#i had to look for this again and read the rest

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Mozus Trein - Strict Suit Voice Lines

My lectures are open to all students. Now, take your seat. Class is starting.

Summon: What do you believe makes a competent mage? Magical abilities? Knowledge? Experience? Dignity? The answer is... All of the above.

Groovification: Strenuous effort has the capacity to eclipse raw talent. Voraciously absorb every bit of knowledge you can reach even greater heights.

Home: Question?

Home Transition 1: I will always discipline unruly students with a firm hand. I cannot allow those who are serious about their studies to suffer because of them.

Home Transition 2: Lucius, how are your little paws doing today, hm? Let me have a look see... ...Ahem! Yes, what is it? Can you not see I am currently busy?

Home Transition 3: Ah, is it that time already? I became so engrossed in my book that I completely forgot to eat... I understand that is not ideal, and yet...

Home Transition - Login: Have you reviewed your previous lessons and prepared for next class? Merely attending class is not conducive to studying. You need to go over what you've learned over and over again in order for it to truly seep into your mind.

Home Transition - Groovy: Oh, was the previous quiz too easy? Well now, it seems you've drastically improved. I must raise the difficulty on the next one.

Home Tap 1: I've had students come to me, elated that taking my course cured their insomnia. An absolutely disrespectful claim, is it not?

Home Tap 2: There is still much we do not know about Ancient Magic. Even textbooks on the subject touch only on surface level information. It is a fascinating subject of study.

Home Tap 3: Lucius is a long-hair cat, and thus, during shedding season, he sheds so much hair that I could practically make another smaller Lucius. I can only wonder if there could be some use for it...

Home Tap 4: What's this about a manga about a mage in historical times? Far too much creative liberties are taken in those silly things. If you wish to properly gain knowledge about history, you should read specialized textbooks on the subject.

Home Tap 5: As it stands, all professors should wear a robe as proper attire. Teaching class while sporting a garish coat is simply unacceptable.

Home Tap - Groovy: I am quite fond of my rocking chair. I find nothing is better than being able to rest in it while stroking Lucius's fur.

Duo: [TREIN]: Crewel-sensei, are you prepared to begin? [CREWEL]: Don't strain your health, Trein-sensei.

Requested by Anonymous.

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I’m new to your blog and am in the middle of consuming all of it. I have to say EMT maurauders are my fav so far though! If you haven’t done it yet and if it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to do something with EMT! Maurauders where reader gets a bad bloody nose in the middle of the night and can’t get it to stop on her own so she’s panicking and feels bad about waking up the boys who of course take care of you and make you go to the ER since it won’t stop?

Thank you ☺️ Keep up the amazing work, your writing is phenomenal, I can’t wait to read more 👏❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood, mention of hospital

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 986 words

You give yourself twenty more minutes before you wake James. Sidling up to his side of his bed like a child who’s had a nightmare, one hand pinching your nostrils shut and the other holding ice wrapped in a paper towel to your nose. You feel glad that it’s too dark to see all the red staining it. 

James rouses with a reluctant throaty sound. He mumbles your name and takes your hand where it’s nudging his shoulder, content until the moment he feels the cold paper towel closed in your palm. His eyes peel open. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. It feels paramount that he know waking him wasn’t your first choice. Of your boyfriends, though, James is the most likely to help you without making a fuss. 

“What’s this?” In the dark, the cold hard thing in your hand is a mystery. James cups his hand around yours with a small frown. 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you explain. 

His frown worsens. You feel bad. 

But James has no resentment for your midnight ailment; only sympathy. “Yeah?” He feels blindly for his glasses on the nightstand. “Does it hurt?” 

You slide them to his hand. “No,” you say. 

“It just…just started?” 

You should���ve taken him out of the room before telling him. Already, you can see Remus starting to wake, the covers on his side of the bed shifting. 

“Yeah.” You lower your voice, though you know it’s pointless. “About a half hour ago.” 

James is rubbing underneath his eyes drowsily, but at this, his brows draw together. “It’s been going since then?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on?” Remus asks. His voice croaks a little, but aside from that he sounds more awake than James. 

You wince. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, dove. What is it?” 

“Her nose is bleeding,” James says through a great yawn. In between them, Sirius makes a half-asleep whining sound, but doesn’t move. “She says it has been for half an hour.” 

Now Remus is frowning, too. “It woke you up?” 

You hum, feeling your mouth pucker in distaste. “It got in my mouth.”

“Let’s see.” Without warning, James turns the lamp on. Both you and Remus rear back as if stricken, and Sirius’ head retreats beneath the covers seemingly by reflex. “Sorry, sorry,” James says, giving you soft eyes as he reaches for a box of tissues. “C’mere, sweetheart.” 

You take his cue to let go of your nose. As soon as you release it, you know it starts bleeding again by the way James raises his tissues in a hurry. 

“Christ,” he mumbles, moving them just slightly to see the damage. “This much since it started? Has it slowed at all?” 

“I don’t think so,” you say, stuffy. 

“How do you feel?” asks Remus. He’s sitting up now, bedsheets fallen around his waist and one hand resting on the lump that is Sirius. “Are you dizzy? Can you breathe alright?” 

“Through my mouth, yeah.” James is still peering at your nose, and it’s making you shrink. He lets you take the wad of tissues from him. “I’m not dizzy.” 

“Still…” Remus looks at James. 

“Yeah.” James sits up the rest of the way, stretching. He lets out another yawn. “Let’s go.” 

“Go to…” you hesitate, unsure “...hospital?” 

James hums in the affirmative, squeezing your shoulder as he gets out of bed. 

A moan of protest comes from behind him. You look to see Remus rubbing between Sirius’ shoulder blades, searching for his slippers on his side of the bed. 

“Get up.” 

“S’too early to be up,” Sirius whines. 

Remus shushes him, at once chiding and soothing. “We’re bringing y/n to A&E.” 

At this Sirius falls quiet. A moment later, his head picks up, puffy black hair and a furrowed brow. “What for?” 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you say meekly. “Sorry.” 

“Angel,” James laughs, coming up from behind you to pass you some more tissues. He’s already dressed. “Stop being sorry. Did you plan this?” 

“No,” you reply, softly. 

“Right. As I thought.” He grins, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

As usual, James has come awake remarkably quickly once he’s set his mind to it. Remus moves toward the closet a tad less energetically, and Sirius appears to have to claw his way out of bed. 

He does it in your direction. 

“You okay?” Sirius asks, studying you as he drags his legs over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” 

“I don’t think so.” His concerned gaze melts you to your core. You think you’d admit to anything if it got you a hug right now. “I’m just tired.” 

Sirius cracks a smile, though his eyes are soft with pity. “Well, yeah, baby.” He stands, smushing a kiss into your hair. “It’s the dead of fucking night. Your nose is a real blight on us all.” 

“Don’t talk about her nose that way.” James gives you the hug you wished for, strong arms wrapped around your middle. His chest is warm against your back. “Don’t listen to him, angel; he’s a prat when he’s tired.” 

“It’s fine.” You lean back into James. “It is a blight on us tonight.” 

“Precisely. You get it,” Sirius says, squinting his eyes at James. “I cherish her nose every other day, I’ll have you know.” 

“Get dressed.” Remus emerges from the closet to give Sirius a gentle shove in that direction. He takes yet more tissues, passing them to you seemingly without noticing the handful you’ve already got from James. “Are you ready to go, dovey? Have everything you need?” 

“What do I need?” you ask, worried. 

“Nothing, sweetheart.” James drops his voice at the first sign of fright from you; Remus does the same, both of your boyfriends softening around the edges. “We’ll take care of it, yeah?” He starts taking tissues from you, shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants. “We’ll take care of everything.”

[amirasainz]

Hey I don’t know if you can do it but please can you do baby Alonzo getting hurt in the padlock like mabye breaking her arm thanks p.s I love you fics your my fav writer

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

xoxo babygirl 💕

Chasing Butterflies 🦋

The sun was shining brightly over the paddock as the sounds of whirring engines and bustling teams filled the air. It was a lively scene, filled with energy, but there was one tiny figure who brought her own special kind of joy to the paddock. Yn, Fernando’s four-year-old daughter, was skipping through the area, clutching a small stuffed bear in one hand while chasing butterflies with the other.

“Careful there, Yn!” Lando called out, grinning as he watched her toddle around near the garages. “Don’t run too far!”

Yn giggled, not really paying attention to his warning. “Butterflies don’t wait!” she chirped back, her voice full of determination.

“Looks like she’s got the Alonso focus already,” George joked, leaning against the Mercedes garage as he watched her.

Charles was nearby, sipping a water bottle and laughing softly. “She might be more competitive than we are. Look at her go!”

Max, leaning against the Red Bull garage, gave a small chuckle. “At least she’s not trying to race us yet. Give her ten years.”

As Yn ran past, Lewis crouched down, holding out his hand for a high-five. She stopped briefly, giving him a big slap on the hand before darting off again. “That’s my girl!” he called after her.

Oscar was sitting on a small folding chair, fiddling with his race gloves. “Should someone… keep a closer eye on her? I mean, I know she’s having fun, but—”

“She’s fine,” Pierre cut in, smiling. “She’s tough. Like her dad.”

But just as Pierre said that, Yn, in her enthusiastic chasing of the butterfly, tripped over a loose cable on the ground. There was a collective gasp as she fell forward, landing hard on her arm with a sharp cry of pain.

“Yn!” Carlos was the first to shout, sprinting over to her. He was quickly followed by Charles and Lewis, while the rest of the drivers abandoned whatever they were doing and ran toward her.

Yn was sitting on the ground, clutching her arm tightly, tears streaming down her face. Her cries were heart-wrenching, and the drivers instantly surrounded her in concern.

“It’s okay, Yn, we’re here,” Lewis said gently, kneeling beside her. “Shh, shh, don’t cry.”

“I—it hurts!” Yn sobbed, her little face scrunched up in pain.

“Her arm doesn’t look right,” Oscar pointed out, his face pale as he noticed the awkward angle of her tiny forearm.

“Alright, we need to get her to the medical center. Now,” Max said, his voice unusually firm.

“On it,” George said, carefully picking Yn up in his arms. “It’s okay, Yn. We’ll fix you up in no time.”

She buried her face in George’s shoulder, still crying, and he began walking briskly toward the medical center, the other drivers close behind.

---

Inside the medical center, Fernando was already waiting. He had heard the commotion over the radio and had rushed there immediately. When he saw George carrying Yn inside, her tear-streaked face red with pain, his heart sank.

“Mi pequeña,” Fernando said softly, his voice breaking slightly as he reached out to take her from George. Yn immediately wrapped her good arm around her father’s neck, crying into his shoulder.

“Papá! It hurts so much!” she wailed.

“I know, I know, cariño,” Fernando whispered, sitting down in one of the chairs and holding her on his lap. He stroked her hair gently, speaking to her in rapid Spanish. “Tranquila, mi amor. Papá está aquí. Todo estará bien. Te prometo.”

The doctor approached, carefully examining Yn’s arm. “It looks like a clean break,” he said. “We’ll need to put it in a cast.”

Yn whimpered at the mention of a cast, clinging even tighter to Fernando. “No! I don’t want it!”

Fernando kissed her temple, continuing to soothe her. “Shh, mi amor. Es solo un yeso. Será rosa, como a ti te gusta. Y papá estará contigo todo el tiempo.”

The doctor smiled gently. “We can definitely make it pink. Let’s get started.”

Fernando kept Yn on his lap the entire time, holding her close as the doctor worked. He murmured soft words in Spanish the entire time, telling her stories about brave princesses and how proud he was of her for being so strong. Yn eventually stopped crying as the pain dulled and the cast was carefully secured around her arm.

“See, mi amor? All done. Eres mi campeona,” Fernando said, smiling as he wiped her tears away.

Yn sniffled, looking at her bright pink cast. “It’s pretty…”

“Of course it is. Just like you,” Fernando said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

---

When they returned to the paddock, the drivers were waiting anxiously. As soon as they saw Yn, they rushed over.

“Hey, champ,” Lando said softly, crouching down to her level. “That’s a cool cast you’ve got there.”

Yn nodded shyly, still holding onto Fernando’s hand.

“I think it’s missing something, though,” Oscar said, pulling a small sheet of colorful stickers from his pocket. “How about we decorate it?”

Yn’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” Oscar said with a smile, handing her the stickers. “I’ll help.”

Soon, all the drivers were gathered around Yn, helping her stick tiny jewels, flowers, and even a little race car sticker onto her cast.

“There,” Charles said proudly. “That’s a cast fit for a champion.”

Yn giggled, looking at her now-sparkly pink cast. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Max said, ruffling her hair. “But no more running around, okay? We don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“I won’t,” Yn promised, clutching her father’s hand.

Fernando looked around at the group of drivers, a small smile on his face. “Thank you, all of you, for taking care of her.”

“Of course, Fernando,” Lewis said. “She’s part of the family.”

Yn looked up at her dad, smiling brightly despite the cast on her arm. “Can I still chase butterflies?”

Fernando laughed softly, scooping her up in his arms. “Maybe… after the race. But next time, I’ll chase them with you.”

[always-azriels-princess]

The Wrong Thing

Summary: the mate bond snaps, and you say the wrong thing

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: just some angst, beautiful beautiful angst :) and comfort obvi (if i make a p2), oh and not proof read lol

The quiet hum of the night settled around the House of Wind, the moonlight casting silver shadows across the balcony. It had been a long, grueling day, as Cassian was relentless in your Valkyrie training.

You gently pealed off your grimy leathers and sighed, feeling relieved. The House started the bath, and you almost moaned at the thought of rinsing all the dried sweat and dirt off you. The water was warm, the scent of lavender and rose petals filling the air as you sank into the bath. Your muscles, sore from the day’s exertions, slowly relaxed under the soothing heat, the steam rising around you like a soft mist. Azriel was the one to advise on using lavender oil for sore muscles, and in that moment you couldn't be more thankful.

