course, you immediately and excitedly agreed with the idea of this new plan, and then that was that!

You two developed new lives and new roles as people over a short period of time, but it didn't take away from the love you two shared. That always stayed consistent and at the center of everything.

Eventually, after a month or so of coming home from your new job to Art doing things like vacuuming the wooden floors of your guys' expensive New York apartment, or making elaborate protein-packed smoothies for the gym sessions that you two still did together, you came to realize that the whole "house husband" persona was actually kinda hot.

He had realized it too. Quicker than you had, actually. In fact, he can distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling of heat that had pooled deep in his gut the first time he had ever served you a home-cooked meal after you came home from a long day at your new job. He had gently rubbed your sore feet that night while you ate, and then suddenly couldn't find a way to deny how this new practice of.. servicing you.. made him feel.

I mean, God, he loved doing that stuff for you.. cooking.. tidying.. pampering.. washing.. he would do it all. You knew that he worshipped the ground that you walked on—reminding yourself constantly of the time he had admitted to you during sex that he believed he would be "nowhere without you"—and you devoured the increased sense of power that came with it every. single. time. It eventually became very easy and comfortable for you to let him take care of you. You grew hungry for it.

And then this persona of his, over time, dissolved into something much more intimate..

-

After tossing your blazer on the rack and rubbing at your temples, you drag your pantyhose-covered feet across the floor and into the kitchen.

Your nose is instantly filled with the aroma of fluffy, vanilla sweetness and a bit of nutmeg. you sigh happily as you turn the corner and see Art standing over a mess of what appears to be flour and sugar in a large bowl on the kitchen counter. He looks over his shoulder briefly with a smile as he mixes the dry ingredients together with a whisk.

“Hey, hon,” he grins, before turning back to look down at his current baking project.

you shuffle up behind him and hug him, your cheek pressing against his warm upper back as your arms reach to wrap gently around his abdomen. You sigh deeply.

“Hey, babe.. ‘m so tired. It was such a long day.”

He laughs softly, which shakes you a bit as you hold him.

“What’d your colleagues do now?”

You shake your head against him, groaning dramatically.

“I don’t want to talk about it.. what are you baking? It smells good in here.”

“Nothing crazy, it’s just some holiday cookies. I found the recipe online this morning after you left.”

“How many are you planning to make? There’s already some in the oven.” you ask, peeking around his frame from behind to see him set the bowl aside and wipe his hands on the apron he’s wearing. (It was white with small pink hearts by the pockets. You got it for him when he started cooking for you everyday, and he used to feel weird about it. He said it made him feel “slightly emasculated”, but he quickly grew to absolutely adore it. It was just another way for you to claim him as your personal chef. One night before you got home, he jerked off while wearing it, but he would never tell you that.)

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs and chuckles sheepishly, “there are twelve baking right now, but I thought that maybe I could make some for our neighbors.”

You chuckle softly, your hands disconnecting from their place on his stomach to reach down and give his ass a small squeeze. He jumps a little at the feeling, embarrassed laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Where’d all this holiday cheer come from?” you smirk, pulling back from your position against his back to lean your hip against the counter. You just wanted to look at his pretty face. Your eyes quickly fixate on the fact that he’s got a bit of flour on his flushed cheek.. It’s only a small puff and smear of the white substance near his jaw, but for some reason it starts a flame in your lower stomach. There was just something about the way he got a little messy when he cooked or baked for you.

His cheeks plump up in shape ever-so-slightly as he grins at you.

“I don’t know.. I had time before you got home- I mean, well, before i thought you’d get home, and so i thought I’d just-”

You take a step forward, nodding at his words while your body is now only inches from his. You look up into his glassy blue eyes.

“You thought you’d just.. what?” you purr, your hand coming up to caress his lower back.

He swallows thickly, briefly looking down at the mess on the counter before he looks back to you. His body temperature is steadily rising as he feels your fingertips caress him over his loose t-shirt.

“I just thought I’d make some more,” he whispers.

You lean in, reaching your other hand up to gingerly hold the side of his neck while you press a kiss to it.

“You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

He nods, slowly, his eyelids fluttering slightly at the feeling of your mouth on him.

“I..I mean, yeah, I guess.”

You lean in a bit more, sucking softly at his neck. His head lolls a bit forward, and you nip at him when the sound of his shaky breathing reaches your ears.

You pull back, a small smirk covering your face as you look up at him.

His focus darts from your eyes to your lips as he reaches both of his hands out for your waist, but he’s rudely interrupted when the timer for the oven goes off— cookies are done.

You both nearly jump out of your skin at the sound; the incessant beeping pulling you both out of the thick fog of tension between your bodies and minds.

“Shit,” he mumbles, flushing pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he turns off the timer at the top of the oven and moves to hastily grab an oven mitt from the lower drawer.

He pulls open the oven door, and you step back to watch him pull the tray out and set it on top of the stove area.

He sighs, pulling off the mitt and setting it aside as he leans over the cookies. His eyes are inspecting each one, and he has a very focused expression plastered on his face. He was as much of a perfectionist in the kitchen as he used to be on the court, that was for sure.

Your body moves in to stand beside him, also peering down at the tray of gorgeous golden-brown cookies. You place a hand on his upper back, rubbing it encouragingly.

“These look incredible,” you say, smiling at him.

He nods, still inspecting them, “They look better than I thought they would.. I actually messed up earlier and accidentally added three-fourths of a cup of sugar instead of two-thirds..”

“They look perfect, don’t stress.”

He looks to you, his gaze meeting yours and then suddenly everything was back to how it was before the timer went off. His hands reach for your waist, squeezing at your hips as he looks lovingly down at you.

“Be proud of yourself, Art.. you did a good job,” you laugh softly, your hands reaching up to cup his face. He pulls you closer.

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

You suddenly get a very filthy idea.

“Can.. can you tell me what the recipe called for?”

His brows furrow slightly as he seems taken aback by your request, his cock already starting to stir to life in his sweatpants just from holding your body. He didn’t want to talk about the damn cookies anymore.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, one of your hands dropping from his face to reach around the fabric of the front of his apron and grope him over his sweats. Your other hand moves down too, but just to gently hold the side of his torso. His whole body jolts forward and his lips part instantly.

“You’ll like where this is headed, trust me. Just talk to me.. tell me what you did to make the cookies look so perfect..”

He breathes unsteadily, his fingers digging into your waist as he feels your hand start to work his cock up to a full-blown, hot, twitchy erection.

“I.. uhm.. I just..” he breathes out, his eyes growing lidded as he absentmindedly bucks up against your touch, still trying to maintain eye contact as pleasure starts to flood his senses, “one cup of b-butter.. ngh-!.. two cups.. two cups of flour… and then- ugh!- two.. two-thir-r-ds.. of..”

His voice trails off, shaky and low and broken as he hangs his head a bit, leaking incessantly into his boxers. It was that easy for you to work him up.

You frown, “Uh oh.. come on, baby, don’t go nonverbal on me that quick.. we’ve just barely gotten started…”

A small whimper leaves his chest as he tries to finish his words, “Two-thirds, I m-mean- three-f-fourths of a c-cup of.. s-su.. sugar… one teasp’of vanilla.. and.. o-one.. teaspoon of nutm-eg.”

You smile, stroking his cock over the fabric of his pants, “Good boy.. God, you’re so pretty when you’re slurring for me..”

He moans obscenely, melting at the praise while he feels his length grow suddenly intensely hot. A certain kind of numbness starts to creep over his crotch before his hands are flying from your hips to your wrist.

“Wait! W-Wait!” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he blows a concentrated shaky breath from his lips, his fingertips digging into your arm.

Your eyebrow lifts and you smile as you take in the way his body shakes and shudders as he holds it in for you. He knows how to behave.. what would make you happy.. what would make you disappointed.. After all, he’s been trained by you in more than just tennis.

“Close?” you whisper.

His body starts to slowly relax again as he regains some of his composure. He blinks his eyes back open slowly, looking into yours.

“Very,” he groans.

You pull your hands from his body, and he whines softly.

“Take off the apron. Put it on the floor.”

You’re sure you’ve never seen him move so fast— his hands reaching behind his back and undoing the tied string. Then, he pulls the apron off over his head, tossing it off to the side. He watches you study him with parted lips, and he bites onto his own.

“Now take your sweats off for me.”

He does as he’s told; his shaky fingers reaching down to slip his pants down to his lower thighs, and then down to his knees and ankles, and then he steps out of them. He kicks them gently next to where the apron was thrown, now making a mess of grey and white fabric where both items pooled on the kitchen floor.

You step close to his body, cupping his face before running a hand through his messy strawberry-blonde locks. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to travel solely down to the bulge prominently pressing against the inside of his navy boxer briefs. You run a fingertip up and over the outline of his dick, relishing in the way it makes him shake. He was now just in his tee shirt, boxers, and white socks, while you stayed fully clothed. But not for too much longer.

"My pretty husband.." you coo to him, making his lips part to let out a few uneven breaths. You glance around his frame and notice a bowl off to the side that had remnants of the soft cookie dough from the first batch of the cookies. You smirk.

You lean forward and swipe your thumb along the inside of the bowl, gathering some of the sugary, buttery mixture on your digit. His gaze remains lidded and locked onto your face, not finding any importance in your hand's movements at the kitchen counter. You bring your thumb back in, showing him what you did.

He spares your thumb a quick glance, but then his eyes are back on yours, and then your lips, and then the way that your breasts are peeking out from the low-cut collar of your work top. You bring your thumb up to his mouth.

"Open," you whisper.

He does as he's told, parting his lips further and leaning in to encourage your finger to slip past them.

You push your cookie dough-covered thumb into his mouth, feeling him immediately begin to suckle on it; his tongue swirled over it, and his eyes fluttered shut right after they began to roll back. His brows furrow, and a couple of faint whines bubble up out of him as the taste of his homemade sweetness melts seamlessly on his palate.

While your thumb is in his mouth, you push it down softly on his tongue.

"Knees, baby," you say breathlessly.

Art knew this command like the back of his hand.

Effortlessly and steadily, he dropped down to his knees one after the other, keeping your digit in his mouth the entire time. He didn't dare let it go. He moved to sit on his calves.

"Good job.. good boy..."

He whimpered, the vibrations of his pathetic sounds causing your hand to buzz slightly.

"I want your mouth on my cunt.. can you do that for me, darling?" you purr, running your hand through his hair for a moment. He nods around you.

"Y'sh, m'm.." he mumbled, trying his best to speak while still relishing your touch with enough attention.

You pull your thumb from the heat of his wet mouth, and smirk as you watch his lips chase after it.

"What was that?"

You already had a good idea about what he had murmured, but it was just.. best to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps out softly, his eyes glazed over.

He reaches up and pulls at your skirt, shimmying it down and over your ass and thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. You kick it aside, and lean your back against the countertop. Art positions himself on his knees so that he's on the floor in front of you, looking up at you. His hands shakily reach up to the sides of your pantyhose, his tongue licking out over his bottom lip. He digs his fingers into the taut fabric and looks up at you once more, beginning to pull them down.

Immediately you grab his wrists, halting his movements. His eyes look up into yours, worried that he had made a wrong move, but you shake your head with a soft smile.

"You can rip them."

He doesn't even mean to, but he moans when you give him permission to be a little desperate right now.

In an instant, his strong hands are pulling needily at your tights, causing them to rip from your crotch to your lower thighs. He hooks one of his index fingers into the inside of your panties, his thighs tensing up at the feeling of your wetness, and then he's pushing them to the side. His tongue rests out over his bottom lip as he leans in, holding the back of your leg with his free hand as his eyes flutter shut and he engulfs your heat with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck-!" you yelp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his soft curls, "fuck, fuck, that feels good, Art, don't stop.."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he lathes his tongue up and down and over your wet hole. He lewdly sucks and swallows your slick that's quickly spilling over his tongue, trying to focus harder on your pleasure (and less on the feeling of his cock throbbing rapidly in his boxers.. he can feel himself leaking).

You remove your hands from his hair and move to unsteadily grip the countertop, your back pressing hard against it. Art hums around you in his mouth, moving his tongue up to lick sloppily at your clit. He opens his eyes, his brows furrowed, and looks up at you.

"God, you're so good at this.. you're doing so well.. i'm getting.. close.." you breathe out, studying the upper half of his face while the lower half remains buried in your pussy.

He doubles his efforts, smushing his face deeper against you, his lips pursing to suckle against your sensitive nub as his grip on your leg tightens. Art has half a mind at that moment to just scoot forward a bit and slot your ankle between his thighs, but he won't. You came first, in his mind. Literally, and figuratively.

You sling the leg that he's holding over his shoulder, giving him more access, and then you begin to feel an overwhelming, hot numbness creep over your lower half..

"ANGH!" you moan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as your body begins to shake. Your fingers grip the kitchen counter so hard that you're afraid you'll break a nail.

"I'm going to cum, Art..!"

"Mm! Mm-mm!"

"I'm.. oh my god.... I'm... I'm-! Cumming-!" you whine, feeling your orgasm crash over you.

"MM-!" he laps at your pulsing cunt, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open so that he can watch the way your beautiful face moves to contort in ecstasy.

You groan and whine as your orgasm's aftershocks are uncomfortably prolonged by Art's relentless tongue, and your hands release the marble countertop to reach down and grab two soft fistfuls of his hair. You try to tug his head back from your cunt, but he just closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth further against your core. The repetitive movements of his tongue over your folds cause lewd, wet noises to fill the kitchen.