After the bath, you slipped on one of Azriel's old shirts that you stole and climbed under the mountain of covers and stuffed animals on your bed, each a special gift that you collected from your dearest friends and family.

Sleep didn't find you that night, and the moon was high in the sky when you gave up on trying. Soft moonlight shined through your cracked window curtains, casting a glow within the shadows of your room.

You padded out into the hallway, intent on making a cup of tea in the kitchen that would hopefully make you drowsy enough to get a few hours of shut eye before Cassian banged on your door for morning training.

As your tea steeped, you looked out the window at the stars that danced across the sky, feeling completely at peace. You got up and wandered to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. As you stepped out, the night air wrapped around you like a cool embrace, the faintest trace of something sweet carried on the wind. You leaned against the stone railing, feeling the rough texture under your palms, and let your gaze drift upward. The sky stretched out in front of you, vast and endless, a tapestry of stars glittering like diamonds on a velvet cloth. It was like the universe was holding its breath, every star hanging in perfect stillness.

A soft rustling of wings broke the stillness, as Azriel landed beside you.

"You're up late," he joked softly.

"I could same the same about you," you reply.

He gave a rare soft laugh, a welcome sound that filled your belly with warmth and automatically brought a smile to your face. "I suppose we’re both too stubborn to sleep."

He smirked, his lips quirking at the corners. "That’s one way of putting it."

You grimaced. "Bad dreams again?"

He looked down over the balcony, "You know, I think Cassian is mixing up the training lesson tomorrow; we're going to work on group fighting, which I think will be hel..."

"Azriel." You cut him off quietly but firmly. "I asked you a question."

He sighed, paused, then almost imperceptibly nodded.

Your heart broke as he turned his head away from you, and you couldn't help but immediately pull him into your arms, locking your hands around his neck. His hands snaked around your waist automatically, and you couldn't help but notice that you wouldn't mind staying like that for the rest of your life. His head tucked into your neck, softly breathing in your scent.

His deep voice was muffled as he whispered. "I should be over them right now, right? How do they still keep coming back?"

Your heart broke all over again.

You regretfully pulled away, and grasped the sides of his head so he focused on you. "Listen to me very carefully Az. You. Are. Not. Weak. You have been through unimaginable things, trauma that any lesser male would have crumbled from. I look at you every day, and I could not be prouder of who you are."

He didn't respond right away, his breath shallow, shadows curling around his feet and snaking up your wrists. His eyes glistened, the faintest sheen of moisture gathering at the rims, as if a single, fragile breath could break the dam holding them back. His lashes fluttered, and his gaze deepened as the air around them seemed to grow heavier, as if the very weight of their emotions was too much to contain.

As he opened his mouth to speak, the world seemed to shift in an instant. Your heart raced, your senses flared, and suddenly, you were overwhelmed by an unrelenting sense of love and protection. The golden bond stretched between you, and Azriel's eyes softened, a quiet hope brightening the hazel you loved to look at. It was raw—too much, too sudden—and it left you breathless for a moment, scrambling to make sense of it.

Before you could even think, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"No."

As soon as the light had come, it left Azriel's eyes, winking out from existence as he pulled away from your embrace as if burned.

Your heart shattered as pain lanced through your chest, realizing what you had done. Your mind raced, trying to undo what you’d said as you fumbled to find your words.

The weight of what you said hung in the air like a suffocating fog, and you could see it in his eyes—how they flickered with confusion, hurt, and something deeper, something far more vulnerable. You had never wanted to cause him pain, never meant for those words to slip out the way they did. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The words felt stuck, trapped somewhere deep inside of you.

He stood there, silent, his expression a careful mask, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. It cut deeper than anything you'd ever felt before. He looked as if the ground had just been ripped out from under him, as though something inside him had been shattered—by you.

The silence stretched between you both, thick and suffocating. You could feel him pulling away, the space between you growing wider with every passing second.

"Azriel," you whispered, your voice barely audible as the words trembled on your lips. You stepped forward, but he took a slow step back, his jaw clenched tight. There was a distance in his gaze now, an emotional wall rising between you that had never been there before.

His eyes were distant, his usually calm demeanor now laced with an edge of something darker. You had never seen him like this. Never this vulnerable. Never this raw.

"I didn’t mean it," you said, your voice breaking on the last word. The thoughts of the damage you had done washed over you in waves, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. "I’m so sorry, Azriel. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, just—"

He held up a hand, stopping you, his gaze flickering down as he took a slow breath. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough, as if each word was being dragged from him. "No. I...I need to leave. Now."

His wings flared up getting ready to take off, away from you, away from your desperate attempts to explain. You reached a hand out, in an effort to keep him with you, but he backed away, eyes displaying the agony you felt mirrored in your soul.

As his wingbeats fell away, your chest constricted. You could feel the newly forged bond, this beautiful, wonderful bond you had waited for for centuries that you already fucked up, stretch and start to fray at the edges. You grasped your chest, trying to dig your hands in to physically hold the bond tight and never let go. The first tears finally broke free, and the dam shattered as you sunk to the ground, breaking into pieces, and you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way it hurt—how it felt like you were losing him.

You desperately drew in breath, trying to get your breathing under control in vain. As your exhales and crying finally quieted, a numbness took over your body. Your breathe was the only noise around, the wind dead and birds silent, and you realized how alone you were. Your best friend, who had been with you through everything, was gone, and he hated you. Your beautiful, kind, loving, selfless mate who deserved so much more than you, was gone, and he'd likely never want to see you again.

[woso-story]

Elisabeth María Putellas

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The evening sun streamed through the large windows of your cozy Spanish home, casting a golden glow over the living room. You leaned back against the couch, resting a hand on your six-month baby bump, while Alexia sat beside you, carefully slicing up fresh fruit for a snack. She insisted on doing everything for you, hovering sweetly, though it sometimes made you laugh and roll your eyes.

“Here,” she said, handing you a plate of neatly arranged strawberries and kiwi. “Anything else you need?”

“Just you, Lex,” you teased, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. Her smile was soft and full of love, her hand automatically moving to rest over yours on your bump.

Everything was perfect—almost. The only thing clouding your otherwise smooth pregnancy was the one decision you and Alexia couldn’t seem to make: naming your baby girl. Despite weeks of brainstorming, your lists were still hopelessly at odds.

“Bethany,” you suggested for the hundredth time, testing the name aloud.

Alexia wrinkled her nose, her reaction making you laugh. “No, amor, it doesn’t feel right. What about Valeria?”

“Too Spanish,” you countered, shaking your head. “We live in Spain, but I’d love for her name to have a connection to my side too.”

Before Alexia could reply, the doorbell rang. Moments later, you were greeted by the familiar faces of Mapi and Ingrid, who arrived for dinner, their playful banter immediately lightening the mood.

As the four of you sat around the table, the topic of baby names came up again. Mapi, with her trademark mischievous grin, leaned back in her chair.

“I’ve got it. The perfect name: María. After me, of course,” she said, feigning a proud expression.

You and Alexia exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter.

“Mapi, you’re going to be her godmother. Isn’t that enough?” you teased. “Besides, I don’t think the world is ready for another María.”

“Hey!” Mapi pouted, but her mock-offense faded quickly when Ingrid leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Fine, fine. But I still think María would be perfect.”

---

The evening ended with laughter and promises of another dinner soon, but the name dilemma persisted for weeks. Alexia hated seeing you stressed about it and did her best to reassure you that the perfect name would come in time.

One night, as you lay in bed, a thought struck you. Turning to Alexia, you said, “What about Elisabeth?”

Alexia looked thoughtful, testing the name quietly. “Elisabeth… I like it. It’s elegant and works in both English and Spanish. It’s perfect.”

Relief washed over you, and her agreement made you feel even more connected to her. The name stuck, and for the first time in months, you felt at peace.

---

The weeks leading up to the birth passed in a blur of final preparations. Alexia was by your side every step of the way, assembling the crib, painting the nursery, and even taking up reading parenting books aloud to you in the evenings. Her dedication made your heart swell with love, and though you teased her about being overprotective, you secretly adored how seriously she took her role as a soon-to-be mom.

When the day finally arrived, your labor went smoothly, with Alexia by your side, holding your hand and whispering encouragements. The moment your daughter was placed in your arms, you and Alexia fell in love all over again, this time with the tiny bundle of joy you had created together.

---

Later that day, after Alexia’s family visited and left, Mapi and Ingrid arrived at the hospital. Mapi’s eyes filled with tears the instant she saw your daughter.

“Oh my god, she’s perfect,” Mapi whispered, her voice breaking. Alexia couldn’t stop laughing at her best friend’s rare display of emotion, while Ingrid wrapped an arm around Mapi, her own smile warm and loving.

When Mapi finally held the baby, her tears spilled over, and Ingrid had to take her into her arms to steady her. “She’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen,” Mapi said, her voice choked with emotion.

After your daughter was back in your arms, Ingrid looked at you and Alexia curiously. “So, have you decided on a name?”

You exchanged a smile with Alexia before she turned to Mapi and Ingrid. “Her name is Elisabeth María Putellas.”

Mapi’s jaw dropped, and new tears streamed down her face. Ingrid had to pull her into another hug as Alexia smirked at her friend’s overwhelmed reaction.

“You’re welcome,” Alexia teased, earning a watery laugh from Mapi.

---

In the days that followed, your home was filled with joy as you settled into life as a family of three. Alexia was a natural, cradling Elisabeth with a gentleness that belied her fierce personality on the field. Nights were sleepless but full of love, and you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful chapter in your lives.

One evening, as you sat on the couch with Elisabeth sleeping soundly on Alexia’s chest, Mapi and Ingrid dropped by again, this time bearing gifts. Mapi handed over a tiny jersey with "Putellas" on the back, while Ingrid offered a beautifully crafted baby album.

“She’s going to be a football star,” Mapi declared confidently, her grin wide. Alexia chuckled, stroking Elisabeth’s tiny hand.

“No pressure,” you said with a laugh. “Let her learn to walk first.”

Life wasn’t perfect in the traditional sense—there were sleepless nights, messy diapers, and moments of doubt—but it was perfect in the way that mattered most. Your daughter was surrounded by love, her little world filled with laughter, support, and the promise of endless adventures. Together, you and Alexia knew you’d give her everything she needed to thrive, and that was all you could ever hope for.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Overstimulation

Label Mature 18+

Summary You ask Austin if overstimulation is real-he proves it.

🔗 Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin guiding you through a new experience • soft touch • lap sitting •edging •teasing in front of a mirror •sweet talk•clit play• fingering •orgasm•vibrator• nipple play• Austin pinning you in place •non penetrating stimulation •mind numbing orgasm• overstimulation•squirting • P in V in front of a mirror • multiple orgasms in a row•cream pie•after care

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine

Overstimulation

You’re curled up on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, scrolling through your phone while Austin sits at the other end, flipping through a book. 

The room is peaceful, the quiet hum of your shared space broken only by the occasional turning of a page or the tap of your fingers against the screen.

You pause, biting your lip as you stumble across an article about overstimulation.

It’s intriguing, to say the least, and the heat rises in your cheeks as you skim through the details. Without thinking, you blurt out, “Is overstimulation really a thing?”

Austin looks up from his book, a slow grin spreading across his face. “It’s definitely a thing,” he says, setting the book aside and leaning back against the couch. His arms rest along the top of the cushions as he studies you. “Why?” He asks gauging your curiosity.

You shrug, but the way you avoid his gaze gives everything away. “I just… I don’t think I’ve ever experienced it—Like, I would know wouldn’t I.” You glance at him, your cheeks pink. “Because, um… it says here there’s squirting involved ? Or is that just, you know, exaggerated?”

Austin’s grin deepens as he looks at you in a way that makes your stomach flip. 

“Oh, it’s real,” he says, his tone laced with something deeper, something more knowing.

You bite your lip, your hand playfully nudging his thigh. “Okay, mister expert, you’re saying you know all about this? Then why haven’t you tried it on me?”

He leans in closer, his arm sliding over your shoulder as his voice drops intimately . “It’s a lot, baby—it’s intense,” he says, his hand stroking your arm softly, his touch affectionate and delicate. “It’s about giving yourself over again and again, even when you think you’ve got nothing left to give,” he continues, his eyes meeting yours, this time with a flicker of intrigue in their depths.

“I didn’t know you wanted to try something like this, baby,” he muses, his tone shifting as his blue eyes gleam with a mix of mischief and excitement.

Your eyes linger on his as you bite your lip, a deep longing for the experience flickering across your face. His gaze sharpens, narrowing in on your eagerness, and a slow smile spreads across his lips, as if he’s uncovering a side of you he’s never known before.

You’ve always known Austin is beyond your skill in the bedroom, he doesn’t even try to hide it. He doesn’t just touch you—he claims you, leaving you utterly undone and completely his. 

He’s so thorough and commanding that your passion together burns hotter than anything you ever thought possible. 

Every move he makes feels intentional, like he’s reading a hidden desire you didn’t even know you had. Even now the way he looks at you just hinting at what he can do makes your heart flutter.

The idea of taking this next step with him sends a nervous thrill through you, a mix of anticipation and nerves. 

You know this new level will be overwhelming, maybe even too much—but it’s Austin—You’d follow him anywhere, take anything he gives you, because with him, it’s always more than worth it.

“I want it,” you say softly, your voice barely audible but resolute. “I want it with you.”

Austin grins, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip before leaning in to place a soft kiss. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes never leaving yours, his excitement undeniable.

“Alright, come with me,” he says, his voice urgent yet affectionate as he takes your hands in his.

“Right now?” you ask in amusement, an excited smile spreading across your face.

He smirks, his blue eyes gleaming with playfulness as he pulls you from the couch. “It’s technically edging now if I don’t,” he teases, his lips curving into a grin.

You both smile as he leads you to the bedroom, the excitement between you charged with anticipation. 