"Art... A-Art..! Enough!" you slur out as the pleasure from before starts to melt into a prickly sting of oversensitivity.

His eyes flutter open and you shoot him a warning glance as he peers up at you.

"I said enough, yeah?" you snap, "stand up."

He immediately pulls his mouth away from your sticky body and stands up on shaky legs. His eyes look downward, guiltily avoiding your gaze, as he wipes at the clear slick covering his chin with the back of his hand.

You try to catch your breath for a moment, studying his chest as it heaves up and down -- him trying to catch his breath all the same. You reach out and take his lower jaw softly in one hand, forcing him to look at you properly.

"You got a little fucking greedy there for a minute.. didn't you?"

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nervously chewing on the inside of it as he debates what answer he could give that would result in the least amount of punishment from you.

"Did you hear what I said?" you whisper coldly, taking a step closer to him as your hand grazes against the erection standing proudly in his underwear.

His body automatically jolts forward, and he lets out a shaky breath as his brow twitches. "Yeah.. I did.." he huffs out.

You smirk, wrapping your hand around him over the dark blue fabric, "And what do you think, hm? Were you being greedy?"

He looks deep into your eyes, his lips parting as he feels you start to stroke him. He tries to stop it, but his hips start to shallowly buck against your grasp, and now he can't get any words out. He wants to, but he just.. he really can't.

You roll your eyes.

"You know what I want you to say, honey. Use that big brain of yours."

He moans softly, his hands coming up to hold the sides of your upper arms as his eyes grow lidded.

"I'm.. I was being greedy.. I'm greedy," he moans lowly, thrusting into your hand a bit quicker and with a tad bit more abandon.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're a greedy little whore for this, aren't you?"

He nods slowly but repeatedly as his brows pinch together and his breathing picks up.

"Yesss," he says brokenly, his voice straining a little as his moans start to become whimpers and whines, "I'm.. s' greedy for you.. jus' for you.. mm..!"

You nod and smirk up at him as his face becomes pinker and pinker, "That's it, pretty boy.. good job. You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

He lets out an obscenely loud moan as his abdomen curls in over itself a bit, his hands gripping the sleeves of your work top and pulling helplessly at the fabric as he feels a spurt of precome burst into the inside of his boxers.

You chuckle a little as you watch him visibly get closer to his climax, but then he suddenly releases the hold on one of your sleeves and urgently grabs the hand that's moving over his clothed length.

You look down to where his hand holds yours, and he lets out a filthy whimper as he pulls your touch off of him and then urgently pushes your hand past his waistband and down into the front of his boxers. You gasp at his seemingly impulsive actions, feeling your fingers finally come into contact with his slicked-up cockhead. Your fingertips just barely brush over his hot, leaking slit.. sliding over a thick glob of pre.. and then he's being sent over the edge. To the average person, the touch would be essentially imperceptible, but not to him.. not to Art. He was just far too sensitive.

Your husband lets out a startled cry as he doubles over your frame in front of him and frantically moans, his whole body trembling and tensing as his balls draw up, "I'm cumming!"

You don't even have time to really process what's happening until you feel your hand being covered in warm fluid, the substance dripping down your fingertips as Art basically comes untouched. You look up at him, dumbfounded, before you feel your abdomen grow warm and tingly. That was kinda.. hot?

"Jesus, baby," you whisper breathlessly as his hips jolt a few more times before stilling as he gulps air down into his lungs, "didn't realize you were that worked up.. that was a little quick, no?"

He moans softly, still feeling your fingers graze him inside of his boxers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he says, his breathing hitching in his throat as he tries to get the words out in spite of the pleasure still thrumming through his veins. He was still rock hard.

You smile, quickly using your clean, opposite hand to pull his boxers down to his lower thighs. His length slaps up lightly against his stomach before bobbing out in front of him, a tiny pearl-like bead of cum still leaking from his tip. He sighs shakily as he looks down at himself, and then up at you. You wrap your cum-covered hand around the base of his shaft, causing Art to jerk forward from sensitivity. He pulls a sharp breath in, his face scrunching up a little as he tries to control his body.

"I'll let you cum again," you start, watching his eyes light up, "but! you need to give me a warning this next time, okay? I want a clear warning, love."

He nods at your words, a more serious expression plastering over his face, "I will, I promise.. I.. I can give you a proper warning, ma'am.." he whispers.

And with that, you slide your hand from his base to his tip in one smooth motion, your thumb gliding over the head.

"GAH-!" he shudders forward, hissing in pain for a moment before he starts to moan again.

"You okay? Can you handle this?" you ask, your tone soft but seductive as you try to tease him but also legitimately check in. You two were always good at looking out for the other's wellbeing during your sessions together; the exchange of love and tender-care came easily to you both-- it was never something either of you had to question.

He nods, "Yeah, yes-ss, I can t-take it.." he slurs a little, watching your hand move up and down over his throbbing length.

"Look up into my eyes, darling," you purr, your hand starting to pick up speed, "does it feel good?"

He meets your eyes, his blue ones swimming with lust and desperation as he felt the beginnings of his second orgasm start to creep in, "Yes, fuck-! Yes! It feels so fucking good--!" he whines.

"Remember what we just talked about?"

He nods fervently, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his focus darts from one of your eyes to the other. You speed up your hand, squeezing his shaft a little more to give him some pressure that you assume he needs.

He keens instantly, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as his thighs start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Art," you murmur in a seductive but warning tone.

He shakes all over, nodding his head, before his back stiffens up and he becomes incredibly tense. You keep your hand moving at the same fast pace, hoping his memory today is as good as his stamina.

"I'm going to cum," he whispers quickly, bringing his hands up to hold onto your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

You smile in approval, leaning in close to his ear and breathing warmly against his skin as you speak softly, "thank you for telling me, angel. do you want to cum for me?"

He nods, whining out a hasty "mhm". He lets out a breathy moan as he feels your hot words against his upper neck.

You press a chaste kiss there, and then you slide your hand up to gently grip his shaft while your thumb moves to rapidly swipe over his frenulum.

"Come."

And he does just that.

Art's back arches as soon as your one commanding word reaches his ears, cumming uncontrollably with an abrupt cry of pleasure. At first, his body is incredibly rigid as he lets go, his brows pinched up together as he feels the first, pulsing waves of his orgasm hit him, but then the full sensation of his release hits him and his whole body shudders deeply. He lets out little breathy moans and gasps as he relishes in the bursts of pleasure rolling over his cock. You slow your thumb down a bit as you watch him spurt rope after rope over your hand and onto the kitchen floor as he comes undone for you a second time.

"Fucking hell," you moan, now going back to stroking him fully instead of just rubbing a digit against his tip.

He grits his teeth in an instant, being pulled from his afterglow by the feeling of your hand forcing him back into a feeling of overstimulation. "Ah-! Ah!.. T-Too much, too much," he whimpers, his hands instinctively reaching down from your shoulders to push at your hand that's currently working him towards a third, uncomfortable orgasm that he's not even sure he wants anymore.

You use the hand that's not stroking him to move his hands away from your occupied one, giving him a small shake of your head.

"Hands behind your back, please. We're not done yet, okay?" you coo.

He quickly follows orders, moving both of his hands behind his back and away from his aching length, although not without letting out a sniffly whine of protest first.

"Please, ma'am.. I'm.. I can't do it I can't do it-- I'm-- AH!"

You cut off his soft moans of agony with a brief squeeze to the base of his dick, looking intently up into his eyes through your lashes.

"If you really want to stop, baby," you tilt your head teasingly, "you can always use the safeword, yeah?"

He bites his lip before he lets out a warped cry, his head lolling backwards in the same instant. You stop moving your hand.

"Art, darling," you whisper to him comfortingly.

He brings his head back upright to look down into your eyes, his face blank with pleasure; he almost looked drunk. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks were pink, his hair was a mess, and his lips were parted to let out harsh little breaths of air as he tried to regain some semblance of being grounded in his own, ruined body.

You reach your free hand up to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over the side of his face.

"Does it really hurt that bad? You know that you can be honest," you whisper, now a little concerned that maybe you pushed him too far.

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head slowly and swallowing a bit of drool that he realized has been collecting in his mouth for the past minute or so, "N-Just a little.." he breathes out.

You nod, giving him one soft stroke of his come-covered cock. He gasps and his torso jolts at the sensation, faint tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," you hum, "should we stop here then? I think maybe that would be best for you.. you've already done so well for me.."

The latter half of your sentence, that subtle bit of praise, gives him all the motivation he needs to want to unravel again.

He looks down at his still-hard cock, and then back up at you, and shakes his head. His tongue pokes out over his bottom lip and wets it as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"No.. no, I can do- I can go again, ma'am.. I pro-promise.." he slurs out, thrusting up into your hand.

You raise a skeptical brow at him and his movements, keeping your hand still.

"Are you sure? You know that I won't be upset with you if you want to stop, Art."

He shakes his head again, his lip trembling, "Please."

You smile softly and start to move your hand up and down over his cock again. Despite his previous indications that it was painful, the feeling has now seemed to morph back into unfiltered pleasure as he lets out a high-pitched moan of your name. He babbles endlessly, a mixture of pleas for more, letting out repetitive mumblings of "feels good", and "yes", and an assortment of stuttered expletives.

It doesn't take long for Art to get close again.

"I think 'm gonna come again," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as his head slumps forward against your shoulder. You stroke him quicker, focusing on his hypersensitive tip as you feel a drip of precome come out.

"Oh? You want to come again?" you tease coyly.

You could be cruel sometimes. He had known that this part was coming eventually.

He shakes his head against the crook of your neck with a whine, "don't do this, please.."

You stop your hand at the base of his cock, halting his orgasm just as his load started to rise up his length. Art bites back an obscenely loud moan of protest that is dying to be let out..

"No, no no noo," he squirms against you, repetitively shaking his head as his face remains buried in your neck.

"You know what you need to do, darling."

"Please," he moans, "let me come.."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"YES..!"

"How should I make you come?"

"Can y- keep stroking my- I want my cock to be- I-" he mumbles incoherently.

You place your free hand on the back of his head, pushing your fingers pleasurably into his hair as he trembles against you.

"You want me to keep jerking you off? Hm?"

"Y-Yes-ss!" he moans out brokenly, using every bit of restraint within himself to resist the urge to move his hands from behind his back and relieve his aching parts.

He would never do that, though.. no matter how much he wanted to. He would always follow your wants and needs first. Those were most important to him.

"Ask me for what you need again. Nicely; just the way I like it."

"Please, can I come?"

"Again."

He whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against your stilled hand wrapped around him.

"Please," he sobs, "can I please come for you?"

"Yes, honey, you can come."

You start to stroke his cock once again, and within just a few pumps Art is releasing again. Even though you can't see them because his face is still in your shoulder, his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head as he lets out a couple pitiful squirts of white, sticky liquid over your hand. "Ooh, that's it.. good boy.. are you my pretty little slut?"

When Art hears this, he isn't exactly sure what happens, but it's like the orgasm that's already halfway finished just completely starts over.

"Ohh my fucking- oh my god-dd-! Ugh! HNGH-!"

It's like every single nerve ending in his body is lighting up at once, and he can't do a damn thing about it.. he can't stop it...

His legs nearly go limp underneath him, and he has to lean further into you to prevent himself from collapsing.

Art then releases the most pornographic moans you've ever heard and tenses up in your hold all over again. You're not really sure what's happening until he--

"I'm cumming again! I'm cumm-m-ing-! Again! Ohmyfucking--! GOD!"

He whines and sobs against your body, his arms still held behind his back as you feel his cock jump and pulse in your hand again. This time, nothing comes out. It's odd because it's clear that he's cumming for a fourth time, but there's nothing to show for it.

You slow your hand but continue to stroke his length which is now covered in the creamy-white filth of his previous loads. His cock softens a little, but you're unsure when his orgasm ends because, again, nothing is coming out.

Art's frame suddenly begins to jerk around every time your hand brushes over his tip, and he lets out a hiss of discomfort through his gritted teeth and a sniffle afterwards. As soon as you hear that, you know he's done and you quickly remove your hand. Any extra stimulation and he'd genuinely start to cry. You could save that for another time.. if he wanted you to.

You move your other hand from his hair to his clothed upper back and rub small, comforting circles over it.

"I've got you," you whisper, "you did such a good job, baby. You just came dry for me."

He nods, sniffling wetly and exhaustedly.

You continue to rub his back for a minute or so in silence as he comes back down to earth; the pleasurable waves of his release's aftershocks allowing him to bask in the ebb and flow of it all as he tries to calm his ragged breathing.

"I feel weak," he groans softly.

You nod, "I'm right here, you're okay.. take some deep breaths for me, honey."

He nuzzles deeper against your neck and sighs contentedly, the fuzziness in his head starting to dissipate with your caring words and gentle touch.

"You're my good boy," you whisper, pressing your cheek against the side of his head.

"Mhmm," he hums, "always for you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

notes; WOAH. ok. so this has been like months in the making by now i think..? but i finally finished it :D thank u so much to everyone who has been patiently/loyally waiting for this one after i teased it for over a month on this blog 😭 + thank u to anyone who gave me some kind words of encouragement when i had to put this aside for a while. i luv u guys !! <3

reblogs are always allowed + appreciated!

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (II)

The two yokai men reach an agreement and you begin your journey together, searching for clues regarding the mysterious case of your incomplete reincarnation. You learn about the third of the Legendary Yokai, a gargantuan monster worshipped in times of war.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]

The next swish of the mysterious man's sword is parred by Kiritsubo, who managed to make his way to you in time.

"Wait! It's not entirely him, Murasaki, I can explain!" He shouts frantically.

"So you let him live. This is why you've never been good for anything." The dark haired man snarls in a low voice, disgust seeping through his sharp teeth.

It becomes obvious rather quickly that he has the advantage in terms of battle experience. You can only stare in fear, stuffing your wound with your jacket sleeve. What else can you do? You're bleeding profusely and if a demon of Kiritsubo's stature cannot compete, you'd be even less helpful.

"Listen to him, man, I genuinely don't know anything about your master!" You beg as your limbs are flooded with a prickling sensation. They're slowly going numb. "Please. I just want to go home."

Damn it. You have no idea whether the bleeding will stop anytime soon. Is this how you die? You won't even get a proper burial. Even worse, your family will live on thinking you vanished without a trace, unaware you've been stabbed to death by a crazy jackass in feudal Japan. You wish you could make them stop.

You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to think of a way to escape, when you hear both men groan in pain. You look ahead to see them on the ground, clinging tightly to their chests, faces twisted in a grimace. Huh? They couldn't have killed each other in the few seconds they were out of your view. What is going on?

After a few agonizing moments, the yokai seem to calm down. Kiritsubo is gasping for air, clumsily pulling himself back up. Murasaki remains on the grass, forcing himself to appear collected despite the cold sweat coating his forehead.

"That's...what...I...meant..." The silver haired demon groans between hitched breaths. "Whew. You see it now, don't you? She doesn't emanate enough power to pull this off. It's coming from somewhere else."

Murasaki clicks his tongue in visible annoyance.

"So then, what do you suggest?"

"I don't know. But something is stopping you from killing her and there's a chance she's connected to the source."

"What are you guys whispering about?" You inquire, crawling closer towards the horned men. "And why did you suddenly collapse? You scared the hell out of me!"

"You didn't feel anything?" Kiritsubo questions you with raised eyebrows.

"Besides the, I don't know, stab wound? No, thankfully." You respond sarcastically.

Without a word, Murasaki stands up and approaches you. He crouches down to your level and nonchalantly slaps your hand away from your shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Have you ever tended to a wound in your life? You're shit at it." He uses his sword to cut off your sleeve and folds it over your gash with calculated movements. You hiss at the pain and glare at him. "Bite down on a stick if you can't handle it. Better than being dead."

The white haired yokai flashes you an awkward but reassuring smile.

"He might be an ass about it, but he knows what he's doing."

"Why are you helping me, anyways?" you point out, somewhat wary. "You literally tried to kill me a moment ago."

"I changed my mind. You'll help us find the damned bastard or whatever it is he's using to control us."

"What, the priest? Hell no, I'm going back to my world. I've had enough action for the rest of my life."

Murasaki finishes bandaging you and gives you one final press, almost as if messing with you, and you wince. He stands up and slides his sword back in its sheath.

"If you focus a little, you will find there was no question or request in my words. I'm not negotiating with a weakling like you."

Kiritsubo squats down before you and claps his hand together, pleadingly.

"Please think about it, (Y/N). I know you don't owe us anything, but there's a chance we could finally break the seal and be free. If you'd consider helping us. You can walk away, but that won't change the fact you're part of Abe no Nakamaro. He will want his powers back at some point, and we can protect you when the time comes."

You cross your arms and frown thoughtfully, pondering the options. He did save you twice already. So in a way, you're indebted to him. And if he's right, and you will have to deal with more crazy encounters in the future, it's probably better to have two powerful demons by your side.

"Alright, alright. I'll help you." You exclaim with a confident nod.

Kiritsubo grins, satisfied, and Murasaki huffs and looks away. There's a prolonged silence as you wait for them to continue with further instructions, but the men remain quiet.

"So...what now?" you eventually speak up.

"Oh. I thought you knew where to go next." the silver haired man retorts, confused.

"Idiot. She's not a compass." Murasaki scolds him. "Can you stand?" He adds, turning to you. "There's a shrine a few kilometers away that belonged to him. If we leave now, we should make it before sunset. Maybe we can find something there."

You try to prop yourself up, but Kiritsubo promptly scoops you with his sinewy arm and throws you on his back again.

"I'll carry you. Just hold on."

A faint blush dusts your cheeks, but you don't have the energy to argue it. You clutch onto his broad shoulders and nod.

The walk is uneventful and both yokai seem to be distracted. The gentle swaying is causing you to be more comfortable than you'd like to admit and your eyelids become heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, your head drops against the toned back and you fall asleep.

By the time you open your eyes again, you've already reached your destination. You yawn and stretch, lazily scanning the surroundings. A heavy shadow looms over you and you glance up. Still groggy from your nap, you scream before you can fully process the object towering above.

It's a statue. A colossal statue of some sort of monster. A demon with thick, wide bull horns sprawling out imposingly, almost eclipsing the ridiculously muscular build. The creature has four arms, flexed in a threatening manner, with one hand gripping a heavy spear and the other a skull. The crimson light of the sunset creeps through the windows and reflects against the chiseled clay, giving the statue a devilish glow. You feel insignificant.

"That's Suma."

"W-what?" your head tilts to Kiritsubo.

"He's one of us. You might meet him soon, if he's been alerted of your presence. This is a shrine built for him, to bring good fortune during times of war."

You cannot help but gawk at the structure.

"Is it, uh, life sized?"

"Heh, almost. He's a little taller than this." He chuckles, slightly nostalgic.

You swallow dryly. Just a moment ago you thought Kiritsubo was unusually big.

"I'd rather not meet him, to be honest." You shiver at the idea.

"Don't worry about it. Now that Murasaki has joined us, you're pretty much safe from anything. He's the strongest of us." The yokai remarks with a sad smile.

"Really?"

You peek at the dark haired man, currently flipping through dusty manuscripts, and briefly observe him. Compared to Kiritsubo, he's quite slender, with noble, elegant features. And he'd be able to defeat this enormous beast? Then again, the glimpse you've caught of his swordsmanship is enough of a convincing argument.

What a bizarre gathering of creatures beyond your understanding.

You remember to look away when Murasaki grunts and throws the remaining scroll of paper. His lips form a thin line as he rakes his mind for the next step.

"Nothing here. But I'm rather certain he has to be at one of his hideouts. We'll check each and one of them if we have to." 

"Wait, are you saying he's still alive? We saw his body before Sekiya and Sakaki took him for the embalming and burial."

Murasaki scoffs at his partner's gullible nature.

"And you believed it? That parasite spent his entire life searching for ways to prolong his reign. He's probably hiding somewhere, waiting for his renewed part of the soul to return to him." 

He rests against the wall and points a clawed finger at you. 

"This must've been his solution. Releasing his remaining energy until it found a proper vessel to grow stronger, and patiently awaiting the body swap. Then we go back to being whipped dogs fulfilling his whims."

It's your turn to be outraged, twisting your mouth downwards.

"No way, I'll pound that old man into sand!" You bark and throw a jab against the air, emphasizing your threat. "As if I'd just hand myself over."

"I'm not sure if it'll be that easy, (Y/N)..." Kiritsubo glances at you with a hurt expression. "He's a terrifying, vengeful bastard."

"Not if we find him first and take him out." Murasaki counters with a glint of determination in his eyes. "Humans need to rest, don't they? We'll spend the night here and tomorrow we head out. Kiritsubo, find me a map so we can keep track of the locations. I'll bring the wood for a fire."

And with this, he marches out. Kiritsubo scurries to his duty and you quietly follow his movements. He seems to be used to executing Murasaki's orders. You hadn't considered their group dynamic much, but it appears to have some rather complex hierarchies involved. You almost wish you could witness all of them together, wondering how they'd interact with each other. 

Who knows? If you stick around, it could happen eventually. Murasaki was surprisingly easy to convince, so the other yokai might as well agree to keep you alive until you find their source of misfortune. Heh. Almost like a harem, or something. You snicker to yourself.

Which reminds you...

The fire has been lit and Murasaki mumbles something about guarding the perimeter. This time you hurry outside after him. You reach out to the dark haired man and pull on his kimono sleeve.

He turns to you, mildly irked.

"What?"

"Teach me how to use a sword." You state with the assertiveness of an order.

"Why? I can assure you I'm more than enough. I've never been defeated." He stares at you, incredulous.

"I don't want to rely on you all the time. You're already this close to being unbearable", you explain, pinching your fingers together. "Besides, if I'm going to be stuck among beasts, I'd very much prefer being the one doing the cool stuff."

And with that, you pretend to slice through an invisible enemy, whistling the sound of your sword cutting through the air. You furrow your eyebrows, imitating the engrossed expression of a seasoned samurai in the middle of a battleground. Murasaki quickly lifts a hand to his mouth - did he chuckle just now? - and responds, the faintest amusement in his voice:

"As you wish. But I'm warning you now, I won't hold back."

"I've been injured twice in less than 24 hours, I'm sturdy enough." You answer, patting your chest proudly.

Next time one of the Legendary Yokai comes for you, you won't be as vulnerable. That's for sure.

[agi-ppangx]

no promises (hwang hyunjin x gn!reader)

tw: angst, suicide thoughts&mentions, please read carefully

“i don’t like life,” you started without emotion. “in general.”

hyunjin looked up at you from his sketchbook, his brows furrowed. he slightly tilted his head to the side, putting down his pencil. 

“what do you mean?” he asked gently, looking at your absent gaze. you were fidgeting with one of the pillows on hyunjin’s bed, feeling the soft pillowcase under your fingertips. 

“i’m not happy,” you mumbled, threading your fingers through the fluffy material. “life exhausts me and i just… i don’t see why i should keep going.” hyunjin put his stuff on the desk, too worried to even think about sketching anything anymore. he looked at your figure, carefully examining every detail. your hair had gotten longer - didn’t it bother you? you always said that you like to keep it shorter, but suddenly you seemed to not care about it getting in your eyes. 

hyunjin got up from his seat to sit next to you, hesitantly bringing his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. you smiled at the action, though he could clearly see the pain in your eyes. a shiver ran down his spine, mind suddenly clouded with the darkest thoughts. 

“maybe… maybe you should rest? i know sometimes life’s too much, you don’t have to rush.” his voice trembled as he whispered those words, fear overshadowing his senses. you only shrugged your shoulders, not bothering to look at him. 

“i don’t think it’d help,” you responded, sighing. “i genuinely can’t think about anything that would bring me some sort of peace of mind. i don’t see why i should still be here.” 

“stop it,” hyunjin immediately said with a firm tone, his eyes filling with tears. “i don’t want to hear that.”

“but it’s true,” your voice cracked as the tears beamed at the corners of your eyes. hyunjin firmly shook his head but before he could say anything more you spoke again. “the world won’t stop spinning, even if i won’t be here anymore.” 

“stop it!” he shouted, abruptly standing. he ran his fingers through his hair, dishelving it completely. his face was red and wet from the tears. he looked like a mess, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad. you didn’t feel anything at all. 

you slowly got up from the bed, taking a step into his direction. you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing his trembling body. he collapsed to the ground, completely breaking down, and you followed him suit, holding him as if he was about to fall into pieces. “please don’t say stuff like that. i-i can’t lose you, i love you, please don’t leave me,” he pleaded, his tears damping your shirt. “you can’t leave me.” you rubbed his back, kissing his head from time to time. i can’t promise anything, hyune, you wanted to say, but it would only break his heart even more, so you decided to stay silent.

soon his apartment was filled with his loud sobs and one would think that it was him who didn’t want to live anymore.

taglist !