Once inside, he releases your hand and goes to the corner of the room, pulling the full-length mirror into position in front of the bed. You tilt your head in confusion, watching as he begins to gather other items with purpose.

“Get undressed for me baby,” he says, focusing on his tasks and you slowly peel off your clothing as he moves to the bed, placing a soft towel and a sleek vibrator on the edge.

When he’s satisfied, he turns to you, his eyes lingering on every inch of your bare skin before meeting your gaze. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he smiles as his eyes wander your form with reverence, then he extends his hand. “Let me show you,” he says invitingly, his tone warm and affectionate.

You step closer, placing your hand in his, and he guides you down onto the bed with him. He sits back against the headrest, his knees apart, creating a space as he positions you gently in front of him on the soft towel.

“You said there is squirting involved,” he repeats, his voice filled with amusement as his hands slide around your waist. “I’ll talk you through it I promise” he says softly against your ear

He pulls you firmly against him, your back resting against his broad chest, both of you facing the mirror.

The contrast between you is striking, your bare skin flushed with anticipation, while he remains fully clothed in casual sweats and a tee. 

He smiles at you, his gaze deep and full of reassurance “You ready, baby?” he asks, his voice low and soothing, wrapping around you like a promise.

You nod, feeling a surge of excitement mingling with your nerves. “I’m ready,” you whisper, and his smile deepens.

His hands slowly slide down to your inner thighs, carefully parting your legs wide open leaving you completely exposed.

“So perfect,” he praises , his gaze lingering on your reflection, his words making you feel cherished and desired in a way that sends a warmth through you, leaving you completely captivated.

Your gaze is locked on the mirror and he leans in pressing a kiss to your cheek as you both stare at the glistening arousal between your legs.

He keeps one hand steady on your thigh, as the other begins teasing you with soft delicate strokes, his fingers grazing over your entrance with just enough pressure to send a shiver coursing through you.

Then his fingers glide between your lower lips, pushing effortlessly inside, as his thumb brushes lightly over your clit.

You can’t help but watch in the mirror as his face nestles against yours, his blue eyes focused on every subtle way your body responds to his touch as his hand moves faster between your legs.

His fingers slip into you with perfect precision, drawing a soft gasp from you with every stroke.

Your head tilts back against his shoulder as the pressure builds, your body arching against him in response, the intensity of his fingers thrusting making it impossible to sit still.

“Stay with me baby,” he whispers, his words anchoring you as his touch drives you higher, unraveling every ounce of control you thought you had.

“Tonight is all about you,” he whispers, increasing his pace and stroking faster, the wet slick sounds becoming intense.

“I want you to see everything—he whispers, his gaze locked on your reflection.”— I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come for me,”

You nod fractionally, your face flushing pink, as his thrusting becomes relentless.

Your hips begin to writhe, resisting the overwhelming sensation, but he tightens his arm across your chest, pulling you firmly against him making you stay still.

“Stay with me, baby,” he whispers again, his voice low and steady as the intensity of his fingers threatens to consume you. “You’re doing so good for me,” he encourages, his tone soothing yet commanding.

Your breaths increase, your chest heaving as you try to endure.

You bite your lip, tears welling in your eyes as his fingers move faster stroking in a motion that feels unbearable and blissful all at once. 

You begin to softly moan, the sensitivity making you writhe in pleasure as your climax builds to a peak.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises with quiet intensity. “You’re so close, I can feel it”

Your mouth opens in a silent cry as his fingers move so fast they become a blur, each stroke sending a sharp jolt through your clit as your inner walls clench around them, the pressure so overwhelming you feel yourself begin to let go.

Your voice breaks with desperation as your orgasm crashes over you, your hips rocking against his hand as your body spirals out of control.

“That’s my girl,” he groans with approval, his voice steady as his fingers continue relentlessly. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably as he keeps going, driving you beyond the limits of what you thought you could take.

“Aus! Aus! Please —I can’t ” you whimper, your breath catching as the overwhelming sensations tear through you, making your body tremble against him.

“Keep going for me baby,” he urges , his voice filled with encouragement.

You moan in response, your wetness spilling from you, his fingers working with ruthless precision igniting every nerve in your body.

Your abs clench tight, your back arching as spasms ripple through you. The intensity of his touch leaves you shaking, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps as you clit throbs under the intensity.

“Austin—Aus! Please!” you cry, your voice breaking just as another orgasm tears through you, your head tossing back against his shoulder.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, his voice gentle and understanding as he finally pulls his hand away. “We’re going to make you an overstimulated mess tonight—just like you wanted.”

You hear the click of the vibrator and your nerves jump as he carefully presses it against your clit, the overstimulation taking hold as he keeps it steady.

You try to move away, but his arm is wrapped tightly across your chest, keeping you locked in place as your hips writhe helplessly against him.

“Just breathe, baby,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as you struggle to fight the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume you.

You practically scream as he presses the vibrator up and down steadily, the unrelenting vibrations making your legs fight to close. But he doesn’t let you, lifting his knees to keep them spread apart, holding you firmly in place.

You watch in the mirror as your hips rock involuntarily, your muscles clenching around nothing as you fight the urge to pull away from the unbearable ecstasy.

A desperate cry escapes your lips as he moves the tip of the vibrator down to your entrance, teasing you with just enough pressure to edge you, without pushing it inside where you need it the most.

Your entire body begins to cave in, consumed by the ache of how much you want it, your hips pushing instinctively, silently begging him, but he doesn’t relent.

“Not yet, baby,” he confirms, his voice low and knowing, encouraging you to give more.

Your eyes well with tears as your breath catches in your throat, the overwhelming sensations leaving you gasping.

“A-Aus,” is all you manage your voice shaking and barely audible. You can’t breathe, can’t think—all you can do is stay in his hold, your body completely overtaken as you begin to lose your mind. 

“We’re almost there, baby,” he promises, his voice low and steady, and his free hand moves to cup your breast.

As the vibrator moves up and down your clit, his fingers squeeze your nipple, drawing a pitiful squeal from your lips. Your hips jump involuntarily, revealing just how much you’ve soaked the towel beneath you.

“That’s it, baby, just a little more,” he says, pressing the vibrating tip against your entrance and holding it steady.

Your head tosses back as you begin to moan rocking your hips, your body overtaking your mind as you grind against nothing.

His hand kneads your breast, his fingers teasing and pulling at your nipple as your body begins to shake uncontrollably. 

Tears well in your eyes, spilling over as choked-off sobs fall from your lips, the overwhelming pleasure teetering you on the edge of insanity.

And then it happens—your body lets go completely, and everything around you fades. A numbing whiteness floods your mind, a pure, blinding sensation that feels like the world has fallen away. 

It’s as though someone has pressed the reset button, and you’re suspended in a state of raw, untethered euphoria, transcending  far beyond your physical limitations.

Then reality crashes back in—the loud, desperate sounds you’ve been making filling your ears as Austin holds your body steady against him. Your walls are throbbing so hard it feels like they’re touching an invisible force, each pulse sending waves of sensations through you.

“Baby you’re so perfect,” Austin praises, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction as his lips brush your ear. “That was so incredible. You’re so fucking beautiful ” he whispers as your body rolls through the aftershocks.

He cuts the vibrator and slowly eases his fingers into your slick entrance the sudden change of sensation making your breath catch. 

Your body trembles uncontrollably, torn between pulling away from the overwhelming ecstasy or pushing closer, caught in the exquisite torment of overstimulation.

“A-Aus-s,” you stutter, your voice breaking as his fingers slide in and out, the slick, thrusts making your breaths come out in panicked cries.

“Oh, baby, I know, I know, you were doing so well,” he whispers against your ear, his voice soothing and commanding. “But you haven’t squirted for me yet” he confirms his tone laced with determination.

A choked-off moan escapes your throat as he continues, his fingers thrusting in and out of you with relentless precision. 

You don’t even notice his hand move from your breast until you hear the vibrator click on again. 

The moment it touches your oversensitive clit a high-pitched whine escapes your lips, your body arching against him as the overwhelming sensation hits.

“Come on, baby— give me one more ” he coaxes, his voice low and thick with intent. “—soak my fingers this time.”

You let out a pitiful cry, your body quivering as the sensation threatens to overwhelm you.

He thrusts his fingers deep inside you, curling them perfectly as your walls tighten and pulse on every buzz of the vibrator against your clit.

You watch your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushed a deep pink, your lips parted as soft, broken moans spill out.

Austin’s eyes are locked on the way your body responds, every broken sound from your lips making him so aroused he can hardly concentrate.

“You’re making me so hard baby,” he finally whispers, his voice breaking with need as he pulls you tighter against him, his hard cock pressing against your back.

You can barely register his words as he presses the vibrator up and down your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of you with such intensity that your legs begin to shake. 

“A-a-Austin,” you stammer, your voice breaking as your mind begins to go numb the overwhelming pleasure pushing everything else aside.

Your body squirms, your feet sliding against the bed as your hips push up instinctively, chasing the release you can’t hold back.

The world fades to white—everything feeling too good  all at once, the tingling in your core teetering on the edge of painful bliss. 

And then it happens

A sudden unstoppable stream of liquid squirts from you around his fingers, soaking his hand as he continues thrusting.

“Oh fuck you did so good for me Baby,” he praises, his voice low and filled with awe.

You can hardly breathe as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out.

You finally exhale in a broken moan, the relief of the most intense orgasm of your life coursing through you, rendering you senseless.

Your mind feels hazy, as though you’ve lost the ability to think or focus on anything but the repeated waves of pleasure coursing though you.

Austin clicks the vibrator off and slips his fingers up to your clit rubbing in small circles. “I need you baby” he says desperately, gently guiding you onto your knees in front of him.

He softly presses your chest down to the bed, positioning himself behind you as he lowers his sweats and lines himself up. 

You moan against the mattress as he easily settles into you with one slow paced thrust.

The fullness of him is overwhelming—a deep, consuming tightness that feels like too much and exactly what you need all at once, leaving your mind dazed in bliss.

He pulls back slowly, dragging his cock along your overstimulated walls, making you moan. Then he carefully pushes back in, the deep penetration sending a pulse through your body as you tremble under the intensity.

“Fuck Baby, oh fuck you feel so good,” Austin groans sliding his cock in and out feeling your walls clench down on him like a vice-grip. 

The overstimulation of his heavy thrusts sends shockwaves through your core, his groans blending with your loud cries as he drives you into ecstasy.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, your body shuddering beneath him as the rhythm of his thrusts builds with a steady purpose. His deep breaths and strained groans drive into your ears, his voice low and rough as he rasps, “That’s it, baby… take all of it.”

Your body shudders uncontrollably as a desperate moan tears from your lips and you orgasm with an intensity you’ve never known—a shock that ignites deep in your core, radiating outward in a wave so powerful that your body quivers as you gasp for breath.

Your climax triggers Austin’s, his deep groans filling the air as his thrusts falter. The sensation of his warm come flooding your walls sends you spiraling into another orgasm. 

He waits until your body doesn’t spasm, then he carefully pulls out, his hands steadying you as he lowers you gently onto the bed

As you lay there, dazed, your limbs weak and utterly spent Austin doesn’t hesitate to care for you, his hand brushing damp strands of hair from your face as your senses slowly begin to return. 

He smiles at you affectionately, but only one thing is on your mind.

“It’s real,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“What’s real?” he asks, his brows furrowing with curiosity.

“Overstimulation, squirting, all of it,” you admit, your gaze locked onto his.

Austin lets out a low laugh then he reaches for you, laying back and pulling you onto his side. “Yeah, baby, of course it’s real,” he confirms, his hand stroking your back with tender affection.

Then his eyes turn mischievous as he smirks at you. “Do you want to do it again right now?”

“NO!” you almost shout, your voice hoarse but firm, making him chuckle deeply as he pulls you tighter in his arms.

“At least… not right now,” you admit.

“You should see what else I know,” he teases, his voice low and playful.

“Austin, I’m actually scared of what else you might know,” you admit resting your head against his chest with a grin.

His smiles softly as he kisses the crown of your head. “We can find out together,” he promises, his tone reassuring. 

You look up at him, exhaustion giving way as he holds you close.

“I’d like that,” you admit, your voice filled with sincerity. His arms tighten around you in response, his lips brushing softly against your hair as he smiles filled with contentment.

You knew this new level would be overwhelming, maybe even too much—but it’s Austin. You’d follow him anywhere, and take anything he gives you, because with him, it’s always more than worth it.

END 💦

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika@feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier@magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @thejeywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1@ @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader/3 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesticsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [PLAYING WITH THEIR HAIR] ¡! ❞

WARNING: I love Hanzo, but i had to-, Ging cause he's a crime, Hisoka, its more hair related situations than actually playing with it, but the vibe is comfy and chill, some are on crack but enjoy :)

SUMMARY: You play with their hair (if they have any lol)

CHARACTERS: HxH guys × F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 7.191

AN: it was super fun, for some reason my inner gremlin shows up if i write hxh

Chrollo

Chrollo lets out a soft huff of air as you start playing with his hair. He's sitting up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, focused on the book in his lap. A smile appears on his face, but he doesn't look up from the page he is reading.

"You're playing with my hair," he answers with a hint of playfulness in his words. "No.", you try to suppress a smile, but it's giving you away as you play coy. Chrollo glances up from the book, giving you a curious look.

"Are you trying to annoy me?" He quirks an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Sometimes." you smile.  He shuts the book in his lap with a quiet thump, setting it to the side before turning to face you, his body moving closer to you with a fluid grace. "You're terrible at teasing me," he hums, wrapping an arm around you. "It's almost adorable," he murmurs. Chrollo pulls until you are sitting in his lap, your back against his chest. His arms wrap fully around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Can't even own up to it," he says, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. He takes a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest against your back steady and even.