@lynlyndoll @iyenbread @flooo71 @skz-streamer @inniescandy-01 @hannahhbahng @prettymiye0n @ggsez31 @laylasbunbunny @like-a-diamondinthesky @axel-skz @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @l3visbby @skzhoes @minhosbitterriver @astraystayyh @xichien @linospuddin

[melobin]

mtl to have angry sex after an argument 😭

like instead of apologizing with words they apologize by fucking u just right

hmmm …

eunseok

eunseok would be all for it. it’s the first thing that comes to his head. the moment he can sense the tension in the air and he can feel your eyes looking at his differently, he’s all over you. fingers digging into your waist as he presses you against the nearest wall, lips on yours in an instant. as soon as you whimper please into the kiss he’s pulling back, turning your around so he can press your front against the wall before pushing away any clothing that’s blocking the two of you. would lean his head against your shoulder when he pushes into you, moaning so prettily as your walls suck him in. he’d fuck you so well, having a hand wrapped in your hair as he presses the side of your face against the wall, looking down at where the two of you meet repeatedly. he’d be so vocal too, groaning almost constantly, in time with your cries of pleasure and whimpers of his name. the moment you both cum you’d be collapsing into his arms, the two of you ending up cuddled together on the floor, forgetting what made either of you upset in the first place.

sungchan

sungchan finds you being mad a little hotter than he should. well, he knows he shouldn’t find it hot at all and if he knew you were genuinely upset then he’d try his hardest to push away any creeping thoughts. but, if you were mad over something little and mundane, he wouldn’t hold himself back. you’d know just from the way he looks at you, would end up wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him, muttering a low apology into your ear before promising that he can make it up to you. takes you to bed, lays you down and fucks you in a way that quite literally has you seeing stars. sends you dizzy with every sharp buck of his hips, speeds up his pace when he knows you’re slowly losing your mind. would hold his hands in yours just for the added intimacy despite the roughness of his thrusts. could imagine the way he’d kiss at your skin and ask you how you want it before he pushes into you, promising to give you exactly that and more.

wonbin

wonbin would be a little torn on what to do, but ultimately he knows if there’s one way to make it up to you then it’s to make you cum at least three times on his fingers before fucks you. he’d touch you carefully, sitting next to you and letting his fingers trace over the skin of your thigh. he’d watch as you part your legs slightly but stay silent, not looking at him as his fingers dance up your bare skin. he’d test it out by pressing the pads of them against your panties, watching in amusement as you squirm and let out a deep breath but you don’t push him away and that’s all he needed to know. he’d push your panties aside, pressing his fingers into your slit. he’d gulp back a sigh when he feels you already wet under his touch, and after a few achingly slow circles of your clit, he’d bring his fingers down to push into you. only one at first, but would soon turn it into two. after your first orgasm where you’re sitting, your hands would be digging into his arm and your eyes would be watering as you shook from the intensity of it. he’d move you to sit across his lap before sliding his fingers into you again, letting you bury your head in his neck and cry out as he curls his fingers all over again. would coo at you, telling you it’s okay baby, you can cum. let’s you make a mess of his fingers before he lays you down and pushing into you. making sure you’re at the depths of submission whilst he kisses at your face and tells you he loves you.

seunghan

seunghan is the middle ground of the list. he wouldn’t think of sex as an argument resolver immediately and if he did he’d tread carefully to make sure it wouldn’t make you madder at him. once he knows you’re not too mad he’ll make his move, sliding his arms around your waist from behind, pressing himself against your backside whilst kissing at your neck. whispering just how sorry he is whilst his fingers inch lower down your waist, would murmur promises of how he can make it up to you, how he’ll make you feel so good that you’ll forget why you’re upset in the first place. he knows you’re stressed and he can help with that, he promises to. so within the space of a few minutes he’d have had your back turned to him, ignoring him, to having you sat on the sofa with your legs over his shoulder whilst he sucks on clit and basks in the way you cry out his name witch each flick of his tongue.

anton

anton, during the heat of the moment wouldn’t know what to think or what to do. he’d find himself frustrated but ultimately he knows you’d be feeling the same and that’s when things calm down. whilst communication wouldn’t be too big in these moments, soft little touches would. the soft touches turn into something deeper when he kisses you, his fingers pressing deep into your skin as if you were to disappear right from his grasp. the two of you would end up in bed for hours, no matter what time it is. he’d love having you ride him in these moments. him laying down, his hands gripping you whilst you ride him cock, sometimes slowly and attentively and other times faster and harder, bouncing on his cock until you’re cumming together. both of you would end up overstimulating yourselves by the end of it and the majority of the time your arguments would be discarded and forgotten, quite like the clothes you two ripped off one another before hand.

shotaro

shotaro wouldn’t really know what to do. there may be a small part of him who believes physical intimacy may help but the other part of him wants to talk things through with you and calm you both down before you engage in any sort of sexual act. that part of him tends to win, with him sitting you both down, both of your hands in his as you speak softly about whatever you argued about. he’d keep eye contact the whole time, running his thumbs over the backs of your hands whilst listening to you attentively before speaking himself. only once the issue is resolved will you pull you into him so he can kiss you, the kiss only deepening from there as you find yourselves tangled together in your bed. he’d take you so slowly, making sure you feel every inch of him as he kisses you through it. whispering sweet words to you and making sure you hear him when he tells you how much he loves you. would probably want to fall asleep cock warming you too.

sohee

sohee would feel too bad to initiate anything. the last thing he ever wants to do is upset you or make you mad, so when he knows he has all he does is beat himself up. you’d be the one to initiate the sex with him, slowly strolling over to where he’s sat on the sofa before straddling his lap and taking his hands off of his face. he’d watch you with careful eyes as you fingers his fingers before looking at him, reaching out to cup his cheek whilst running your thumb over his skin. he’d let you take him there, sitting back and letting you slowly ride his cock whilst kissing him slowly. the grip he’d have on your waist would be tight, being too afraid to let go insane he loses you for some reason. you’d have to assure him with many kisses, many orgasms and countless i love yous that you’d never leave him.

[un-lawliet]

“An Unfair Disadvantage”

— In which you fall apart after a mission and Gojo tries to hold you together.

(or i need a hug and can’t see myself getting one without extreme actions occuring)

The veil broke.

The curse was dead.

You felt yourself collapse on the ground, the stones below you cutting your palms.

Your sweating, your heart feels like it’s trapped in you throat and you can’t breathe.

Each attempt to get air is interrupted by weak sobs because fuck, you almost fucking died and you can’t even feel the pain that you’re in because you’re too overwhelmed with shock and fear. You feel sick.

And your shaky, bloody hands are clawing at your throat begging it silently to work with you, dizzy with stress and fear. Consumed with the memory of your battle.

A gust of wind and suddenly he’s there, pulling your hands away from your neck and holding them oh so gently.

“Baby I need you to breathe ok?” His voice alone rips a pathetic sob from your throat, your eyes blur and you push yourself closer to him, desperate to find comfort in the arms of the strongest.

He’s kneeling in front on you and if you weren’t so disoriented you would see the barely hidden, frantic look in his eyes and he looked over your body, examining your injuries.

“T-Toru I-’ Your voice is completely raw, breathless as sobs rack through your shaking body.

Gojos hands are on your face cradling you gently and he smiles at you, hoping that it came across as reassuring. “You’ve done so well pretty girl.”

And you can’t stop crying, even when your breathing regulates, tears stream from your eyes. You’re bleeding and broken but Gojos here and he’s looking at you with the softest gaze, thumbs gently stroking your the area under your eye, wiping away tear after tear with the patience of a God.

Leaning forward he kissed your forehead, wishing he could take your thoughts away. He wanted to protect you from everything and words couldn’t even begin to voice his rage for you being sent here alone.

“My strong, strong baby, taking on that curse alone.” He moved you into his arms letting you bury your face into his chest, breathing in his smell. He kissed the top of your head and felt his heart break as you cried and cried and cried.

You’re warm in his grasp, you feel safe in his arms.

“You’re alive, it’s over, you did so well.”

And Gojo swore he would hold you until you were ok, until this was a distant, horrible memory, that would only resurface in nightmares.

And when those nightmares come Gojo swears he would hold you close again and kiss you softly until you smiled at him again with that pretty little smile he loved more than anything.

the end

masterlist here <3

authors note: i have to work tomorrow and i’m genuinely miserable at that thought, why the hell am i working in an ice cream shop that’s like a billion degrees warm in the middle of july this is torture. ANYWAY thank you for reading i love u and have an amazing day/night <33

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie S4 💚Secret Relationship🩶

because when cheerleaders start floating and folding like laundry, what do you do? you run to your boyfriend (duh)

Eddie doesn’t dump his van on purpose. He runs out of fucking gas.

Through the pounding of his heartbeat and the screeching echo of his own screams and the memory of the cracking, the snapping of, of—

Through all of it he hears a voice in his head: when the little stick points to ‘E’ it isn’t a fucking suggestion, man and the tone the voice is in, the recognizable combination of snark and concern and fondness, genuine fucking fondness—it doesn’t calm his pulse at all but it does ease his nerves just a little, just enough to realize: he gonna have to run the rest of the way.

Thankfully, he took backroads: enough tree cover that footsteps would be hard to track so any direction would be way too hard to find, not quick enough, not before they can, not before Steve can—

He starts the old girl one more time before she gives out entirely, but the fumes take him into the woods far enough to hide the van pointing the wrong way, and the ground’s hard enough here still that he doesn’t leave tread marks. Okay.

Okay. So…running.

The lucky thing is, Eddie knows these woods.

Or rather: Eddie knows that these woods will take him right to where he wanted to go anyway. They run up against the backyard of the exact house with the exact man he needs.

He doesn’t keep to a straight shot, but he doesn’t waste time either, his chest hurts too much, and it’s weird that his heartbeat’s no harder or faster for fucking sprinting, his lungs no closer to hyperventilation when he’s a smoker who doesn’t really do physical activity, at least not the kind that’d help him out, here—it’s weird, and probably concerning that when he gets to the sliding glass off the back deck his lungs are on fire and his chest is heaving but it doesn’t feel any different from the moment he watched her, watched her…

No different from then, to now.

He thinks he’s slapping the glass more than knocking, but he’s answered quicker than he would be if the sole resident of the property had actually been asleep so. At least there’s that.

“Eddie?”

Steve’s all question in his tone for a whole second before he’s grabbing Eddie, pulling him in, closing the door and locking it quick and then, and then—

Pulling Eddie straight into his chest and wrapping around him and Eddie fucking collapses, drops into that embrace because he needs it, now, and it’s come to mean safe and home and, and loved and he—

“Eds, baby, are you hurt?” Steve doesn’t peel him away where he burrows in further, but starts running palms down Eddie’s limbs, looking for wounds, for clues as Eddie shakes, trembles and gasps against him.

“What is it, what happened?” Steve tries to get him to breathe even as he asks, even when his hands finish searching, when Steve sees that his body at least is intact, unlike—

Fuck.

“Eds, come on, deep breath with me,” and Steve grabs one of Eddie’s hands and shoves it hard to his own chest, models the motion like Eddie’s never learned how on his own and it helps, it does help, and he knows he needs to, to tell Steve and—

“Did,” Eddie gets out a single word on a huff of air but Steve soothes him, praises the pathetic accomplishment, so Eddie tries again, just one word. One word at a time.

“The mall.”

Two words. And Steve’s steady breaths. He can do this. His hand’s held still by Steve’s while the rest of him’s still shaking but: he can do this.

For Chrissy.

“Before, the other times,” Eddie bites out and screws his eyes shut because he can see it either way, and he needs to kind of hide a little, even if it doesn’t change anything, if he’s gonna get it out, if he’s gonna say it and make it real so he can’t take it back:

“Did people ever…float?”

Steve’s hands still, and Eddie swears he can feel Steve’s heart trip for just a second before it starts beating a little harder but: never once, not once, does Steve breathing falter. It’s a steady throughline for Eddie to keep following even as his fear deepens because Steve’s still, tense against him now in a whole new way and Eddie tries, he tries so hard to lose himself in breathing, in Steve’s breathing, so deep he’d probably have missed it if he weren’t pressed so tight against that chest so as to hear the murmuring from inside more than out:

“Not yet,” Steve barely whispers as his hands start moving, stroking back and forth up and down Eddie’s spine; “have they started to?”

Eddie starts shaking a little harder. He’d been real fucking afraid of that.

It takes an hour, maybe closer to two, for Eddie to choke out the details. They’re bundled on the couch, Eddie with a water Steve insists he drink, and it probably makes sense because of how much he’s losing in fucking tears as he just, just sees her snapping in half and folding into, into—

It makes sense, needing hydration or whatever, but Eddie’s doesn’t trust himself not to sick up even a sip of it.

By the time he’s finished, he feels wrung out in ways he didn’t know were possible. Like the blood in him’s been squeezed out and he’s just a husk, but Steve.

Steve doesn’t stop holding the wrung-out husk of him. And that’s…that is something.

“That’s,” Steve finally starts, and his tone is different now from the placating soothing he’d kept up throughout Eddie’s recounting of the horrors, but the press of his lips to Eddie’s temple is still exactly the same.

Eddie feels something in him starting to ease, solely because of and solely possible for the way Steve holds to him, close and unwavering. He feels it before the words come out, the slight tension that hits Steve’s muscles and the dry catch of the breath in his chest before he speaks:

“Eddie,” and it’s a tone that Eddie doesn’t hear too often, but is still wholly familiar with for the most heartbreaking reasons, like when the nightmares had gotten too frequent and Eddie had been the one to cry when Steve clammed up and shook head to toe in Eddie’s arms because Steve was hurting that bad and wouldn’t tell him why, and how could Eddie help if Steve wouldn’t tell him why—

It’s the tone of voice that broke Steve’s NDA that night. It’s the tone of voice that finally explained why Steve went ramrod-still when a light flickered. It was the tone that explained, the first time they got high together, why Steve hadn’t smoked in months and why he was scared to try again and he wanted to face the fear of it but would Eddie, could Eddie just make sure, like—

It’s the same voice, now, so Eddie saves him the trouble, because that voice shatters Eddie’s heart to pieces, every time.

“It’s like Starcourt,” Eddie whispers, hoarse as hell and still watery, as if somehow unthinkably he’s got more tears to spare; “and like the tunnels, and the,” be swallows, and turns to look Steve in the eyes:

“The nail bat?”

The first time he saw that thing he was naive enough to think it was badass. After he learned what it was really for, he didn’t think it was less badass but. He actually processed the stains that wouldn’t come off as the wrong shade for being just rust.

“I think,” Steve breathes in deeper, the way that always hurts, and he looks so fucking apologetic when he exhales, as if it’s somehow his fucking fault:

“I think so.”

The words aren’t said like there’s any doubt in them, though, and maybe Eddie starts to spiral.

“They’re gonna think it was me,” he squeezes his eyes tight against the scene in his living room, that his uncle’s gonna find, fuck, fuck; “they’re gonna think I—”

And then Steve’s grabbing him above the elbow, spinning Eddie around to properly face him, then shaking Eddie just enough to demand his attention, as if the low growl that escapes him, that hits a note Eddie suspects both gods and devils raise up to take heed of:

“I am not gonna let anyone lay a fucking finger on you.”