"What will I ever do with you?" "Can I keep playing with your hair?" "You'll do it regardless of what I say," he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

His breath is warm against your skin as he speaks, his words brushing against your ear like a whisper. "Yes, you can," he relents after a moment. Chrollo hums in contentment as you start to run your fingers through his hair, his eyes closing at the feeling. He nuzzles his face against the side of your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against your skin. "You know, you're very distracting," he mutters against your neck, his voice muffled by your skin.

He pauses, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, his breaths warm and fast. "Very distracting," he murmurs again.

Bonolenov

His whole body stiffens when you touch his head; soft flick or no, he flinches, as though it's the first time someone has ever laid their hand on him. His breath shakes, and an inhale comes sharp, almost painful. Yet, he doesn't move away from you at all. Bonolenov stares at you.

"Don't…" He whispers. At your laugh, Bonolenovs glare transforms into something more hesitant— as if unsure of what to do with his face in response to your laughter. "Don't tease me," He mumbles, eyes flickering from your face to the floor. "No teasing." "Sorry, sorry." You keep softly laughing as you rub his bald head again. (Wtf am I writing) Bonolenov shudders again at the feeling of your hand on his head. He leans into it, slowly, a flower seeking the sunlight.

"You do this on purpose," he mutters. Despite his protest, Bonolenov can't seem to look away from you, or stop you from touching him.  He shivers ever so slightly every time your hand moves over his head, and he still hasn't moved away. In fact, he's almost… pressing his head against your hand.

"Or is this a ritual from your tribe?"

Dalzollene

Dalzollene stirs slightly from the gentle motions of your touch, tilting his head up, almost as if seeking to lean against your hand. Dalzollene blinks slowly, eyes half-lidded. He makes a soft, sleepy sound, a low hum that is more of a content hum than anything. He's half-asleep, completely at ease and utterly lost in this moment. "You're overworking yourself." You whisper as you carefully take a seat on the desk he's resting on. Dalzollene's eyes flutter as he tries to focus in on you more clearly.

"I am simply doing as I should," he says, his words slightly slurred from sleep. He lifts a hand to rub his eyes, before he blinks up at you again. "I have to—" his words interrupt themselves with a yawn, "—work." "Neon is draining you." Dalzollene frowns at the mention of her name, but he can't find it in him to speak against you. He knows it's true, even if his job means he has to spend most of it within a few feet of her.

"It is… tiring," he admits, trying to be subtle about his slight disdain for the woman. Dalzollene's eyes shut again as you run your fingers through his hair, his body relaxing further. "This is… nice," he murmurs, the last word coming out more as a hum than a spoken word. "Your hands…" His head tilts into your touch.

Feitan

Your hands are in his hair and he would love nothing more than to melt into you. But his temper is getting the better of him, and he’s trying all he can not to show you just how good it feels.

“Stop that,” he mumbles, a bit testily. “Stop what?” You ask, as if you don’t know perfectly well what Feitan was referring to.

Your hands remain in his black locks, running your fingers through the smooth strands. He huffs and turns his head away, trying his best to ignore the way gooseflesh rises on his arms every time your fingers comb through his hair. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” He snaps back, but his voice lacks most of its usual sharpness. “You mean… playing with your hair?” You ask, feigning innocence.

Even now, as Feitan is glaring up at you like a petulant child, you continue to brush your hands through his hair. Feitans eyes flash, temper flaring like a candle in the wind. He glares up at you, teeth snapping in irritation.

"I told you to stop," he says, a hint of a warning in his voice. "Or are you really that intent on annoying me?"

Franklin

"I'm sorry for your loss..." you whisper as you run your hands through his short hair, trying to comfort him. Franklin can feel your fingers combing through his hair, gentle enough to leave an imprint on his soul. "Uvo-" He blinks, his brow furrowing as he remembers who you are mentioning. "You don’t need to apologize."

He lifts his head to look up at you, and his gaze softens. "You have nothing to apologize for." He leans his head back, moving closer to your hand like a cat craving attention.

"If I’m being completely honest," he admits, his voice almost as soft as a whisper, "I think Uvo deserved it." He grins, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. "Don't say that," you say softly, "he was your friend, you loved him." "He *was*." Franklin closes his eyes for a moment, then sighs as you continue to play with his hair. "He was a friend, and a partner." The words are almost a hiss, a whisper of a curse on his breath.

"And he lost that when he laid hands on you." Franklins eyes are open again, staring up at you. "I didn’t like him as much as you think I did." He says, his tone blunt.

"He was a good fighter, and a decent person, but…" He’s quiet for a moment, and his eyes lower as he looks at the floor. "He tried to touch you. How could I forgive something like that?"

Ging

For a moment, he is still like a statue, then his lips curled into an agitated snarl and he starts to pull away. “Enough!” He snaps, swatting your hand away. "Dammit old man lemme brush your hair-!" You snap back. “No! No, that’s—“

Gings words stop the moment he sees the expression on your face. He gulps the lump lodged in his throat down and his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says, looking away from you. “You can brush it. Just— just make it quick…” While you work to untangle the mess that is Gings hair, the man grumbles and mutters to himself.

“I could’ve untangled it myself, you know,” he murmurs, his words a complaint more than a statement. “You didn’t need to do it for me.” "Stop pouting." "I am not pouting," Ging huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He glances sidelong at you, his expression a blend of annoyance and something else he doesn't want to admit.

"And for the record, I was perfectly capable of untangling it myself." "Uh-huh." With another grumble, Ging lets his head droop forward in defeat. He tries to steal a glance backwards at you through the tangled mess of dark hair before remembering that he's not supposed to look.

"How much longer is this going to take?... my neck is starting to ache..." "Till you fucking die." "That doesn't tell me anything," Ging mutters, his words clipped and quiet. The pain in his neck is starting to mount, but he's not quite sure how to ask you to be gentler. "Could you… try and be a bit… more… careful?" He winces, his shoulders involuntarily twitching as needles of pain shoot down his spine. "It… hurts…" "Manchild." "Women these day's, i tell ya."

Hanzo (you could totally play with his eyebrows tho, they look like lashes, what a queen honestly)

"Are you just bald or cant you grow hair at all?" You blurt out while you both cuddle. "Bald?" Hanzo flinches as you touch his head. There aren't words to describe the touch of your hand against his scalp. A shiver runs through his shoulders; he seems to be holding back, somehow. "Um, I…" He pauses, clearing his throat.

"I can grow it… if you wish." His voice is soft, like a child speaking up to their mother. "No." you laugh by the thought of him with hair. The look of relief that washes over Hanzo, you've never seen on anyone else. He sighs, shoulders relaxing into your touch.

"Good, I—" his voice cracks, almost as though he's holding back. "I'm not sure I want to grow it to be honest." "And I'm not sure you'd look good with it either." A surprised sound leaves him, almost like a breathless laugh. He shakes his head a little.

"I didn't think so either," he murmurs. "Not to mention! A good ninja never leaves behind traces!" he adds. He lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, as if in thought. When he speaks again, his voice is low, a murmured admission. "I like it when you touch me." "Hmm?" You hum, "You do?" Hanzos breathing hitches, his chest rising quickly with each breath. “I…” his voice is breathless, a strangled whisper. “I do.”

He shivers again, and this time he doesn’t try to hold it back. He just closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

Hisoka

His head is tilted back slightly, leaning into your hand as you play with his hair. Like some touch-starved little dog, he can't help the low sound that slips out of his mouth.

"Ah," he gasps quietly as he looks up at you. And yet, the smirk at the corner of his lips betrays him. "OH-! You didn’t...." "... I didn't just what?" He asks, eyes full of mischief. "Moan like that you slut-!" That makes him laugh. A soft, sultry little chuckle that sends a shiver through his frame as he grins up at you. He's utterly shameless, and he knows it.  "And what if I did?" He coos, raising one eyebrow up at you. "Will you punish me, baby?" "Whore." A huff of air leaves his mouth, almost a sigh, but not quite.

"Maybe I am." He grins, not denying it. "And maybe I want you to do something about it." Hisokas breath is knocked out of his lungs as you pull his hair, and another soft, desperate sound slips out of his mouth. He can feel his body heating up, blood flushing under his skin as he lets out a little moan.

"Ahnn...!" He shivers, eyes squeezing shut as your hand is tangled in his locks. "That's it I'm done." You say with a straight face and leave. "Leaving me all hot and bothered?" He pouts. "How cruel."

It's a joke, of course— but he really is rather bothered.

Illumi

The gesture catches Illumi off guard, and he blinks in surprise. The feeling of your fingers in his hair is unlike anything he has known before. For a second, it's like the whole world has stopped in order for him to experience the sensation.

He has to resist the urge to lean into the touch. "Why are you touching my hair?" he asks. "Am I not allowed to?" Your hand stops in his hair, waiting for his answer. You never know what happens when you overstep the assassin's boundaries. Illumi almost stutters, but manages to respond in his usual even tone.

"You are allowed to do whatever you please," he murmurs. "It's just… I am unaccustomed to the sensation." "Did your mother never do your hair?"

"No." He doesn't look up as he says it, his eyes focused on the floor. "She didn't. I used to do my own hair from a very young age." "Not even maids?" “No.” The answer is short, sharp. Illumi takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay still as you continue to play with his hair.

“Mother said that my last priority should be my hair, my first is to make the family proud and train. Maids weren't allowed to either talk to me or touch me.”

"So that's why it's so long." You laugh, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. "What does that have to do with the length of my hair?" "....Nevermind"

Kite

"You…" Kites voice has a tinge of awe in it that only comes out when you are together. It is late. The sky is a canvas of stars. He sits next to you, so close that he can feel your warmth. His eyes are closed. Your hands glide through his hair, untangling some of its knots with a gentle, soothing touch.

"You would…" A brief pause, as if he cannot bring himself to ask. "...stay here with me?"

"Looking at bugs for a whole month or longer? Yep, with you always." You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. A huff of laughter escapes him. As always, he is powerless against the light you bring to his mind, the warmth you give him when you are near. "A month…" he murmurs, repeating your words. The corner of his mouth quirks up in the smallest smile.

"You'd spend a month in a forest watching bugs with me?" "Romantic." His smile widens into an actual smirk. As he glances at you, Kite cannot help but think that you look the most beautiful when you are like this— lighthearted, carefree, at peace. He is entranced by the way you look in the moonlight. "Romantic, hm?" He shifts a little closer, until his knee is grazing yours. "...you’d think watching bugs with me is romantic."

"I can imagine better things, but I won't complain." Kite's smirk only grows. He is close enough now that his body is almost flush with yours. He reaches a hand up, resting it against your waist, tugging you just a little closer. His voice is low, deep, but there is an element of playfulness to his expression as he looks at you.

“You won’t complain?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow at you in a challenge, "That's a new one." "EY-!"

Knov

Knov doesn’t react when you reach for his hair, though his body jolts ever so faintly as you touch him, his eyes staring up at you the entire time. "Ew-!" you withdraw your hand.

His voice is very different when he replies to your exclamation, though, his voice taking on a hint of annoyance. “What?” He asks, brows furrowing. "The gel, it's ew." You scrunch up your nose. Knov's expression is a mixture of surprise and slight embarrassment. He looks like a puppy being told off for eating its owner’s shoes. “The gel isn’t supposed to be touched. It— it’s supposed to help control it.”

He reaches up and tries to pat his hair back down, which is only slightly successful, with a few black wisps falling back down to cover his forehead once again. “It isn’t supposed to… feel like that,” he says, still mumbling to himself, trying to fix his hair back into the pristine fashion it had been a moment previous. Then he looks up at you, eyes searching for approval.

“Better?” "When you wash it later, I wanna play with it." Knov's face turns a slight red color at your request. He’s still fiddling with his hair, trying to get it to behave. “You… want to play with it?” He repeats, like he can’t believe his ears. "Mhm!" His face heats up once more, the red flush spreading to his ears. “Ah…” His fingers stop trying to fix his hair, leaving it messy and unkempt. He looks a little disheveled, especially when compared to the perfect image he always has in public. “…sure.” He says, as if he can’t refuse anything you say.

Knuckle

"It's surprising how it stays up..." you mumble in slight amazement. His hair is surprisingly soft under your touch. He lets out a gasp at the motion, almost like a puppy who wasn’t expecting to be pet. "It.. it does that," he stutters out, face going pink. Knuckle is utterly flustered, but far from annoyed at the touch. "I… I don't know how it stays up."

"...you style it every morning tho." "Ah… I…" he falters, realizing that he's been found out.

"I use a little bit of hair gel," he admits, like he'd just confessed a terrible sin. Knuckle looks up at you through his eyelashes, face still flushed. "More like a whole container." Knuckle flushes a deeper shade of red. His mouth opens for a moment, wordless with protest, then he sighs and looks down at the floor.

"Fine," he mutters, his hands clenching into fists. "I may use a bit more than just "a little bit" of hair gel…but only because my hair keeps falling back down otherwise!" He adds, a slight defensive edge to his voice. "And if I'm not always perfectly presentable.. I-"  he falters, biting his tongue before he says, "I just…" He looks down, refusing to meet your eyes.

Finally, he looks back up at you and admits, "I can't look anything but perfect when I'm next to you. Not even a single hair can be out of place." "Awww baby." Knuckle blushes at the pet name, but doesn’t protest when you begin playing with his hair. He even leans into your touch, craving your closeness as if it was the only thing that would make him whole.

Kortopi

"It's so tangled..." you mumble as you brush his hair, the small male sitting between your legs. Kortopis eyes flutter shut, breath hitching as you brush through his long hair. He tries his best to keep still, a slight shiver rolling through his body. He's never been a fan of people touching him so intimately. With you it's a different story tho.

He'll hold still as long as you like. “Please be gentle. I don’t… I’m not used to this.” He whispers the words, eyes still closed.

The feeling of your fingers stroking through his hair and across his scalp is almost dizzying. Each brush of your touch sends a shiver down his spine, his breaths leaving his parted lips in soft gasps. "Am I too rough? I'm sorry." You quickly apologize. “No, no.” Kortopi is quick to shake his head at that, a hand lifting to reach hesitantly for your leg.