And…and what’s Eddie even supposed to do, when Steve says it, when Steve uses that voice for him?

All he can seem to do is cover Steve’s hands so desperate, anchor that this man is for him, and close his eyes when Steve leans to press a kiss to the top of his head.

“There are people who clean this up,” Steve reaches to cradle Eddie’s head closer, to press lips behind his ear; “but they’re slow and they’re always too chickenshit to step in and take fucking responsibility while it’s all going down,” Steve’s tone is dry, so much judgement but his grip, his hold is somehow so comforting and firm at the very same time and Eddie thinks that’s why he feels safe, or almost, even as Steve eases him back, licks his lips, nods to himself and then kisses Eddie, full on the lips and hard, quick, before he pulls them both up to stand, links one hand in Eddie’s as he pulls him behind him as he walks through the house, quick and almost clinical:

“So here’s what we’re gonna do.”

The terms Steve lays out are…simple, if kinda terrifying not least for the fact that Steve has terms, because no one could think this up so quick on the spot under this kind of pressure, not to mention with the prompt of how to hide your boyfriend if he ends up wanted for murder, Jesus fuck—

“It was a plan to keep you safe, or us safe, or you and Wayne safe or,” and oh, oh Steve’s answering him, Eddie didn’t notice he was talking out loud. He can’t even blush for it, doesn’t think there’s enough blood to pool there when it’s still racing through his veins maybe not at top speed anymore, but: still making a sprint to the finish as they climb the stairs down instead of up, as Eddie follows Steve to a wall with a painting in the finished half of the basement, watches Steve lift the painting off its hanger and—

“You have a basement vault,” Eddie can…only state the obvious as he watches Steve go under the back of the frame of the painting and find a very evil-villain type of key, in this very evil-villain type of set up, and he blurts without thinking, save it’s kinda all he can think:

“Is one of your parents a serial killer?”

Steve at least snorts, at that.

“Probably closer to white collar criminal,” Steve shrugs as he swings open a pretty…small, ish, space behind the metal door, thicker than Eddie’d figured but definitely evil-villain style with it.

“It had a bunch of locked filing cabinets, like three safes, and the shelves went across this way,” Steve stretches his arms along the back of the vault and okay, yeah, less evil-villain, unless you count Reaganomics-style capitalism as a villain. Which Eddie does, but.

Not the point.

“Just all stacks of shit in folders that definitely seemed a hundred percent normal,” Steve deadpans, takes it in stride; Eddie’s always impressed with his boyfriend but fuck: he’s in goddamn awe of him in a whole new way, just now.

“When it became pretty clear they weren’t coming back any time soon, and even if they were, when,” Steve shrugs and crosses his arms, rolls his shoulders back in that way Eddie doesn’t think he even recognizes doing:

“When the end of the world started to be a recurring thing, I mean, that sure as shit beats out trying to hide your shady business dealings any day.”

He nods to himself, and glances toward Eddie, maybe for agreement or approval or moral support and Eddie’s got all that and more, hopes his own bobblehead-like nodding conveys as much. Steve smiles the tiniest bit and then dives back in, like all he needed was a little boost. A little tacit but undeniable love.

And…maybe that really was all Steve needed.

“It’s a tight squeeze, but,” he curls himself into the space, crouches to demonstrate; it’s not terrible, but it’s definitely the tight side of cozy; “needs must or whatever,” exactly, yes, right, and Eddie’s wiry; it’s more than fine.

“Essentials are all packed in for short term use,” he gestures at boxes of food, cans and an opener, firearms. Ammunition. Eddie swallows…harder than he should. He’s fired a gun before.

Just…one time at the air to scare off a coyote.

“I tried to get a plumber but,” Steve grimaces, forging on; “they said they’d need to dig the whole thing up and they can’t start until summer at the earliest,” more than implying that he was on the list and waiting for summer. This was…this was…

“You really went all in on this,” Eddie kinda marvels because…holy shit, you know?

Steve, because he’s Steve, just raises a brow and smirks a little.

“Well, duh.”

And Eddie grabs him, frames his face and just drinks him in before he kisses Steve so goddamn hard.

“God, I love you,” he breathes against Steve’s mouth as they start to pull away, linger just to taste each other on the exhale, before Steve pulls back, but reaches to keep Eddie’s hand in his, like a tether.

Eddie sure as fuck appreciates it.

“Key,” Steve holds up the fancy thing and taps the keyhole; “you lock it, then close it behind you,” and Eddie nods, seems straightforward enough; “I’m gonna put it with some of my keys upstairs, make it look innocent, but,” and Steve turns to him, gaze more serious than Eddie thinks he’s ever seen it.

“If you hear anything, you come down here. If you hear anyone but me, and I’ll call out and make sure you know if it’s safe, and that I’m alone, but if it’s anyone but just me,” and Steve squeezes his hand before letting go and maybe Eddie whimpers a little for the loss, but he tracks Steve with his eyes, almost unblinking.

“I want you to turn this here,” he points the key to the lock again; “hide the key under this part of the rug,” he lifts an area of carpet Eddie doesn’t think is meant to lift until he sees the concrete underneath and the groove that lets the key lie flat, unnoticeable; “then lock yourself in, and flip the deadbolt to make sure you’re safe,” Steve swings the door further open and toggles the deadbolt for demonstration; “so when it issafe, I’ll know from the keys upstairs where you are, and be down the second the coast is clear.”

Eddie nods, runs it through in his head—use key, hide key, climb into the vault, deadbolt the door, wait.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Steve’s palms are holding his own.

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s breathing out, sounds pained but then he’s stroking Eddie’s hair, tangling with a sweat-stuck curl, drawing Eddie’s forehead to his own to steady him, or try to as he promises:

“Baby, I’ve got you.”

And Eddie breathes, does his best to nod and not dislodge them from each other but Steve feels it, knows him, and pulls them chest to chest, wraps Eddie close so he can hide alongside Steve’s neck, feel the stray pump of his pulse where Eddie can feel anything outside his own sudden ramp back up toward hyperventilating, Jesus fuck.

“Do you trust me?” Steve’s suddenly breathing right against Eddie’s ear, and pulling Eddie’s hand, palm flat to his chest, filling the need he knows Eddie holds for the anchor, the rhythm he can tie himself to.

“Never thought I’d trust anyone, ever, like I trust you,” Eddie answers, steadiest as he’s been so far, as soon as he finds his voice to manage it. Steve presses his hand to his chest tighter, somehow holds him closer.

“I am going to keep you safe,” Steve vows, kisses Eddie’s hair and breathes in deep before he asks, his heartbeat still steady under Eddie’s hand but…stronger somehow:

“You love me?”

It’s a statement spoken like a question. Both and neither.

The answer’s the same either way.

“More than life.”

Steve nods, kisses Eddie’s temple now and pulls back only enough to look him in the eye as he cups his jaw and nods, takes in Eddie’s certainty and—

“Then no matter what happens, you won’t leave this house.”

Eddie stiffens, feels his jaw drop a little because, because…

“But—”

“And you’ll do exactly what I say while you’re in it, if something goes entirely fucking haywire and anyone tries to come for you here.”

And Steve’s eyes hold him so steady, so steely, so sure: because Eddie does love him. More than life. And…

And this is why Steve demanded spoken proof of the thing they both know.

“Dirty pool, Harrington,” Eddie bites out against Steve’s neck again, because…he’s so tired. And he feels safe here, against the man he loves, like…really loves. He…he’ll give in, for this man. Nobody else.

“It’s been closed all winter, so, yeah,” Steve sighs exaggeratedly, his chest lifting with it high, still under Eddie’s hand; “pretty dirty pool out there.”

Eddie can’t help how he snorts.

“Motherfucker.”

“Nope,” Steve shakes his head, tone dramatically lamenting; “I’m a deeply committed monogamist,” and Steve reaches, draws Eddie’s face from its hiding place and brings him within kissing distance:

“And I’m deeply committed to you, so,” and fuck him, fuck him for the way he runs a thumb so delicate, so tenderly down Eddie’s bottom lip, looks at him so lovingly, as if his nerves aren’t already fried enough without Steve making him fucking weak in the goddamn knees.

“But you’re going out there—” Eddie puts up a protest he wishes rang clearer, more forcefully—but he’s drained, and he’s starting to feel it hard.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve tells him, not unkindly, not dismissively—tries like hell for reassuring, even. “And it’s not that I don’t think you do, or can. It’s not that I doubt you, you know that,” and fuck all: Eddie does.

He’s a coward and a hypocrite in a lot of fucking ways but. Not this one.

“But if they tie you to Chrissy,” Steve says so soft, treads so careful; “I need you safe,” and he’s right, he’s fucking right because Eddie ran, he ran from her body, and he—

“Because I can’t do my part to help stop this if my heart’s not in it all the way.”

Eddie frowns at that; doesn’t understand.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Steve’s smile tightens, goes thin but his eyes never waver.

“Because it’d busy worrying only about you,” and he’s honest to a fucking fault, like it’s obvious too, which Eddie’s own heart’s tripping twice on in a row and hard, just to hear it said so plain and adamant. “If you’re out there, even with us, you’re vulnerable.”

“I can take care of—” Eddie starts, but Steve’s thumb’s back on his lip: dirty fucking pool.

“We don’t do that anymore,” Steve whispers, and it’s the first time his eyes look less than sure as he breathes out: “do we?”

And fuck, fuck: that’d been Eddie’s line. That’d been Eddie trying to soothe Steve, to learn his secrets in the first place in order to help, or at least try. They don’t…they don’t have to take care of themselves alone.

“Please, Eddie,” Steve whispers, too low and almost toneless for it, in order to count as begging. But.

Steve’s got him. His own words. His whole heart. Fuck.

“Okay.”

And Steve looks at him, studies him without breathing almost to the point of concern, like he’s looking for the lie but there isn’t one. Eddie…for Steve.

Eddie can do this for Steve. He will do this for Steve.

And he gets a hell of a kiss for it, so. His efforts don’t go unrewarded.

Steve takes his hand again and leads him back up the stairs, sets him in a chair and kisses his head, keeps him as close as he can when he can’t hold him full-on while he makes a phone call that Eddie only hears on the periphery, makes out, hate to call so late, Mrs. Byers, but I just found out that, yeah, she’s taken a turn, and I know you were, yeah, exactly, Claudia will be a mess and, no, no, I think there’s time, just, if you still wanted, I think it’s probably a good idea to try and get here? Sooner rather than later, yeah, then he’s hanging up and Eddie’s watching him almost desperate with wide eyes he can’t seem to close, and Jesus fuck , he’s losing it again, he can’t stop shaking—

“Eds.”

And Steve’s there, pulling Eddie up but he’s a puppet with his strings cut; he falls right back to the chair and Steve guides him down to it, settles him again before he bends, kneels and takes both his hands.

“We’re gonna get some rest, okay, even if it’s just cuddling in bed, even if we can’t get to actual sleep we’re gonna get some rest,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hands until he nods his understanding; “because I’m gonna go into work tomorrow like nothing’s wrong, okay?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide at that, not just for having to lose Steve at his side—he hates it but it makes sense, it makes the kind of sense that comes from absolute necessity—but he’s…what about Robin, or the kids, the people who know—

“You’re not gonna tell…”

“I’m not gonna risk it,” Steve answers immediately; “anyone could overhear and,” he shakes his hand and lifts Eddie’s hands to his lips:

“I’m not gonna risk you, understand?”

So Eddie follows him up the stairs, most of his weight on Steve so much that he may as well have been fucking carried, and neither of them sleep, but Eddie clings to Steve harder than he’s held on to anything, folded up small against his chest and it…it finally helps calm Eddie’s pulse a little, lets him soak Steve up like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

He’s already fucking terrified it will be.

But alarms go off, and sunrise comes, and Steve gets dressed and ready, stopping to drop kisses to Eddie head, his face, his neck as he goes from the bedroom to the en-suite and back while Eddie stays safe in bed, and it’s really the only thing that makes Eddie sit up, when Steve’s out of sight too long for doing his hair, it’s just to…to keep him, a little longer.

He gets out of bed and follows Steve around like a puppy, wouldn’t even deny it, couldn’t ever regret it, as Steve moves some of the food from upstairs down to the basement in case you feel more comfortable down there than in the dark up here because of course everything’s closed up tight and Eddie nods, grabs Steve and holds him close to his chest when it gets overwhelming, which is…a lot, he does it a lot of times, almost gets stuck in Steve’s work vest for fear of letting go.

For fear it’ll be the last time.

“Week, week and a half’s usually the most this shit ever takes,” Steve’s saying as he ties his shoes in the living room—where normally shoes aren’t allowed at all and the gesture of it, the automatic shift for Eddie’s sake almost makes him want to cry again, he’s so keyed up, so fucking anxious; “and honestly, it’s not even that long, most times—”

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice fucking shatters just around his name because…because this is happening, Steve is leaving, and Eddie’s, Eddie is…

“Depends on what act of the larger shitshow we’re walking into,” Steve tries to power through, but he grabs Eddie’s hand and holds it tight once his shoes are laced.

Eddie holds on harder.

“I will leave messages if I can, I’ll say they’re for my parents. Obviously they’re not.”

Because obviously.

“If I have any instructions, any things we learn to make you safe, I will call. So make sure you pay attention, but never answer.”