“It’s just… it’s a lot.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering open. He looks up at you, cheeks reddening a bit. “It feels nice. Keep going.” He can’t explain the feeling he gets from you just playing with his hair— the way that the slightest brush of your fingers makes his stomach clench and his heart flutter.

No one has been this gentle with him before. No one ever bothered to look at him with any form of compassion in their gaze.

He leans into your touch, his grip on your leg tightening when you scratch ever so slightly across his scalp. "I don't wanna overwhelm you." “It’s okay,” he says quietly, almost breathless. The feeling of your fingers against his hair, your touch against his skin, it almost makes him dizzy. He reaches his hand up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist as he guides your hand back down, silently asking you to keep going. He closes his eyes again, leaning against your leg.

Kurapika

A shiver passes over Kurapika, but he does not look up from the pages of his book. "You're playing with my hair," he notes, a simple observation. "I am," you say as your fingers slide through the strands. You twist a few around your fingers and pull slightly. He tries to keep his focus on his book, but the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his hair is quite distracting. You feel more than see the effort Kurapika makes to keep his attention on the words in his book, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

"You're making it difficult to read," He says, but he makes no move to pull away from you. "That's the point," you reply, a light chuckle in your voice. Kurapika grumbles and makes an attempt at turning the page, only for one of your hands to tug on his hair again.

This time, he makes a soft noise and sets his book down, closing his eyes and sighing. "Why do you do this to me?" His voice sounds almost mournful, but there is a sense of joy in his words. It is almost as if he were grateful for the situation he has found himself in.

His hair is tousled from your ministrations, messy and disheveled. It is a sight that is both attractive and adorable. "Because I like to see you this way," you reply, still lightly pulling on his hair. The action makes Kurapika shiver. He turns to look up at you, a mixture of defeat and happiness in his eyes at the same time.

"This way?" He repeats, voice wavering faintly, "Disheveled? Frantic? Utterly distracted?" You nod. "It reminds me how cute you are." Kurapika lets out a huff, his cheeks growing a little warmer.  He tries to school his features into a frown, but he can't help the corners of his lips from twitching upwards.

Leorio

The touch of your fingers through his unruly black locks soothes Leorios mind. He leans into your touch, the tension seeping from his muscles, and his eyes flutter shut. He lets out a low, almost inaudible sigh, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. He's silent for a long moment, simply enjoying the gentle ministrations your fingers give to the hair around his face.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and quiet, as if not to disrupt the peace that's settled over the two of you. "You are too good to me," he whispers, his eyes still closed. He slowly reaches up to take your hand. He pulls it from his head and instead places a firm, lingering kiss upon your knuckles.

His thumb caresses your skin, the pad of it tracing little patterns against the back of your hand.  "You've been so stressed lately so i-" "You are much too generous to me," Leorio mutters into your skin. His grip on your hand is tight, as if he's worried you'll pull away.

His eyes flick open, and he looks up to meet your gaze. "You do not have to be this kind to me. Yet you are. You are too kind, my God," he repeats, the words quiet and reverent. He lifts himself up, resting on his elbow as he looks down at you. He brings your hand to his chest, holding it just over his heart. His free hand reaches to cup your face, his touch gentle yet firm.

He brings his face down to your ear, and the sound of his next words are as soft as a whisper. "Why do you have to do this to me? Why do you have to be so damn good?"

Menthuthuyoupi

You stare up at the big guy, "can I try something?" Menthuthuyoupi blinks, then gives a firm nod.

No matter what you say or ask for, he will do it without question or complaint. He has been yours since the first moment he laid eyes on you. "Can i play with your hair?" "My hair?"

Menthuthuyoupis voice is quiet, bewildered. Never in his long weeks of life has anyone asked to touch his hair before. "You… you can." He tries to keep himself still, but his body is tensed up. It takes all of his willpower to keep from leaning into your touch.

"Does it… is it good?" He can't help but ask. "Does it feel strange?" Yes. Yes, it is. "Yes," he says bluntly. "Didn't even know i had hair." "What?!" A small huff of irritation. Menthuthuyoupi shakes his head. "Now I know have hair." His hand reaches up to touch at one of the red locks, wrapping it around his finger and giving it a small, harsh little tug.

"I've just never…" he continues, pausing as if he isn't sure how to say what he means. "I've never been taking care of it." "Figured, it's greasey as hell."

Meruem

His eyes snap up to your face as you drum your fingers against his skull. He frowns for a moment— the barest twitch of his lips down.

He doesn't quite register what you are doing, just that your fingers are against his skin. Meruem is silent for a single heartbeat, and then he tilts his head into you, leaning into the touch. That touch makes Meruem pause, tilting his head back to give you a look, one corner of his lip lifting in an almost smirk.

"And what makes you think you can do such a thing to me?" Meruem asks. His voice has a hint of challenge to it, like he's testing you. "I just can." You smirk, knocking on his head. Meruem's smirk grows, and he lets out a soft laugh. There's no sarcasm in his voice, just a hint of amused disbelief.

"And that makes you think you're above me?" He asks, the challenge growing with his smile.

"Above the great king? Everything of course." Another laugh. Meruem shakes his head, letting out a breath as though he can't believe what he's hearing. He's not bothered or annoyed— far from it. Amusement is written all over his face as he looks up at you with a wide, wolfish grin. "You think you're that powerful, do you?" He muses, still with that hint of challenge in his voice. "My love for you is." That makes Meruem pause, looking up at you for a moment. That hint of challenge turns to surprise, and then that surprise fades into a soft, warm look. His smirk is gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a small smile.

"Is what?" He asks, voice much softer. "Love? The strange pulling in ones heart? What we talked about?" "What we talked about, yes." "I doubt your pulling compares to mine."

Morel

"Ey old man! Come here!" "Eh? Old man?" He sputters as if the very notion offends him."I am not that old," Morel protests. "How old do you believe I am?"

"100?" "One hundred?" Morel stares at you incredulously. His eyes narrow. His shoulders tense up. For a short moment, it looks as if he’s holding back a snort.

"You think I am a hundred years old?" "You have white hair." You run your fingers through his hair as he sits down. "That does not mean I am old," Morel saya. "It just... means my hair is white. It always was." He falls silent, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. "You wouldn’t ask others with white hair their age, would you?" "I was just joking." The admission seems to soothe his wounded ego a little bit. "You could have used a more believable number,” he mutters, but there’s hardly any heat in the words.

"For your information, I’m not a hundred. I’m not even close to that old." He huffs, rising to his feet and dusting off the dirt from his clothes. "Not that it matters either way,” he adds, giving you a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye. "I don’t suppose my age matters to you, my love," Morel says, the reverent title slipping easily from his tongue.

“I could be a hundred or thousand, immortal or not, and still,” he stops suddenly, eyes fixed on your face as the words die on his tongue. For a moment, he swallows, as if suddenly unable to find the words. “I would still be yours...and i know you like em older anyways.” "Ey-!"

Neferpitou

"No one? Ever?" You asked in disbelief. Neferpitou leans ever so slightly into your touch, enjoying the soft feeling of your fingers against their hair. No one else has ever done this.

"No," they murmur, "never like this. No one ever touched me like this." "What a shame...it's pretty." The corners of Neferpitous mouth twitch, something like pride swelling in their chest at your compliment. Your simple words mean everything to them. Praise from you is more valuable than all the riches in the whole universe.

"You flatter me," they say quietly, although there's no attempt to deny it. Not only is their hair pretty, but so are they, and they know it— but they also know only you can tell them that. "Hmm, maybe." your lips crack a smile. Neferpitou stares up at you, eyes burning like fireworks. They're not blind— they know you're teasing them. Your smugness is something they adore. All of your expressions are so unique, from the look on your face when you're fighting a battle, to the curve of your lips when you smile, all the way to how your eyes crinkle at the corners when you laugh. Humans are interesting. You especially.

They know exactly what you mean, even if they're not willing to admit it. Neferpitous expression is mischievous, their tone bordering on dangerous. They won't admit it out loud, but they do love playing with fire. Especially when it comes to you. You're a feisty little inferior species.

"Don't smirk, my human," they murmur, leaning closer until they're a mere breath away from you. "We both know I'm more than just pretty."

Netero (me and my eyebrow or bald jokes in this post are wild)

You can't help but feel slightly upset, "Damn...why'd you cut it?" A soft sigh escapes him as you ask why he cut his hair.

“It would've gotten in the way, and it became difficult to manage,” he murmurs in response, his eyes still closed as he drinks in the feeling of you touching him. “Plus… it will grow back,” he says. For a few moments, Netero remains still, enjoying the feeling of your fingers in his hair, until he opens his eyes and looks upward at you.

“Are you really that fond of it long?” He asks,  in his voice, as if he’s worried he disappointed you by cutting his hair in the first place. "You could've at least cut your eyebrows." You add with a smirk. Netero rolls his eyes dramatically, but even the small action isn’t enough to disguise the soft, flustered look on his face. “You know I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s mirth behind his words. “Unless you want me to run around with no eyebrows at all.”

"That would be a sight." You imagine. “I’d look absolutely ridiculous,” he says, but the way he’s grinning gives him away. "And you think you looked better before, old man?" Netero shoots an unimpressed look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he knows you’re only teasing him. “You’d rather I looked like a caveman?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge. "You already d-" Netero cuts you with an indignant scoff at your comment and, for a moment, looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he stops, a small smile twisting his lips.

“Oh, quiet,” he says, his tone holding no bite. “I may be older than rocks, but I’m allowed to care about how I look.”

Nobunaga

"Washing is an option, yk?" "I know that," he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. He shivers slightly under your palm, his body as sensitive to your touch as a rose to sunlight. "I've been busy," he clarifies as you play with his hair, trying to come up with a good reason to escape your chiding. "I don't have time to bathe, is all."  He lets out a sigh, leaning into your touch like a kitten against a hand.

"And it's not that bad," he says, though his voice falters slightly— he knows he's lying. "Yeah sure." You smirk. "I've been sweating!" Nobunaga protests, as if that will solve everything.

"That's not my fault." He mutters, but when you tug lightly on his hair, he shivers again. "Relax." You calm him down. "I can't relax," he hisses, his eyes snapping open to glare up at you. "Not when you're—" He cuts himself off, his gaze suddenly shifting away as his cheeks flush. "I'll wash it for you later, okay?" taking care of a mess like this men is actually fun activities in your book. Especially when you can see him flustered. It takes a moment for his brain to process your words.

Nobunaga blinks, lifting his head from your hand to stare up at you, his mouth falling open.

"You—" a beat, "—you'll wash my hair?" You can practically see the smoke coming from his head. Nobunaga blinks, once, his mouth slowly falling open again as he processes what you'd said. His throat works silently as he grapples with the situation.

"You…" the word comes out faint, almost a whisper, as he tries to grasp what you're offering. "You'd… wash my hair?" he finally manages to get out, his face already starting to tint pink. "Yes?" "I—" he starts, hesitating as he tries to form a sentence, his thoughts flying to every possible meaning and implication of your words. Finally, after a moment of silence, his face completely flushed red, he manages to utter a response.

"I'd like that," he whispers, voice barely more than a sigh, though his words speak volumes as to how badly he wants you to do this.

Pariston

"It's so smooth?" It sounded more like a question than a statement. With all the products he uses you were almost sure his hair was like hay. He leans into your fingers, closing his eyes, a satisfied hum escaping his lips.

"Of course it is," he mumbles back, pride and arrogance dripping from every word. "After all," he continues. "I keep it that way for you. Gotta look good for my girl." His head tilts into your hand, seeking more of your touch. You can't help but roll your eyes at him. "What?" Pariston asks, his eyes opening. He lifts his head just to look at you, a single eyebrow raised.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, I'm being sincere," he says, tone a mix of amusement and mock-offence. "Since when." "Oh, always." He says, sitting up a little straighter. He leans back on one of his hands and grins. "You just don't notice because you never pay attention to me," he retorts. "I think..." He speaks slowly, fingers dancing over the top your other hand. "I think you're just cruel to me. That's what it is," he says decisively.

"You have no idea," he continues, his tone going from teasing to serious for a moment, "how much I adore you, and yet you treat me so callously." He fake pouts, a frown on his face, but you can see his eyes are dancing with mischief. "It's very insensitive of you." He admonishes you, his fingers moving over your skin.

"You should feel very guilty for treating the person who loves you more than anything like this," he admonishes, though there is a hint of a smile on his lips.

"And the person that finances your very being."

Phinks

"No," Phinks insists, pulling a little away from you. He scowls, crossing his arms at his chest. "Just… No." He won't let you ruffle his golden locks. "Why?" You whine slightly. "I don't want you to ruin it," he protests, running his fingers over his hair. He glares at you as his perfectly styled locks get mussed. "It takes hours to make it look good." Phinks frowns, his hair tousled from your touch. He combs his fingers through the messy blonde strands, trying in vain to return them to some semblance of order.

"I don't understand why you always have to touch my hair," he complains. "You're just like a child, always grasping at what the world has to offer without regard to the consequences," he says, still combing through his hair and trying to keep it away from you. "You have the impulse control of a three-year-old."

"But you love me." You smile innocently. Phinks can't help but soften a little at your words. He lets out a huff, his shoulders slumping as he gives up on his hair. He can never resist you.

"Yes, I love you," he admits, running a hand through his hair one last time. "Now, don't ruin my hair or I'll punish you." He doesn't sound all that threatening. In fact, you can imagine a hint of a smile flickering at his lips as he glares at you.

"If you make me look awful, there will be consequences," he says, though you suspect he's more likely to give you a kiss than actually punish you. He lets out a quiet sigh, running his hand through his tousled hair one final time before admitting defeat. He's fighting a losing battle— his hair is messy and sticking up at all sorts of ungraceful angles, and he's only going to undo any progress he makes by touching it. With a huff, he gives up, looking back at you.