“Stevie,” and in being reduced to only being capable of speaking Steve’s name, apparently, Eddie comes to the immediate realization that it’s fitting. If he was left only one word in the world, it should only be the most important one.

“Don’t start to worry unless we’re gone, like, two weeks,” Steve squeezes his hand and makes to stand, makes to let go but—

“I’m worried now,” Eddie’s voice is a whine, more because he can’t control it to make it more or less—he clings to Steve’s hand in his own so hard he knows his nails have to be digging into Steve’s skin but Steve doesn’t flinch even once.

“I wanna watch your back,” Eddie whispers, staring at their hands, memorizing what it looks like: them. Together.

“You wanna watch me swing the bat,” Steve points out, tries to lighten the mood a little and goddamn him: it’s only a little, but it does fucking work.

A little.

“Also that, yes,” Eddie concedes but sobers quick, because it’s…it’s leaden, it’s so big and he is, he’s—

“I’m so scared and I’m not even the one who deserves to be.”

And Steve: Steve lifts Eddie’s hand to presses lips to his knuckles before pulling himself up and into Eddie’s chest to tilt his head and kiss him full-on.

“If there’s a next time,” Steve speaks so his lips drag against Eddie’s with every word he says; “we’re gonna get you ready for it, and you’ll be by my side, because I’m scared to let you out of my sight.”

And it’s only then that Steve pulls back, just to slam them chest to chest and wind his arms around Eddie, and Eddie’s response is to immediately do the same, until their lungs are fighting to press into each other like one entity—and Eddie wouldn’t protest, if they could. He wouldn’t think twice, if it was a choice.

“But this is the safest place this time, if they’re looking for you. If they want to,” and Steve’s voice gives out, or maybe he just can’t say it: doesn’t matter.

They both know what he means.

“You gotta stay here,” Steve breathes a little broken, and a whole lot desperate. “For me. Okay?”

And for anyone else, Eddie would fight it. Hell, Eddie a year ago would have fucking railed at least a little, still. But…not just for what he’s seen, and what he knows has got to be out there—Chrissy’s asshole of a boyfriend’s anger issues might pose more of a threat than the half-a-brain cops in this town since Hopper…well; since Hopper—but he will do it. No one will know he’s here. And no one will see hide or hair of him.

“For you,” Eddie agrees, but he can’t leave it just there; “if you do something for me.”

“Anything,” Steve’s quick to commit without even a hint as to what lies next. “So long as it keeps you here.”

And Eddie…never thought he could be loved like this. Never thought he could love like this.

He can’t fucking lose it.

“Be careful,” Eddie says, like those words hold the world, and they kinda fucking do. “Like, for real, okay? Come back to me. Come back for me. Please.”

“I will,” Steve vows, like, Eddie feels it kinda in his bones.

“Steve,” he still pushes a little, because Steve…he’s heard the stories. Hell, he knows how they got together, he has proof on his own end, no interdimensional monsters involved.

“No, no,” Steve nods, like he can read Eddie’s thoughts almost, or maybe his face gives him away. “I get it. I just, I can’t…not be—”

“You?” Eddie finishes for him, a little resigned but a lot proud, whole-ass in love. “I wouldn’t ask you to not be you. I love you, all of you. But—”

“But I get it,” Steve nods, eyes a little too bright. “I won’t leave you like that.”

Then he’s quiet, like he’s thinking something weighty over, but only for a second before he ducks his head, but still speaks more like he’s sure of the words than anything less:

“Kinda want, like, forever with you, or something, y’know?”

Eddie’s heart goes to his throat, and his breath catches before it can try to fight around the pounding, and Eddie processes the words, lets them sink in before he rasps, a little watery:

“You mean it?”

Steve licks his lips but doesn’t hesitate to nod. Eddie’s breath shakes so fucking much when he tries to get any air in.

“Me too,” he barely manages to whisper but his heart’s still in his throat; the words are saturated with it by default. “Have for,” he exhales, and his lips curve up with so much relief, so much fullness in his chest; “for a while.”

“Same,” Steve murmurs low, his gaze fucking sparkling; “the whole ‘falling fast’ thing I tend to do?” He chuckles a little. “You’ve been like,” and he airplanes one hand into the waiting ring of the other with a whoosh: supersonic. Faster than light.

Eddie feels…Eddie thinks he might fucking burst, he doesn’t know how you survive this…this. He’s never known it before. It feels…

It’s like magic, he thinks—but real.

“Stay here,” Steve’s leaning into him again, speaking straight into his open lips, directly down to his heart. “Be safe. Please. For me.”

Eddie seals it, his agreement, his devotion, his everything, by closing his mouth, catching Steve’s lower lip in a kiss before he turns the tables, does the talking straight up against Steve’s soul:

“Go out there. Be a hero. But be a safe hero. Please. For me.”

And Steve doesn’t hesitate to tip his head and cradle Eddie’s in a single second, both at once and bring them together to kiss full-on, to lick deep, to be sure in each other, with each other.

To taste the vows received and made in the heartbeats between them.

“Love you, babe,” Steve breathes into him, just before he moves back.

“Love you,” Eddie sighs, chest still heaving, heart still hammering, terrified but full: “so fucking much.”

“I love you more,” Steve volleys, playful, maybe a little tight edged but…the love wins out.

Always.

“I love you most,” Eddie tops him, the practiced exchange landing in his favor this time as Steve pouts before his grin turns sly.

“I love you mostest,” Steve counters, victory clear in his gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a word,” Eddie huffs but it’s got no weight, doesn’t want any either.

“Is now,” Steve snips back through a smile that reminds Eddie why he’ll stay here, hiding; why Steve fights in the first place: at the end of the day, it’s this, isn’t it. It’s every shade and flavor of this.

“Then I love you more than even the mostest,” Eddie declares definitively before he kisses Steve hard, fast, commits it to memory and tattoos it on his ribs, before he leans his head to Steve’s and whispers:

“Robin’ll bitch if you’re late.”

And that’s how Steve pulls back, watches Eddie every second, goes through the garage so no one will see through the door, so he can keep their eyes locked as long as possible—

And then he’s gone.

<<< Part One ~or~ >>>want some more?

For @vegasol, who requested 'Secret Relationship' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @grtwdsmwhr @eddie-munson-addict

divider credits here and here

ao3 link here ✨

[florvaine]

bakugou katsuki in denial ;) warnings: none, reader is mentioned to have a telekinesis quirk (im obsessed with the idea of telekinesis atm) genre: fluff, headcannon-type-thing notes: take this draft from months ago as i try finish the first chapt. of brutal <3 mwah love you guyssssss!!

totally-not-crushing!katsuki bakugo who angrily denies accusations denki and mina throw at him, asking the ashy-haired boy if his lingering eyes and slightly kinder actions towards you were intentional. he’s yelling pretty loudly, calling the two of them names in the empty common room of heights alliance, and it’s no surprise that denki called kirishima down for backup.

totally-not-crushing!katsuki bakugo who gets tired of being interviewed, so he storms out of the common room with his hands deep in the pockets of his grey joggers. his expression is aggressive, a dangerous snarl on his face and with his thin eyebrows pinched together.

the moment totally-not-crushing!katsuki bakugo gets into his dorm room he collapses onto the sheets of his head, hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling with vermilion eyes.

he doesn’t like. he hates you. he hates your stupid hero costume that’s a perfect mix of tactical and cute, he hates the way your hair looks good 24/7, he hates the way you give him genuine smiles that reach your pretty (e/c) eyes, scrunching them. he hates how attractive he finds it when you get serious.

totally-not-crushing!katsuki bakugo who despises the twisting and churning of his stomach, the heavy beating of his heart, and the amount of focus he has to place into not accidentally setting off his quirk when he’s near you.

he hates how he goes all out on you during sparring because he knows you can hold your own against him. he hates how funny you are even if it’s unintentional, the fact that he hides his grins behind his hand when you say a joke. he hates the way his eyes immediately go to search for you in a sea of people, or whenever someone mentions your name he’s suddenly intently listening in.

totally-not-crushing!bakugo who, 5 minutes after clambering onto his bed, pulls his phone out to search up the symptoms he’s having. of course, he knows how the human body reacts when the person likes someone, but he would sleep easier if google tells him it’s something else.

totally-not-crushing!bakugo who slams his phone onto his bedside table with gritted teeth once scanning a few answers and articles about ‘how to know if you like someone’ from this bullshit reporter and writer.

totally-not-crushing!bakugo who has to actively avoid looking at you, he's hyper aware of everywhere his eyes move and if he even sees a glimpse of you (h/c) hair he's going to turn bright red. too bad for him, there's practical hero studies today!

and it seems you had some adjustments made to your costume - a whole new design and colour scheme that better suited your quirk and a big hood that covered your head. oh, and the same style of boots that he has - you even said that you got the idea from him!

trying to ignore your whispers with mina at the back of the group, he listens in at aizawa groups everyone in pairs for the practical exercise. and it was just his luck that totally-not-crushing!bakugo was grouped with you.

he wanted to yell in disagreement, but as soon as he saw you walking up to him, totally-not-crushing!bakugo saw the look on your face as you rattled on about ideas of what faux villains you two were up against, and he swallowed down his shouts. instead, he plasters on a disinterested face and hums along with your words.

turns out, the two of you are quite a duo. with your telekinesis, the two of you could rescue the dummy civilians and safely bring them to the safety in a matter of seconds, and he kept any threat at bay - both on the ground and in the sky.

totally-not-crushing!bakugo who gave you probably one of the kindest compliments he's even given that year - 'you're not the most useless, i guess,' and he even squeezed in a hesitant 'good job' at the end. but you barely heard it from behind his clenched teeth.

and you just looked so happy that he had been nice for once, and instead of commenting on the struggle to say the praise, you smile at him with those dimples, sipping water from a plastic cup provided to you by momo, and thank him.

totally-not-crushing!bakugo who feels a strange feeling in his chest and gut when you comment on the fact that the two of you made a good team, and should probably try work together in the future.

and he's actually going to sleep with a tiny, minuscule smile on his face thinking about the both of you creating agencies, and partnering up when you're both capable heroes.

still, you wont get the number one spot, he wasn't willing to give that up.

...yet.

[floresierss]

if you’re taking requests can I request smth cute and fluffy with tall broad bf!anton with short 5ft reader? A lot of inspiration from lovely runner but just I can imagine a lot of cute piggybacks and you hanging off his bicep as he tries to lift you or you needing to literally climb him to kiss him while he laughs and just boops ur nose/ kisses your nose before picking you up with one hand and kissing you properly

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ANTON LEE X GN!READER

masterlist. nav. ask.

WORD COUNT: 751

TAGS 🏷️: no tws! just fluff

AUTHORS NOTE: thank u for the request! i hope it suits what you wanted but it was kinda hard to write from the perspective of a 5ft reader cause i’m 6’2 but that’s a story for another day 😭😭. i also looked up lovely runner scenes on tiktok i might just end up watching the show it looks so cutewew hehe. i also made this one gn cause it wasn’t specified! :<

You glance up at Anton, who’s easily over a foot taller than you, with a mischievous glint in your eye. He notices and his cheeks redden slightly, already guessing what you’re up to.

“Piggyback?” you ask, bouncing on your toes.

Anton shyly scratches the back of his neck, but he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips. “Okay,” he agrees softly, turning around and bending slightly so you can hop on. As soon as you’re securely wrapped around his back, he straightens up, making you feel like you’re on top of the world.

“Hold on tight,” he says, his voice gentle. He takes a few playful steps, and you can feel the slight tremor of his laughter through his back. It makes you giggle, the sound music to his ears.

As he carries you around, you rest your chin on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “You’re the best, you know that?”

Anton’s blush deepens, and he mumbles, “I try.” His shyness makes your heart flutter. He’s so strong yet so bashful, a combination that you find utterly endearing.

As you’re hanging off his bicep, he effortlessly lifts you up and down, his face a mix of concentration and bashful amusement. “You’re so strong!” you exclaim, marveling at his strength.

Anton’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “Uh, thanks,” he murmurs, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Gotta keep up with you.”

You grin and decide to go for a kiss, but you can barely reach his chin. With a playful huff, you start climbing him like a tree, causing him to laugh nervously. “Need some help there?” he teases, his shyness evident in his voice.

Finally managing to reach his face, you give his nose a quick peck. Anton’s eyes widen slightly, and his blush deepens as he leans down, brushing his lips against yours with a tentative tenderness.

With one hand, he lifts you up effortlessly, pulling you close. His other hand gently cups your cheek, and he gives you a proper kiss, his shyness melting away in the warmth of the moment. The kiss is soft and sweet, lingering just enough to make your heart race.

When he pulls away, he boops your nose, making you giggle. “Got you,” he whispers, his smile shy but genuine as you snuggle into his arms.

The day continues with more playful antics. You challenge him to a game of tag in the park, where he purposely lets you catch him, his laughter ringing through the air every time you tackle him to the ground. He’s always careful, making sure you land softly in the grass, his protective nature showing through his shy demeanor.

After the playful run, you both collapse onto a blanket you brought along for a picnic. Anton sits cross-legged, looking a bit nervous as he reaches for the basket. “I, um, made your favorite sandwiches,” he says, glancing at you with a shy smile.

Your eyes light up with delight. “You did? That’s so sweet of you, Anton!” You lean over and give him a quick peck on the cheek, causing his blush to return in full force.

As you eat, you chat about anything and everything, the conversation flowing easily despite Anton’s occasional bashful pauses. His shyness doesn’t stop him from listening intently to every word you say, his eyes never leaving your face.

After the picnic, the sun begins to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. You both decide to head back home, but not before you ask for one more piggyback ride. Anton obliges, and you hop on his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Ready to go y/n?” he asks, his voice soft and warm.

“Ready,” you reply, resting your head against his.

As he carries you home, you feel the gentle sway of his movements, the steady beat of his heart against your back. It’s in these quiet moments that you realize just how much you cherish him, his shy smiles, his gentle strength, and the way he always makes you feel so special.

When you finally reach your doorstep, Anton carefully sets you down. You turn to him, standing on your tiptoes to give him one last kiss for the night. “Thank you for today, Anton. I had the best time.”

He smiles, a soft, shy smile that makes your heart melt. “Me too,” he says, leaning down to kiss your nose one more time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you whisper, watching as he walks away, grinning.

[minghaoslatina]

WHAT A COINCIDENCE!

pairing: idol!wooyoung x female!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of sex but not really, making out, condoms, pregnancy test, fluff

a/n 💌: the way I said I would post this like last week 😅🔫

now playing 🎧 supernatural by ariana grande

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

You and Wooyoung exchange puzzled looks as you both step into the dance studio. All the members are already there, and they give you both curious glances as you walk in.

"Is everything alright?" you ask, feeling perplexed by their suspicious expressions.

"We should be asking you that," Hongjoong responds with a hint of mystery in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Wooyoung sets down his dance bag and joins the rest of the members. Just as the tension in the room escalates, their backup dancers burst in, ready to learn a new choreography.

"We'll talk about it later," Seonghwa says with a slight smirk.

You shoot Wooyoung a confused look and step aside to observe them dance. Wooyoung always insists on having you there, claiming you're his good luck charm, but you know he just wants to impress you. Nonetheless, you enjoy watching him do what he loves.

As their practice draws to a close, you find yourself feeling a bit uneasy. What did the members need to talk to you and Wooyoung about? Before you can dwell on it further, Wooyoung collapses next to you on the floor and reaches out his arm dramatically as if he's about to faint. You chuckle and reach into your backpack for a water bottle to give him as everyone leaves except Wooyoung and his members.

"My girl is the best," Wooyoung sighs as he sits up to gulp down the water. You can't help but notice a few water droplets trickling down his pretty neck.

"Are you pregnant?" Mingi's sudden question catches both of you off guard, the words hanging in the air like a shocking revelation. Wooyoung's eyes widen, and he starts choking on his water. You quickly stand up and pat him on the back before turning to face the members, your mind reeling with disbelief.

"No! Why would you think that?" you ask in disbelief. The boys exchange glances before looking at Hongjoong, who seems to be hiding something behind his back.

"This fell out of your purse yesterday while you were here..." Wooyoung nearly faints when he sees Hongjoong pull out a pregnancy test. The room falls silent, the tension palpable, as everyone waits for an explanation.

"I can explain," you hastily interject before Wooyoung jumps to conclusions.

"Is that yours? But we've never..." You quickly cover his mouth before he says anything.

"Never what?" Yeosang asks, genuinely confused.

"Had se-" Yunho is quick to cover Mingi's mouth. Yeosang now regrets his life decisions.

Jongho looks at you, puzzled. "Then why do you have a pregnancy test?" he asks.

You took a deep breath before responding, knowing that this was supposed to be a secret. "A female staff member asked me to do her a favor and get her a pregnancy test. She seemed really scared, and I felt bad for her, so I agreed to help. She gave me the money, and I bought it for her. Just to clarify, I am not pregnant, nor do I have any intention of getting pregnant," you explained, hoping to ease the tension. Wooyoung frowned at your words, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and disappointment, but decided to stay silent for the moment. The others nodded slowly as if they were processing your words.

Right on cue, the female staff member walked in nervously, her eyes darting around the room. You discreetly took the pregnancy test from Hongjoong and handed it to her with a polite smile. The members, their curiosity piqued, stay silent out of respect, their eyes staying on the ground.

"Can we go now?" you ask, nodding toward the dance studio door.

"Yes, let's head out," Wooyoung responds, reaching for his black bag in the corner. The rest of the boys also gather their belongings, preparing to shower and unwind for the day.

"Wooyoung, do you have an extra water bottle?" San asks as he notices two spare water bottles in Wooyoung's open bag.

"No, I don't," Wooyoung replies playfully.

"Come on, just one, please," San pleads, tugging at one strap of his open bag while Wooyoung holds onto the other. They engage in a playful tug-of-war over the water bottles. Everything seems to go in slow motion as the bag falls, and a bunch of condoms appear on the floor. You are the first to cover your mouth in surprise. Half the members burst out laughing while the others stood there in shock.

"Liars! You're pregnant," Mingi accuses, pointing toward you and Wooyoung back and forth.

"I swear those are not mine," Wooyoung panics, "Baby, I swear, those are not mine," he says, facing you. You are still in shock with a hand over your mouth. A pregnancy test? Condoms? This looks so wrong.

"Wow, you guys are freaks," San laughs after picking up a condom and reading the size.

"At least they're using protection," Seonghwa shrugs. You are about to explain the misunderstanding before one of the backup dancers walks in.

"Wooyoung, I think I took your bag by accident," the backup dancer explains with a chuckle. He does not seem the least bit bothered that his condoms are on the floor. Wooyoung is quick to exchange the bags and lets out a sigh of relief when he leaves.

"See? I told you they weren't mine," Wooyoung explains, with a look of relief on his face. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you take a moment to let the tension drain away.

"Things keep getting weirder and weirder," Yeosang sighs, his brow furrowed as he exits the dance studio. As the other members follow Yeosang out, it's just you and Wooyoung left in the room.

"Wow, what a crazy coincidence," you say, trying to infuse some humor into the situation as you let out a nervous laugh and a sigh of relief.

"Yeah... who would have thought," Wooyoung says, his brow still slightly furrowed in contemplation.

"Is everything okay?" you ask, with a tinge of worry in your voice. You hope he doesn't think you're being dishonest. The thought of him doubting you is unbearable.

"Can I ask you something?" Wooyoung hesitates before speaking. "Do you not want to have kids?"

"Um, well, not right now," you reply, caught off guard by the sudden turn in the conversation. You'd never really considered it until now. Before meeting Wooyoung, you hadn't pictured yourself having children, but his kind and compassionate nature has made you reconsider everything. Your sweet, sweet Wooyoung. His heart is so big.

"So, you do want kids?" Wooyoung's eyes light up with hope. He's worried about pushing you too hard, but he's relieved to hear your answer.

"Yeah, I think I do. Especially if you're the dad," you say with a shy grin, gently nudging him. He chuckles warmly and takes hold of your hand.

"It would be an honor to be the father of our kids," he says with a genuine smile.

Your heart swells with joy. "Our kids," you say softly.

"Let's head out, pretty," Wooyoung says, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before guiding you out of the room.

As you both drive to his dorm, the two of you excitedly discuss potential baby names, playfully teasing each other along the way. When you arrive at the dorm, the other members are all gathered in front of the TV, engrossed in a soccer game. Wooyoung quickly freshens up and joins them, and you decide to relax and watch Netflix in his room.

An hour later, Wooyoung enters the room and closes the door behind him. He immediately collapses on top of you, causing you to let out a surprised yelp before embracing him.

"I missed you already," Wooyoung whines, squeezing you tightly.

"It's only been an hour," you laugh, feeling grateful for his affection.

"Too long," Wooyoung mumbles, unwilling to let go as he holds you close.

"I can totally picture our future kids being just as affectionate as you," you tease, playfully poking the dot on his lips.

"You think?" Wooyoung giggles, adjusting his position on top of you to catch your gaze.

"Absolutely," you nod and smile up at him. He looks into your eyes for a second before he starts making out with you. You quickly pull away from your compromising position when someone opens the door.

"Mingi, you have terrible timing!" you exclaim as Mingi jokingly yells, "Liars!" before quickly closing the door.

Feeling a little flustered, you seek refuge in Wooyoung's embrace, burying your face in his chest. Wooyoung laughs with you, resting his forehead against yours.

"Should we start making babies now," Wooyoung suggests playfully while wiggling his eyebrows.

"Shut up," you laugh and push him off you (out of love).

You've never felt so happy.

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

[sanjisboyfie]

playlist : tender by blur

(pre-timeskip) monkey d. luffy x male reader

this was a special i wrote for my fanfic (thats not published here on tumblr) but i realized it could be a good standalone one shot so i wanted to post it hereeeee :) the relationship status is ambiguous, but its obvious luffy and reader have known each other since chidhood/foosha village and luffy really really really loves clinging to reader ! another thing, if u want this could be a soft yandere luffy as well cause hes definitelllyyy showing summ tendencies here lol

“tender is the night, lying by your side. tender is the touch of someone that you love too much. tender is my heart, i’m screwing up my life. lord, i need to find someone who can heal my mind.”

luffy’s first impression of [name] was that he was strong. he looked up to him, he wanted to be as cool as him and as capable as him. how many times [name] had saved luffy’s ass when they were children was uncountable. and all those memories live so vividly in the captain’s head.

and when he made [name] promise that he’d find him in the grand line - made him swear that he’d join his crew and not anyone else’s, it was all so serious. the most serious luffy had ever been in the face of [name].

because to luffy, there would be no reason sailing out to sea if [name] wasn’t by his side. it sounds childish, especially if luffy were to ever verbally say that, but overtime he had realized that it was another genuine sentiment. there was no way luffy could become the pirate king without [name] by his side.

"luffy, stop running over the mud, you’re gonna fall on your face!” [name] worriedly called out from the treehouse, seeing the rubber boy play in their yard. it had just recently rained and all the soil that was surrounding their treehouse was still sludgy.

of course, luffy wanted to play in the mud like the child he was. [name] wasn’t going to stop him, but he could at least warn the younger one of injury.

"come play with me, [name]! let’s make mud pies!”

“no! you’re just gonna get hungry and actually eat them! gross!”

“i won’t- i am hungry though!”

[name] didn’t reply, only leaning over the wooden railing of the treehouse and watching as luffy got himself all mucked up and dirty. somehow, his straw hat stayed clean the entire time. he sighed, fiddling with his own piece of shanks, the cloth on his wrist before smiling gently.

just as he was about to turn around and get some naps in, luffy’s shrill voice started screaming, “[name]! [name]! save me!!! save me!”

he whipped his head around in an instant, eyes widening when he saw that luffy was caught in a mud slide.

"i can't breathe!!"

his voice was getting farther away and [name] jumped out of the treehouse without hesitation.

“luffy! luffy!” he shouted desperately, grunting when his ankle got caught in the mud and he was being dragged into the disgusting substance as well. he jerked his body upwards, wanting to at least see where luffy could’ve possibly been.

and then he saw it — his tiny palm waving frantically around in the air. [name] grit his teeth, twisting his body every which way to break out of the sticky grasp the environment had on him.

"[name]-” the boy’s scream was cut off and the sound of coughing began to fill his ears.

”luffy!” he grabbed a vine that was on the side of a tree and ripped it off, unlocking a newfound strength in himself to save luffy. he threw it right into luffy’s palms and tugged as hard as he could.

he dug his heels into the ground, his jaw clenched as he put all of his strength in pulling luffy out. and when he finally did, the first thing he did was wrap his arms around the boy’s torso.

"can you breathe?! are you okay?!” he frantically asked, patting the boy’s back in case anything was lodged in his chest - hindering his breathing. but luffy just collapsed into his arms and began wailing.

“i thought i was going to die, [name]! thank you!!”

[name] protectively wrapped luffy up in his arms, hugging him as tight as possible as he tried to reassure himself that luffy was alright. and he steadied his breathing, allowing luffy to cry into his arms for however long he wanted.

“you stupid idiot, don’t ever play in mud again!” he scolded luffy, pushing away the black locks of hair out of luffy’s face. he grimaced when he felt how dirty his hair felt, reminding himself to bathe with luffy to ensure all the grime was washed out.

and despite luffy’s face almost being completely covered in mud, he still flashed that bright smile, “you saved me, [name]! thank you!”

[name] blinked a couple of times before laughing, “of course i’d save you! i’ll always be there! just scream like the little baby you are and i’ll come running!”

luffy frowned, hands balling into [name]’s mud ridden shirt, “i’m not a baby!”

“yeah, you are,” [name] corrected, “but it’s alright, i’ll take care of you no matter what! so you get the excuse of acting like a baby! but! only for a little while longer, you gotta start maturing soon, luffy!”

“don’t wanna, that sounds boring!”

“captain’s can’t be immature, y’know! i don’t want an immature captain!”

“i’m mature, the maturest captain out there!”

[name] laughed as loud as possible, finding luffy’s eagerness to please and obliviousness more heartfelt than anything he’s ever seen before.

and as [name] was sitting in the crow’s nest, watching luffy run around the deck whining for adventure, he realized how lucky he got that his captain was still an adventurous, reckless, and immature as he was. he fears that if luffy had lost any of those traits, he’d make for a boring captain.

as if knowing that [name] was watching from above, luffy looked up and grinned happily to see that his e/c eyes were looking at him. in a second, he stretched himself up to where [name] was and crashed into his chest.

“don’t you want to go on more adventures, [name]?” luffy asked, rubbing their cheeks against one another. the grin on his face could be felt along [name]’s skin. his rubbery, but soft, skin was already making [name] crack into a smile of his own.