"You're going to be the death of me one of these days, you know that?"

Pokkle

Every time you even think of coming near his hair, he looks up at you like a frightened doe. "I'll bite your hand, you know," he adds, though it is a very empty threat. "Why not? Shy?" You tease. "I–It's a mess." Pokkle protests, lifting a hand up and attempting to tame some of the messy locks of messy hair. He quickly gets frustrated however, huffing as it just flies right back in his face. "Besides… You'll mess it up…" "Can I at least brush it? Make it better?" Pokkle bites the inside of his cheek, looking down as if contemplating.

He remains like that for a few moments, thinking it over. He can't deny he wants you to touch his hair. That much is obvious. He's simply very stubborn, and won't say it.

He mumbles something under his breath that sounds vaguely like a reluctant yes. He turns around, presenting his back to you. His hair hangs messily over his shoulders.

His spine is ramrod straight, almost painfully so, and he’s clearly trying not to look over his shoulder at you. He's expecting his hair to be pulled, not brushed. He stays completely silent once you begin to brush his hair. He is still as stone, like a statue, but you can almost hear the sound of his mind racing even when you touch the brush to his hair.

He doesn’t look at you the entire time. In fact, he appears to be trying so desperately not to look at you that it’s like he’s fighting a losing battle with himself.

"Good?" Pokkle is quiet for a few seconds. He seems to have to collect himself, closing his eyes in an attempt to process what's just happened.

Finally, he nods, answering your question in a single word. "Good."

Razor

Razor doesn't question your request for a moment. If you want to, he will allow it. His head dips down, allowing you better access.

"You may. It's yours." "...its so short." you mumble. "I never let it grow." Razor responds, then lets out a quiet little hum as you play with the strands of his hair. It is indeed short, just barely long enough to play with. His neck twists a little, tilting to the side as you ruffle his hair. Razor is surprisingly pliant at your ministrations.

"You like to play with it, I take it?" He asks, a touch of amusement in his tone. "Meh, it's alright." Razor lets out a quiet scoff, the corner of his lips twitching.

"Only 'alright'," he mutters, but there's a hint of a smile in his words. "Just say you like it." He leans closer to you, head tilting down to look at you. "I know you like it," he teases, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You love to play with this short hair. Admit it."

"Hmm,...no." Razor snorts. "Why not?" He murmurs, leaning in a little more, so his head is resting against your leg. "It's short and soft. I can tell you like it, don't lie." Razor lets out another quiet scoff, though it is not meant as rude. He is too comfortable to care how he sounds. "Your hand is still in my hair," he whispers, tilting his head a little more to give you better access.

"Admit it, you like it." He smirks.

Shaiapouf

Shaiapoufs head is leaned against you, his eyes closed as your fingers run through his golden locks. He shudders at your touch, a low hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest like a distant storm. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he finally opens his eyes and speaks.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice heavy with exhaustion and contentment. "Hmm, nothing." Shaiapouf raises an eyebrow, glancing up at you from his place beside you. He smiles a little mischievously as he leans into your touch. "Just playing with my hair for no reason, then?" He teases. Even through the weariness in his voice, there's a hint of mirth there, like he wants to see how you'll respond. "Yeah." "Liar,"

He laughs, reaching up and grabbing your wrist, moving you hand back to his hair. He gently guides your fingers through his locks once again, his eyes closing, a soft sigh falling from his lips. "You just want an excuse to touch me, don't you?" Shaiapouf rolls over, laying himself against your side, head resting on your shoulder, his body pressed against you like a shadow.

He slings an arm around your middle, pulling himself close. "Gods, you're warm." He mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Shaiapouf hums contentedly as he cuddles against you, feeling the heat of your body seeping into his skin. He pulls you closer, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly.

"You're soft," he murmurs, his breath warm and ticklish against your cheek. "So soft..."

Shalnark

The feeling of you sitting in his lap makes Shalnark hyper aware of you. He tries to stay focused on the computer screen, he really does, but it’s hard to when you’re playing with his hair.  “What are you doing…?” He asks, swallowing thickly as his eyes dart from the computer to your hand in his hair. "Playing, like you." You mumble, keep playing. He lets out a slight huff, but there’s no annoyance in it.

“Are you trying to make it difficult for me to concentrate?” He asks, giving you a light smirk. “Not that I would want you to stop,” he adds as an afterthought, his voice growing softer.

Despite his words, Shalnark still continues to try and focus on the computer screen rather than on how it feels when your fingers glide through his hair. After a few moments, it becomes too distracting. Shalnark lets out a small huff, his fingers resting on the keyboard, unmoving. He turns his head a bit to look at you. A light flush has dusted his cheeks; his gaze almost seems a bit petulant, but there’s no real annoyance in it.

“You are doing this on purpose.” "Noooo." Shalnark gives you an unconvinced look.

“Liar.” He mumbles, tilting his head back a bit. The bare expanse of his neck shines in the cold light of the computer screen. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft sigh as he feels your fingers running through his hair again.

“I know you’re too smart to do this unintentionally.”  Despite his words, he can’t hide the way he relaxes with your hand on him.

Shoot

Shoots eyes slip shut as you touch his hair. It's been a long time since he's felt the gentle caress of your fingers against his scalp. You would think this would be enough to soothe him, but his chest still rises and falls quickly, his breaths uneven and choppy in his chest.

"Thank you," he stutters, trying to control his breathing. "Your touch feels like paradise," he whispers, almost so quiet you can't hear it.

"Missed it?" You laugh as you keep braiding his hair. He nods, feeling the gentle tug of your fingers on his hair. Shoot opens his eyes and looks up at you, his gaze unfocused. His head is foggy and hazy, his mind slipping away as you continue to braid his hair. "Yes," he admits, voice quiet.

"Yes, I missed it." "So...the mission?" Shoots expression darkens a little when you mention the mission. The mere mention of those words turns his mind to memories he would rather forget. "It was complicated," he confesses, watching your fingers move through his hair. "The mission…"

He pauses, his eyes growing a little distant. "...It did not go as well as planned." "...oh." "It was…" He falters. Something in Shoot shifts, a change in the air; as if the very atmosphere around him has grown darker. His mind drifts back to the mission, replaying the events of the past few days.

"There were... issues," he states, trying to keep his voice steady. "Obstacles. Setbacks. It was not the success we were hoping for."

Uvogin

Uvogin ducks his head to avoid the brush once again, a quiet scoff leaving him.

"I can brush it myself," he mutters, and reaches up. His hair is tangled and messy after spending most of the day without his hair being brushed — but he doesn't like having others run their hands through his hair for him. He can do it himself.  "Do you even know what a brush is?" you ask as a joke. Uvogin narrows his eyes at the words, a quiet huff leaving him.

"Of course I know what a brush is," he says, and snatches the hairbrush from you, holding it with an almost possessive grip. "I'm not an animal." Uvogin mutters something to himself— probably something about you being annoying— but he sits down and starts to run the brush through his long locks.

He looks like he is struggling. A lot. But he won't ask for your help. His pride won't allow it. "I can he-" "No."It's a short, quick answer. Uvogin immediately shuts down any offer you may have had before you can even finish speaking. He's stubborn, and he doesn't want to ask for your help— even though he very clearly needs it.

It's a sight to behold, the brush sticking in his hair and him struggling to brush it through. You walk up and hug his back. Uvogin stiffens at your sudden embrace, but he doesn't try to push you away. He continues to struggle with the brush, until he finally— begrudgingly— lowers his hands.

"Fine," he says, and it's clear it pains him to admit defeat. "You can do it."

Wing

Wing practically melts under your touch. His head rests against you like a pillow, and he hums in contentment as you play with his hair. He is warm, his chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm. "Tough day?" A heavy sigh escapes Wing. He nods, just a fraction, his face pressed into your chest.

"Yes." His voice is quiet, almost as if he doesn’t want to speak too loudly, in case it breaks this perfect moment. He pauses, hesitating, his eyes closing as he listens to your heartbeat.

"You make it better," he confesses, the words whispered into your skin like a secret. His breath is gentle, a soft sigh falling from his lips as he relishes being this close to you. After a few moments, he shifts, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug, and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"Being with you is my favorite part of the day," he admits quietly, breathing deeply of your scent. "Then I'm glad..." Wing nods his head, nuzzling into your chest a little more. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. His body is flush with yours, his chest pressed against you. Every breath he takes, every rise and fall of his rib cage, you can feel against your own skin. Wings arms gently tighten around you, his grip almost desperate, like he’d die if he was torn away from you. "Love you too..." Wings hold on you tightens when you return the sentiment. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and lets out a shaky breath.

“Say it again,” he whispers, a hint of pleading in his tone. The words are uttered as a near demand.

Forgot to answer it like an idiot omfg

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Not your Burden Pt. 3

Idea | Previous Part

tw: future dom-sub relationship, sexually explicit content, pet names, age gap (early twenties - late thirties)

With Simon’s help, your essentials were quickly packed in a suitcase, and your trusty, almost ripping at the edges, backpack. And yes, that included your vibrator, although you hid that one under your clothes while he was in your bathroom, gathering your stuff there.

As soon as you were done, Simon led you to the limousine, still waiting downstairs, and opened the door for you, while the driver - who introduced himself as Johnny - loaded your suitcase into the trunk. Simon got in next to you and the car took off as soon as Johnny was done. The warmth and gentle purring made you sleepy, the exhaustion of the last few weeks finally catching up with you.

“It’s okay, love. I’ll wake you when we’re there.” Against your better judgment, you closed your eyes and slowly but surely drifted off to sleep.

As soon as Johnny was sure you were asleep, he glanced at his boss through the rearview mirror. “You really think this is a good idea? She seems to like you.” Simon scoffed, turning to look out the window. “You know why we’re doing this Johnny. I need to catch this asshole and if playing the hero to his daughter is what needs to be done, it will be done.”

The Scott nodded slowly, his attention split between the road and the backseats. “But didn’t you say that she didn’t have any contact with her father either?” The blonde shrugged, glancing at your sleeping form before looking out the window again. “He will come for her. He is a scumbag, but a scumbag with morals. When he finds out that we have her, whether willingly or not, he won’t just stand by.” Johnny glanced at his boss through the rearview mirrors, trying to read Simon’s expression. When he couldn’t do that, he glanced at you instead. You were beautiful and looked way too innocent and trusting to be dragged into any of this. All the Scott could do was hope that Simon was not just using you.

Simon couldn’t help but feel guilty after feeling Johnny’s eyes on him for the rest of the drive. He had always liked you and hell, he had always known of your little crush on him. He thought it was cute, the way you’d always blush around him. The older you got the more obvious it became, so he stopped coming around, tried putting distance between the two of you, hoping you’d lose interest and eventually live a normal life. And then your father just had to go and fuck it up.

If it had been up to Simon, he’d never seen you again. But after your father decided to kill two of his closest friends and then disappear, he didn’t really have a choice, did he? Contacting you wasn’t his first choice, no, it was far from it. But no other idea paned out, so there he was, sitting in the car with you asleep beside him. He had to admit, the way you reacted to his words, even if most of the times you didn’t even notice it, had him chub up, making his pants feel uncomfortably tight. Even now, the way your head leaned against his shoulders, the way you unconsciously shifted to be closer to him, made his heart jump. But he couldn’t mix business and pleasure.

You stirred in his arms, but the quiet shushing that fell from his lips way too easily, calmed you enough to fall asleep again. A frown tugged on his face as he realized that you truly felt too light in his arms and he made a mental note to talk to the chefs the next day and make sure they cook you whatever you want, whenever you want. Not because he had feelings for you, of course not. But because for now, you were his. And he takes care of what’s his.

“Ah, I see you managed to convince her.” Amanda smiled at Simon as she approached him quietly, so as to not wake your sleeping form. Her smile turned to you and she carefully reached out, swiping a strand of hair from your face. “She is adorable. Take good care of her, you hear me?” Simon sighed and nodded, but a smile played around his lips. Amanda was his best friend, his right-hand woman. They had grown up together, both heirs of mafia empires, so when the age came where marriage was expected, and neither of them had the desire to forge such a connection, the chance to marry each other presented itself and both took it. That way Simon could inherit everything his father, the piece of shit, left him and Amanda would get her family off her back.

“I had the guest room at the end of the hallway prepared. It’s closest to the library and you said she’d always liked to read, so it only made sense.” Simon nodded again and quietly thanked her, before heading to said guest room.

When he laid you down, you stirred again, waking up a bit, but Simon was quick to cup your cheek. “It’s alright little one, just me. Go back to sleep, yeah?” You nodded with a tired sigh and turned onto your side, curling in on yourself. He watched you for a few moments until the door to the room opened and Johnny stepped inside, carrying your suitcase and backpack. “You ought to get her a new backpack, this one is falling apart.” He handed it to Simon, who took it and glared at all the tears and rips. “Can you ask Amanda to take care of that?” Johnny nodded and disappeared out the door, closing it gently behind himself.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Simon rummaged through your suitcase until he found some pajamas. Although he paused for a moment when he found the vibrator you packed. Picking it up, he glared at it as if it had personally offended him, and though the urge to throw it away and show you that you didn’t need something like that was strong, he instead opted to put it in one of the drawers in your nightstand.

As soon as he had found the pajamas, he carefully rolled you back onto your back and changed you. While doing so, he couldn’t help but gently trace his hands over your curves, memorizing them as his cock slowly hardened. When he realized what he was doing, he cursed under his breath and finished changing your clothes. And before he could succumb to his desire, he tucked you in and left the room, heading to the master bathroom to take a much-needed cold shower.

Next Part

A/N: Honestly, writing that someone is asleep while you're also fucking sleepy really doesn't help...

@alilstressyandlotdepressy @brickwall035 @trampondemand @inarabee @blinca @rileys3dworld @msjaeger @oreojenni @starlightmoon2020 @piconico17 @l1lpip @originalsoulcollector @ig-you-idiot @corvusmorte @ohdrey89 @dreamland08 @dprmoon @lilynotdilly @blinca

[tparadox]

I joined the school band in middle school, but in high school they required marching to be in the band. I put up with the summer training even with a painful foot and literal stress dreams about getting yelled at by my section leader. The first day of school where I had to rush out of school at the end of the day to go to a podiatrist who told me the reason my foot hurt so much at band practice was because it was sprained, then rush from the podiatrist to band practice, where I realized that the long sleeve tee I was wearing that day didn't mix with an August evening field practice, especially marching on a wrapped, sprained foot. I emailed the band director that I had never wanted to march, tried to put up with it for the summer, but this was not for me and if I have to march to be in band then I quit the whole band.

So the next day he told me in band class that he'd seen how good a player I was and offered for me to continue with class practices and concerts but not the marching practices, football games, or marching competitions. I agreed, and also joined the after school lower level jazz band as planned. Though I was surprised in the winter when I was still obligated to play pep band for the basketball team because there was no marching, but going to basketball games was fun and it turned out to be my favorite of the music they had us play, since I found concert band music uninspired and the jazz band gave us music that wasn't the kind of swing and big band style I wanted to play.

For the winter concert set, the director asked me, "hey, you're my best trombonist in this grade level, and the tuba section isn't so hot, could you learn tuba and play with them on one of our pieces to help shore them up?" The similarities between trombone and tuba end at "they are both bass clef brass". I didn't just have to learn a new kind of controls (slide vs valve), I had to learn to read a completely different register (the low end of a trombone's range is at the bottom of the bass clef staff, the highest a tuba can get is just barely into the bottom of the staff). By looking up and writing down the fingerings and staying after school twice a week for extra practice with no assistance, I was able to perform my one piece at about the same level as the rest of the "not so hot" tuba players.

By the end of my freshman year, I decided that the music wasn't fun and I wanted to put my time into plays and academic competitions. When I told the director I wouldn't be back the next year, he asked me if I'd reconsider if he told me I didn't have to march next year. I had been assuming this was a given, so I absolutely was out if I had to renegotiate a marching exemption every year. They still made me play graduation, which was the first time I wore a marching uniform and the last thing I ever did with school band.

After leaving the band I briefly practiced with a quartet from church, and spent years in the church choir. I tried to get into the drama program but the drama director never seemed to like my acting. I got into a musical as a one scene soloist, didn't know the drama director expected us to have our parts solid the week before opening, and since I wasn't rock solid then, she gave my part to someone else for the Saturday and Sunday matinee shows and just had me do the Friday preview for teachers and parents and the Saturday night show. I was perfect on the night and the other guy who only had a week to learn a whole new solo told me he was awful. I never got cast in a school production again after that show, but I did a lot of acting in the annual church dinner theater productions and other acting opportunities at church.

[brazilian-girl02]

~ Vlogger!Reader and Future yandere!Batfamily Part: 2 ~

Warning: This is where some yandere stuff shows up.

🦇 It was another normal day at Wayne Manor. Tim was walking to the kitchen to get one, or maybe the fourth, cup of coffee;

🦇 He arrived in the kitchen and noticed the absence of the butler Alfred, as well as an old notebook on top of the kitchen island. curious, he turns on the notebook and an email addressed to Alfred appears on the screen;

-dear Alf... It's been two years since we've seen each other in person, two years since our last book club meeting and without your wonderful tea. I came here to say that everything is going well with my studies and I am adapting well in (city of your choice). and I continue to post my videos, I know you watch them, but anyway, I hope you come visit me one day. a big hug, {You}

🦇 Tim read the email again and again.... "who are {you}?" he asked himself as he went to his room. Once there he started going through the files and even found his college's files;

🦇 Tim was so immersed in taking in every piece of information that he didn't notice that someone was at the door watching him;

🦇 it was Bruce... they started talking and Tim asked incessant questions about you, but Bruce had no answer. soon Alfred appears, he accompanies Tim to your old room, with a mournful Bruce behind;

🦇 When they got to their old room, the walls were your favorite color but in a more worn tone and an old computer on the desk. Tim quickly stops the computer to search it;

🦇 while Bruce looked around the room in a daze, how he forgot about you, and soon he started searching the closet and with an Alfred watching;

🦇 At dinner, Tim was very focused on watching his videos, which he discovered by searching the room's computer. Dick asked him what he was watching and Tim started pouring information about you, sparking curiosity in the others, except Alfred;

🦇 Dick started watching all the videos almost religiously and he always comments on all the videos. If you have a public mailbox on your social network, it will certainly send Nightwing merchandise;

🦇Jason, I would read any book you recommended or appear reading in a photo or video... perhaps you noticed that classic books and a box set of Jane Austen's works mysteriously appeared in your apartment;

🦇Tim has scoured every corner of the Internet looking for information about you, from your Amazon account to an old social media account you no longer use. Maybe he hacked your phone and cameras from places you frequent;

🦇 Barbara would be a little like Tim, but in a milder way. if you have a disability of any kind, you can be sure that she would have researched it, perhaps she would have become a little more protective;

🦇 Cass was happy to be able to watch your videos, she even started to have some of her quirks that she sees in the videos. If you practice some dance, she will definitely improve in that dance while dreaming of doing a ballet duet with you;

🦇 Stephanie is so excited to have someone to share trends and memes with. if you are part of a specific fashion style or subculture, she will research everything about it, from the clothes to the political or historical views of it;

🦇 Duke is surprised how the others didn't notice you, he watches your video game reviews and plays them from start to finish. I hope you notice your energy bill dropping suddenly;

🦇 Now there is a very thoughtful Damian, how could you hide from him for so long. he wonders if you would like to paint with him or if you have a pet, he would love to introduce you to his clan of animals;

🦇 Bruce pondered many things. he really loves you, don't get him wrong but his duties as Batman were a property and he wasn't sure how to approach a civilian like you, his beloved daughter. but rest assured that he will protect you... so don't worry that he has researched everything about your friends and girlfriend, after all it is for your safety;

🦇Alfred is pleased, they finally noticed the amazing girl he created and maybe you'll come home;

-Don't worry Young Miss, soon everyone will be paying attention to you like you always dreamed of.

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

This is chapter 2, I hope you all like it. And yes, my Barbara have a wheelchair. kisses

part 1:

[t1red-twilight]

dim kitchen lights

summary: you can’t sleep, but neither can dean without you.

content/warnings: gn!reader, vague trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, ptsd

notes: this is self indulgent, my life is exploding in my face

word count: 1.2k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

you awoke with a start. a cold shiver ran up your spine. as quietly as possible, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and softly tip toed out of the bedroom, down the hallway and into the kitchen.

you hadn’t been sleeping well lately. every time you tried to relax, your shoulders couldn’t seem to be anything but rigid, and your jaw was nothing but tense. maybe it was just that time of year; the time of year, where you were reminded of everything you didn’t want to remember.

if you were lucky, you could maybe get three or four hours of sleep a night. the rest of the time you spent staring at the ceiling whilst tossing and turning, hoping, praying that sleep would manifest. as far as you were concerned, dean was unaware.

once you were in the kitchen, you turned on the light that was just over the sink. the light of the bulb wasn’t harsh, but cast the room in a warm glow. you reached for the cup that you had set aside earlier in the day, and retrieved yourself a glass of water.

you looked outside the window that was just the top the kitchen sink. the rain that had started earlier in the evening was still going, through and through. luckily enough for you, the rain had lulled you into a slumber.

the clock read 3:04 am. if your math was right, you had slept for about five hours. you looked down at your feet and the tile of the kitchen floor. slowly, you could feel the dread begin to surge through you. the relief was nice while it lasted.

the door to yours and dean’s room creaked open again. you heard his knees crack as he walked down the hallway and into the kitchen to join you. “bad joints,“ he always said. you just always joked that he was getting old. soon enough, dean was in the kitchen with you. the sleep was evident on his face and he squinted at the kitchen light.

“what are you doing up?” he asked. his voice had more gravel than usual. he walked over to you and grabbed the cup from your hand. he set it down in the counter, and his arms wrapped around you. you shrugged, and proceeded to lay your head on his chest. you could both feel and hear his heartbeat.

his palms spread across your back. one of his hands slid under the hem of your shirt and scratched your lower back. his nails were dull and short, but it was nonetheless a comforting motion.

you took a deep breath and sighed. all of your feelings came rushing back to you, and it made you feel like you were drowning in your own body. “i don’t know.” at least you were being honest, you really didn’t know.

dean leaned to kiss the crown of your head.“i know you’re not doing too hot lately, and that’s perfectly okay.“ his voice was low, almost a whisper. “normal, even.“

you shook your head against him. “I’m fine.” you tilted your head up slightly to try and give him a smile, but evidently it was not that convincing.

“are you sure about that?” it wasn’t accusatory, you thought he was more worried than anything. “i know you haven’t been sleeping well lately.” damn. you guessed you couldn’t really hide much from the person that you live with.

you opened and closed your mouth a few times before speaking. “not really. i don’t know, I just can’t seem to stop thinking.” he placed one of his hands (the one that wasn’t scratching your back) atop your jaw line, and gently urged your face upward. while there was still sleep in his eyes, you could see the worry that swirled there too.

his thumb drove back and forth against your cheekbone. your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. you attempted to make yourself present in the moment, and took in your surroundings. all that filled your senses was him. his warmth, his smell. “you can tell me when things are going wrong. you do know that i’m here for you, right? always.”

you nodded before responding verbally. “yeah, I know. but sometimes it’s just hard to talk about certain things.” he placed your head on his chest again, and you could feel him rest his cheek on the top of your head.

he kissed the top of your head again. “well, i’m always here for whatever you need.” you smiled, genuinely this time. you weren’t sure if he could see it from the angle you were in.

you stayed like that for a few seconds. or minutes, maybe, you weren’t really sure. dean’s body began to sway the two of you slightly. you interrupted the silence with a question for him, this time.

“wait, why are you up?” the crinkles around his green eyes scrunched as he smiled. he chuckled softly.

his tongue swiped his lower lip before he answered. “i couldn’t sleep without you. i woke up as soon as you left, i got a little cold.” as playful as the lilt in his voice was, you could tell that he was being genuine. you pulled your lip between your teeth to bite back the smile that was growing on your face. “what?”

you pulled him closer to you, overwhelmed with affection. “where did you get that line from? that was smooth, a little too smooth. even for you.”

his hand on your back returned to admitting the scratching motion that it had been administering previously. “huh? that was all me, scout’s honor. i swear to god, you’re like a little space heater.“ he paused, then continued. “also, i’m just used to you being around me. you’re like the constant that i never had.”

you snorted. “clingy,” you teased.

“what’s wrong with being clingy? if either one of us is clingy, it’s you.“ the somewhat uneasy air in the room had dissolved at this point. one thing about dean, was that he always knew how to make you feel better, to the t. you always hoped that you provided the same for him.

your hand lightly swatted against his chest. he grabbed that hand, and kissed the palm of it. “i don’t think it has to be a competition,” you started. “because if it was, we both know that you would lose,” you continued, your voice dropping in volume.

he made a noise of disagreement, but didn’t continue your jests. the comfortable silence filled the air of the kitchen again.

dean pulled away slightly to look into your eyes for another time. “let’s go to bed, yeah?” he murmured. suddenly, you could see the tired nature of his countenance appear again.

“mhm. that sounds good to me.” at this, the two of you walked down the hallway and back into your shared bedroom. the whole time, you didn’t let go of each other. to an onlooker, it might’ve looked awkward, but you didn’t care. he closed the door behind the two of you.

dean led you to the bed. even though the sheets were messy, he pulled them back even further for the ease of your access. when he too had joined the comfort of the fluffy duvet, he immediately reached for you. he pulled you close into him. what surprised you, was the coldness of his feet that he felt the need to brush against your calves.

you let out a sound of faux shock, but he simply giggled. “i don’t see a problem with this arrangement at all. let’s just go to bed.” the rain in combination with his presence was more than enough for you.

[lavendermoonlitskies]

I relate heavy to this need to cling to Good Omens and its fandom like my life depends on it (I know it doesn’t literally depend on it, I mean that as a figure of speech. Just in case anyone wants to come at me and tell me that no piece of media is literally that important).

When I found this fandom through its source material, I was going through a transition period that is quite honestly tough for anyone. I had just graduated college, moving back home and leaving all my friends in another state. I was worried about how lonely it would feel because I’ve been in a similar situation before (I took a gap year after high school while everyone else went straight to college and it was in fact very lonely. I was depressed and I was not looking forward to feeling that way again after college).

Surprisingly, for over a year after moving back home, I felt okay. Happy, even. I’d picked up a new hobby, found an online community as a person who couldn’t drive to find an in-person one, found something to get excited about. I was passionate about something. I’d found this perfect little online space full of people who were kind, compassionate, and encouraging. Maybe it was naïve to think it would always be that way, but I don’t know if I have the words to explain just how beautiful it was for a while there.

Then, it was very suddenly not beautiful. Some horrific news had come out about the disgusting actions of one of the people who had been the first to ever bring these characters to life, and I along with the rest of the fandom was absolutely sickened. We were in this sort of false paradise for a while, only to have the rug pulled out from under us and end up in this much darker reality through the fault of no one but one man.

I want anyone reading this to notice just how little Neil Gaiman had to do with any of what made the fandom so wonderful before everything came out. I never cared much for Neil Gaiman, I just found a community during a vulnerable and painfully lonely time in my life (that I am still quite honestly in the midst of) and when everything came out and I had time to grieve for the women affected by this, I specifically remember begging the world not to take this away from me. I am at a point now in life where I wish worrying about losing this comfort show and this fandom was my only problem, but because of everything else going on, I don’t know what I’d do without it.