“yes, i want to go on more adventures, but we need to find an island for that to be an option,” [name] reasoned logically, making luffy’s smile turn into a frown.

“but i wanna go now! can’t you take us to an island?!”

“it doesn’t work like that, luffy!”

“it so does, you liar!”

“you’re right it does, i was lying!” [name] grinned, laughing as luffy began play fighting with him. “but aren’t you on an adventure right now?”

luffy paused, stilling in his fake attacks as he mulled over the question. then his signature grin came back onto his face, “i guess i am!”

“what makes you say that?”

“if you’re here, i’m on the best adventure!” luffy sincerely, and unapologetically, shouted.

[name] was shocked at first before his expression melted into a loving stare, “i feel the same way,”

“good! it’d be wrong if you didn’t!”

luffy calmed down from when he was running around on the deck. he still had [name] wrapped up in his arms, but the man wasn’t fighting against his embrace. so he only tightened it further.

“i’m really, really, really, really, really happy you’re here, [name].”

luffy’s statement came out of nowhere, but [name] didn’t bother showing his surprise. he simply let luffy continue on.

“i don’t ever want to be seperated from you again,” luffy said, out of nowhere his voice was now trembling, “you’d leave and leave and leave and then i never knew when you’d be back — if you’d even come back! and i don’t want that ever again…don’t ever leave me again!”

[name] frowned, fists clenching at his sides as he heard luffy’s shaky voice.

“and then you left for three years and there was no way i could talk to you, you and ace left me by myself! but you promised me we’d find each other, so i knew you’d come back! and now that you’re back, you can’t ever leave again,” luffy tightened his hold on [name], nuzzling his now cold nose into his neck. it had turned cold due to the sudden rush of tears that were clouding his vision.

“no! no! don’t take him away! don’t take [name] away!” luffy shouted, fighting against the uniformed men. his fists were pathetically pounding into their legs, his cries filling the night air.

“[name]! don’t go! please, don’t go!!"

for [name], those cries that came from luffy lived in his mind on repeat. whenever he’d have to leave, against his will, luffy would wail and cry until he was too far that he wasn’t able to hear him. he’d never make luffy suffer like that again, he’d sworn it to himself.

he was supposed to be the one protecting him, not causing him pain. no more suffering would come to luffy, if [name] could help it. he’d never have to cry for him again.

“i won’t let you leave, i won’t let anyone take you away — never again!” luffy said stubbornly, his teeth grazing the flesh of [name]’s shoulder.

the captain never got sentimental like this — nearly coming to tears for apparently no reason. but, it was not a secret that he had an unseen side to himself when it came to [name].

it was a side that no one else on the crew had really witnessed for themselves (yet). a side of vulnerability that only [name] was capable of bringing out. it was like the way [name] could command luffy stop stealing food off of other people’s plates and the captain would listen (for a solid 5 minutes, then he’d have to cave in and steal more food for his stomach).

“i won’t leave, luffy.” [name] said in a determined tone, “no one is going to take me away. i belong here with you, so don’t worry about anyone coming for me.”

“if anyone tries taking you away, i’ll kill them. i’ll send them flying that they’ll never try coming back, ever again!” luffy shouted once more. a deep pit of anger lived in him, a secret that he kept hidden for the most part.

it was a sense of guilt, probably, that fueled it so wildly. the guilt of not being able to do anything when he was a child. so he feels the need to overcompensate now that he has become stronger. if [name]’s position in their crew was ever threatened, someone tried taking him away, luffy would have had years upon years of pent up anger to release.

no one really knew how angry he was. only himself. it was the type of anger he would showcase when one of his crewmates, his nakama, was threatened on a personal level. when he saw nami crying for help against arlong was the one instance he can remember the clearest.

but the thing is, if anything like that ever happened to [name], he doesn’t think he’d be able to control himself. if [name] was ever pushed to the point of begging and crying for help, luffy doesn’t know how sane he could act.

just thinking of how frail [name] was whenever he’d be taken away when they were younger made him feel blood thirsty.

and it was an odd feeling. he almost never feels this way. never so violent. but when it comes to [name], everything is a free for all in luffy’s mind.

ever since he was a child [name] has been nothing but kind, a protector for luffy. and the captain would rather die than fail in protecting the one person who was always there for him.

“ace, quit being so mean to luffy!” [name]’s voice shouted, scolding the freckled man. he ran over to the younger one’s side immediately, collecting him in his arms and creating a physical barrier around luffy and ace.

“you baby him too much! how is he supposed to get stronger-”

“he’s just a kid!!!” [name] would shout, as if the three year age gap between himself and luffy amounted to decades. “don’t be so mean to him, don’t hit him anymore! i won’t allow it!”

“there’s no way he’ll survive in the real world if you keep this up!”

[name] grit his teeth, standing up and socking ace right in the face, “you can’t decide that!!”

“i’m being realistic!”

“you’re bullying him, enough!” [name] spat out, once again gathering luffy into his arms, “i won’t allow you to hurt him any more! don’t ever think about laying your hands on luffy again!!”

luffy hid his face in [name]’s torso, a feeling blossoming in his chest. he didn’t know the name for it and in the coming years, it seems he’d never learn how to properly state this feeling.

but he did know that whenever [name] was nearby, luffy was protected. he felt protected. [name] was, as he is for so many people, a protector. natural instincts make him a self-sacrificial person. if taking a bullet in the place of someone else meant they’d live, he’d jump in front of the gun in an instant.

it was a trait of [name]’s that luffy genuinely hated. not how protective [name] was, but how involved he was in making judgement calls without regards to his own health.

that self-sacrificial mindset that made [name] think more irrationally than he’d ever notice. luffy hated that.

only tiny instances has ever been seen by luffy when they were growing up. taking scoldings and beatings from garp in order to save luffy the pain, shadowing luffy’s body with his own if there was a sudden danger directed towards him, things along those lines that would leave [name] with some injuries or scars.

but to think that this attitude of [name]’s could lead to more serious injuries, or even death, was what made luffy uncomfortable. made him want to punch a hole in the wall. it really, really infuriated him.

because in his eyes, [name]’s life was something more important than anything else. he didn’t understand how [name] could be so careless with something so important to luffy.

the idea that one day, someone may be in a life threatening situation, and [name] would take their place makes luffy’s heart start beating at impossible speeds and his breathing quicken. his mind would get cloudy in dark thoughts. and then he’d have to snap himself out of it to remind himself that he was day dreaming and nothing of those sorts was going to happen any time soon.

he’d make sure of it, as captain he was determined to.

”is he going to be okay, dadan?” luffy sniffled, tiny hands curled into fists as he stared at [name]’s bandaged form.

recklessly, [name] had jumped in front of an animal attacking luffy and took the attack for himself instead. it was a tiger slashing out to draw blood from luffy. [name] had caught the sight from the corner of his eye and ran as fast as he could, hoping to god he had made it in time.

and when he looked down and saw luffy unscratched, he weakly smiled in victory. three slashes were bearing into his skin and making him bleed profusely, but to see luffy unharmed in front of him was enough for him to pass out without a worry in his mind.

imagine luffy’s fear as he had to carry [name] on his back, on his own, not knowing if the ragged breathing coming down on his ears would suddenly stop. the fear and dread he’d feel if he took him all the way back to dadan and it was already determined to be “too late” to save [name].

and the way it would have all been his fault.

now, in reality, the damage wasn’t as bad as luffy had thought it out to be. but he was still only a child. the fact he had seen that much blood was enoug reason for why he thought [name] was really going to die. it was a relatively valid fear.

“he’s going to be alright, this brother of yours is the toughest one of the whole pack of you rabbid animals,” dadan grunted, taking her seat across from luffy by [name]’s side.

“not my brother,” luffy grumpily corrected, tired of people getting the wrong idea. how many times has he had to tell people [name] wasn’t his brother. to luffy he was so much more than that.

as rude as it sounded to his two other brothers, [name] was so much more than a simple title of “brother.”

“apologies,” dadan sarcastically said, “but really, he’s going to be fine luffy, he’ll be better if you just leave him alone, though.”

she stood up, going to walk out of the room and held the door open for luffy. she waited for him to join her side, but he was glued to being by [name]. seeing his resolve in staying by [name], she gently closed the door behind her.

luffy already promised himself he wouldn’t move until [name] opened his eyes.

he wouldn’t sleep until [name] opened his eyes. he wouldn’t eat until [name] drank water — since luffy knew that would be the first thing the boy would need when waking up.

he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of things [name] was missing out on. especially when it was luffy’s fault he was in this state in the first place.

in the crow’s nest of merry, [name] could only rub up and down luffy’s arm in hopes of calming him down. he felt guilty for being the reason of luffy’s tears, but realized that there was nothing he could have done to prevent them.

the two were too familiar with why he was crying in the first place. they knew that combatting it before the tears would start was useless. luffy had broken down to [name] many times before, especially when they were younger. it would end in sleepless nights and sweet nothings being echoed in the air for luffy’s ears and luffy’s ears only.

and the best way to take care of it was to let it happen. whispered nothings weren't really effective to luffy. he didn’t want to be fed empty promises, he could tell when things couldn’t be guaranteed. but, he thinks, if [name] is the one saying them he wouldn't mind at least hearing them. that didn’t necessarily mean he was listening though.

there was something else he would never pass up on hearing over and over and over again from [name]. it was four simple words. it could be false hope being put into luffy’s head, but he’d believe it for as long as he could.

“i’m not going anywhere,” [name] whispered into luffy’s arms, twisting his body around so now he was properly hugging luffy as well. before luffy had simply suffocated him in his arms, chest to back. but now that they were in a proper embrace, luffy could really hide himself in [name]’s arms.

it was like they were in the treehouse again. in their own world.

“i’m not going anywhere,” [name] repeated more slowly, raking his hands through luffy’s hair and gripping him tight. to emphasize the fact that this was a promise that he’d try his best in keeping.

to luffy, [name] was not a brother.

“i won’t let you,” luffy said in a stubborn voice, the syllables shaking as they left his lips. “you belong here, only here! you belong with me!”

[name] weakly laughed at luffy’s childish exclamation, nodding his head to ease his worries.

luffy never really got to vent these emotions out, so when did they come to surface, they were almost like a tsunami. they’d drown him in saying things he might’ve not even understood, but felt right to say.

and he’d blabber on about things he might not understand because he knew keeping them suppressed wasn't an option.

luffy didn’t know how to talk about the emotions he felt regarding [name], not in a way that would do them justice at least. he didn’t know how to articulate how protective he felt of [name], so instead as a compromise he’d attach himself to him whenever he could.

if someone tried sweeping [name] off of his feet, he wouldn’t know how to tell other people [name] was only his, so instead he’d yell about how annoying that person was to him and [name].

he didn’t know how to properly say how much he loved [name] so he’d boil it down to thinking [name] was heaven on earth.

[name] smiled gently when he felt luffy bury his head into his neck, tears pouring out of his eyes. he wondered what spurred luffy into being so open at the moment, but he wasn’t going to ask. it wasn’t appropriate and it didn’t matter.

he didn’t care why luffy was suddenly so worried on him no longer being there, he’d only focus on assuring him that he really wasn’t going anywhere. because someone would have to pry his cold, dead hands off of luffy if they wanted to separate the two. there’s no way he’d ever leave luffy again, especially after hearing his worries so vividly spoken now.

sure, luffy would say things relatively similar things to this when they were young. but there was always a sense of uncertainty in [name] when he would comfort luffy back then. he wasn’t sure if he was really going to be able to stay with him. the circumstances were so confusing back then.

but now it’s a clear picture. he knows that there is no way anyone could come between the two. after being pulled apart so sporadically in their youth and then being separated for three years due to [name] setting sail earlier, there was no room for argument in this matter.

[name] and luffy wouldn’t ever be separated for long ever again. [name] would do everything in his power to ensure that didn’t happen. anything to keep luffy happy. anything to keep luffy safe and protected.

“will you always leave like this when we are older, [name]?” luffy innocently asked one night. the two were awake due to the younger one having vivid nightmares regarding [name].

a nightmare that was reoccuring nowadays. [name] would be taken away and then he’d never come back, leaving his status unknown to luffy. and he’d wake up screaming and crying and [name] would be at his side in an instant.

”i’m working on it, lu, i really am,” [name] consoled him, holding him as they bathed in the moonlight. “i hate being away from you too, but there’s nothing we can do abuot it — for now.”

“i’ll get stronger and then i’ll beat all those stupid guys up!” luffy said in pure determination, his eyebrows furrowed together in anger and frustration, “i’ll fight them next time,”

[name] chuckled, shaking his head, “don’t fight them. just promise to me you’ll always be waiting for me when i leave and i’ll always, always come back,”

luffy blinked owlishly before settling on that compromise. he wiggled his pinky finger in the air, right in front of [name]’s face, “i’ll promise to always be here waiting if you promise to always come back,”

[name] paused, thinking of he really should make empty promises. but then he shook his head, refusing to think so negatively and in a pessimistic way when luffy’s smile was bringing nothing but optimism to their conversation.

so he interlocked their pinkies together, shaking slightly as he nodded, “i promise.”

[name] was tender.

in his earliest memories of [name], luffy has known him to only be tender. the tender care [name] would show him, the love that was delivered to him so tenderly. the touch that would ghost over his skin, not because he was scared of holding him, but so he wouldn’t startle him.

no matter what, [name] would always be tender to luffy.