I’m not telling you all this to make it about me and negate the horrors that every one of Gaiman’s victims faced, but I want you to know how much fandom can mean to someone.

I want to talk about Neil Gaiman from the perspective of a survivor of SA.

I am a trans/ gender fluid person, a survivor of R*pe, and a diehard Good Omens fan. And I have been struggling to cope with and process the horrific things that Neil Gaiman has done. I don’t get a lot of engagement from the Good Omens fandom. I’m mostly a lurker here, TikTok, Twitter, and BlueSky and AO3. But I feel like I need to say something, and Im saying it here so I can share without a character limit. And then I’m going to take a break for a while because my mental health can’t handle the chaos anymore.

I read the Vulture article and I was of course horrified and disgusted and repulsed. The things he did to those women made me absolutely sick. But I’ll tell you what, as a survivor, I have been way more triggered by the online reaction to these allegations than I ever expected to be.

I am struggling, because while I unquestioningly stand with his victims and hope they get the full weight of justice they deserve, I am grieving. I am not reacting the way I would have expected myself to react to this news, and I haven’t since July when the story first broke. I would have expected to react the same way I did when JK Rowling exposed her horrific transphobia. I took a pretty hardline stance that any engagement with Harry Potter, even through fandom and etsy purchases, kept her relevant and sent the message that you too were transphobic. As a gender queer person, I now have an extremely hard time enjoying Harry Potter anymore even thought it was overwhelmingly influential on my life. I would not have met my husband without HP!

So why don’t I feel the same way about Good Omens? I am a victim of R*pe, myself, so why haven’t these allegations made it difficult to enjoy this story? In fact, all I want to do right now is actually watch the show! Or read the book, or fanfiction, or watch my favorite fan edits. I’m actually reaching out to it more. My instinct ever since July has been to clutch the story to my chest, white knuckled, and crying to myself in the shower, “No, no, no, no. Please, please, please. Not this. Not this too. Please don’t go.”

The answer is I don’t know. I… I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. It is something I will have to work through with my therapist for sure. And I feel absolutely horrible for it. But I do know that folks on Twitter and TikTok telling me that nobody cares about my feeling and saying that nothing matters at all except his victims has been extremely triggering - more so than any discussion of his acts. And I know that I will need a long time to work through it, and that I may never get over it.

I also know that two things can be true at once. We can be supportive of his victims and understand that what Neil Gaiman’s fans are going through is ALSO a collective trauma that deserves time and space to process. Because he violated us too. He violated our trust and our perceptions of reality, and that is much more traumatic than people give it credit for. Demanding that his fans just give up the stories and communities that may have been the only thing keeping some of these people alive at one point completely cold turkey is cruel and heartless. Some people may be able to do that. They may be able to not care for a while and may even need that. People deserve time and grace to grieve and come to terms with what is going on in their own ways.

I know that some of these folks mean well, but the argument that nobody cares about fans feelings is not looking at the whole picture and feels like just a way to discredit and belittle fandoms in a new way. Because this is NOT breaking news! This story originally broke back in July, and the fandom rallied behind his victims en mass! They have recently raised thousands of dollars to donate to Take Back The Night, which is amazing! This most recent article and fandom meltdown is just rehashing everything that we said last summer. So my then questions are:

When CAN we grieve? When CAN we talk about how we are feeling? When CAN we reach out to our community and collectively heal from the trauma that we are facing as well? And not fear that some self righteous ass hole on the internet is going to bully them for not being a good enough feminist. And do NOT sit there on your performative high horse and tell us that what we are going through is not as bad as R*pe. We fucking know that. I certainly fucking know that. But it is still bad, and it does deserve recognition too. It is extremely unhealthy to pretend that this news is not also a noteworthy trauma to his fans. And gaslighting them by telling them that their heartbreak and grief is problematic is just fucking mean.

Neil’s fans deserve grace and compassion too.

[oldsoul007]

not a lot, just forever

joel miller x reader

summary: joel keeps grieving about what could’ve been of you two had kids…

a/n: angsty but also fluffy

joel miller masterlist

Joel leaned against the weathered railing of the porch, the cool evening breeze ruffling his shirt as he watched y/n through the open door. She was inside the house, cradling Tommy and Maria’s baby in her arms, her soft laughter mingling with the gentle cooing of the infant.

The sight hit him harder than he expected.

He had seen y/n with children before—she was great with them, always patient, always so gentle. But seeing her hold that tiny, perfect little thing, with a look on her face that could only be described as tender longing, made something shift deep in Joel’s chest. It was a quiet ache, one that had been there for years but had never been so sharp before.

He knew that look. He had seen it in the way she held Sarah when she was younger, the way she’d always cared for the people around her. But now, watching her with Tommy and Maria’s baby, he realized something he’d never allowed himself to think too deeply about: the family she might’ve wanted—the life they could’ve had—was a dream that had been stolen from both of them by the outbreak.

Joel clenched his jaw, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat.

It wasn’t fair.

Not to y/n. Not to anyone, really. They had lost so much, so much that words couldn’t even begin to explain. But when he saw her, holding that baby, a different kind of loss settled over him, one that felt heavier than the weight of everything else.

He could never give her that. He could never be the man who could offer her the kind of future she deserved. He had tried, in the early days, to imagine a life beyond survival. But he knew better now. Every time he let his guard down, every time he allowed himself to hope for something, the world seemed to take it all away again. And this… this was one thing he could never give her—something simple, something pure: a family. A child of their own.

He pushed himself off the railing and took a deep breath. The ache in his chest was still there, gnawing at him, but he wouldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when y/n was happy, not when she was in a moment that brought her peace. She didn’t need him to carry that weight for her.

Stepping inside, he paused in the doorway, watching her with the baby in her arms. She was smiling down at the infant, her eyes soft with a mixture of affection and something Joel couldn’t quite name. She looked up and caught his gaze, her smile widening in that way that always made his chest tighten, even in moments like this.

“Hey,” I said softly, my voice warm and inviting. “Come on in. Maria said we could keep her for a little while longer.”

Joel nodded, his throat tight. He didn’t trust himself to say much, not with the lump still lodged there. Instead, he stepped closer, his footsteps quiet on the wooden floor.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from my face. I tilted my head slightly, my smile turning into something softer, understanding.

“I know,” I said quietly, reading him in a way only I could. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Joel gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I didn’t push, just offered him a look that was equal parts sadness and understanding. “It’s okay, Joel,” I murmured, my hand reaching out to rest on his. “I’m okay. We’re okay. It’s just… a moment.”

He swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly as he placed it over hers. “I should’ve been able to give you that,” he said before he could stop himself, the words spilling out before he could rein them in.

I was silent for a moment, my gaze flicking to the baby in my arms before meeting his eyes again. “You gave me so much more than that,” I replied, my voice steady but full of emotion. “You gave me your trust. Your love. And you gave me the chance to live again, to be here. That’s all I’ve ever needed, Joel.”

The words settled over him like a balm, soothing the raw ache that had been gnawing at him. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the heaviness lifted, even if just a little.

He looked at her, really looked at her—the woman who had stayed by his side through the worst of it all. And in that moment, he realized that he didn’t need to give her the things he’d lost. What mattered was the life they had now, the one they were building together, despite everything that had come before.

He took the baby from my arms, his hands steady as he held the tiny life against his chest. She smiled softly at him, the love in her eyes undeniable.

And for once, Joel allowed himself to believe that maybe this—just this—was enough.

I sit on the couch, staring out the window at the setting sun, trying to settle the mix of emotions swirling in my chest. I know Joel’s been brooding; I could feel it even before he walked into the room. His footsteps are soft but heavy, his presence unmistakable as he steps inside

He doesn’t say anything right away, just stands there in the doorway. I can feel his eyes on me, on the empty bassinet where the baby had been sleeping earlier.

I don’t look at him. Instead, I say, “You’ve been quiet all day.”

He lets out a low sigh, stepping further into the room. “Just been thinkin’.”

I nod, knowing what’s coming but not sure I want to hear it.

“She is… somethin’ else, wasn’t she?” he says after a moment, his voice soft. “You looked good with her, y/n. Real good.”

I finally turn to look at him, leaning back into the couch. “She’s a sweet baby. But you know it’s not about her, Joel. Just say what you’re thinking.”

He hesitates, his eyes drifting back to the bassinet. “I can’t help it,” he finally says, his voice thick with emotion. “Holdin’ her, watchin’ you with her… I keep thinkin’ about what could’ve been. If the world hadn’t fallen apart. If we’d had a chance to…” He trails off, his voice catching. “To have a family of our own.”

My stomach twists, and I take a steadying breath. “Joel…”

He shakes his head, looking down at the floor. “I think about Sarah, about how things might’ve been different. I think about Ellie. And then I see you with that baby, and all I can think is… we never got the chance.”

I sit up, folding my hands in my lap. I know this pain. I feel it too, but I’ve had years to reckon with it, to make peace with what life took from us. “What do you want me to say, Joel?” I ask softly. “That I wish we could’ve had kids together? Of course I do. There was a time when I wanted that more than anything.”

He looks at me then, his face a mix of regret and longing, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets.

“But that’s not how life worked out,” I continue, my voice steady even as my heart aches. “And it’s okay to feel the loss of what could’ve been. But Joel, you’re all I need. You always have been.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw tight, his eyes searching mine. “You mean that?”

I nod, giving him a small, sad smile. “I do. We’ve been through hell and back, Joel. And I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything. I just need you. That’s enough for me.”

Joel exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he says quietly. “For not seein’ it sooner. For… not bein’ enough.”

I reach out, taking his hand in mine, squeezing it gently. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. We’re here now, Joel. That’s what matters.”

The room falls quiet again, but the tension has eased. Joel sits down beside me on the couch, his shoulder brushing against mine. He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I.

The bassinet is empty, but the space between us feels full—of love, of pain, of all the things we’ve lost and found together. And as the sun dips below the horizon, I lean into him, letting the silence say everything that words can’t.

“She’s lucky to have you watchin’ over her,” he says, his voice lighter now.

“And she’s lucky to have you around too,” I reply, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Uncle Joel has a nice ring to it.”

He chuckles, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “Guess it does.”

We stand there for a moment, the weight of the past still there but just a little easier to carry. For now, that’s enough.

[pshbites]

BEWITCHED ━ ksn

pairing : librarian!sunoo x fem!reader genre : strangers to lovers, like at first sight, fluff warnings : none! synopsis : sunoo lived a quiet life but what happens when he meets someone who just bewitches him wc : 0.6k a/n : this is for roni (happy belated bday) first sunoo work WOO!!!

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!!

sunoo felt like a stalker. it wasn’t like he meant to keep following you but the shelves you kept going to just happened to be the ones he had to rearrange. he glanced over to you, skimming through a page of this random sci-fi/thriller book you picked up. he smiled softly, admiring your features. the way your hair sat so perfectly or how you pursed your lips, focusing on the plot of the book. 

you were gorgeous to put it simply. you caught his eye the second you walked in and something about you just drew him to you. he didn’t know how or why, it was like you bewitched him. sunoo looked away and looked at the bookshelves again, trying to distract himself. 

“you’re not slick, you know that?” you said, putting the book back on the shelf and turning to sunoo. “i.. i wasn’t like following you or anything” sunoo sputtered out, cheeks flushing into a soft pink. “mhm.. have fun rearranging those books” you said, smiling softly then walking past him to leave. once he heard the bookstore door open and close he let out a breath he was unknowingly holding. never again, he thought, sighing as he went back to rearranging the shelf. 

…

a couple days had passed since the bookstore incident and the only thing on your mind was him. you had noticed he was following you throughout the store and at some point you looked his way. he was so pretty, everything about him was so pretty but you couldn’t figure out why, like he had bewitched you. it did weird you out a little but you figured out he was admiring you, like when he kept glancing at you as if you didn’t notice, cute. 

whatever spell he had on you was working because here you stood, in front of the same bookstore from last week. you entered and smiled softly at the same boy who was now behind the counter. he smiled back but it seemed that maybe he didn’t recognize you. you sighed and went to the same shelf you left before. 

sunoo smiled to himself as you disappeared behind the shelves. you were back, he was sure he would’ve scared you away after the encounter you two had. he drummed his fingers on the counter, in anticipation that you would hopefully check out a book. that way he could just see you closer. he didn’t know why he was acting this way, just something about you. whatever, sunoo thought, distracting himself with logging in orders. 

you picked up the very same book you left previously and walked over to the register. sunoo smiled softly at you then looked at the book, this was his chance to make a move, he thought. oh? the book from last week? no that’s too weird.. fun book i’ve read this one well no he hasn’t read it. can i have your number now his brain was just spewing out anything. 

“last week from book?” he sputtered out, cheeks flushing at what he said. you looked at him, trying to hold back a laugh. sunoo pursed his lips and looked down at the keyboard, logging in the check out. he slid the book towards you along with a slip of paper. “sign there and you can head out” his voice was softer, probably because he was embarrassed. 

you scribbled your signature and slid the paper to him, smiling softly as you picked up the book and left the store. sunoo sighed and flipped over the paper to reveal something unexpected. 

‘you’re cute! text me at xxx-xxx-xxxx - yn’ 

sunoo smiled softly and put the piece of paper in his pocket. if anyone else were to say how sunoo acted the rest of the day, they would say he had a permanent smile glued onto his face.

taglist : @cupidhoons @leeechin @chobunz @wensurr @ja4hyvn @kozumesphone @17ericas @suneng @hyunnies-world @kiss4noo @jellyluv4eva @heelariously @laylasbunbunny @silquids @squiishymeow @heeambi @yourmomssneakylink @rriribelle @srehyaps @bubblytaetae @t1iqaa @en-heedeungie @wintertxt @sweettaitea @beatrizmel-472 @i03jae @jakef3ver @mamuljji @coqhee @luvyou2ooo @thedemonriot @justalittle-hee @jjongsaengzz @beigerin @mariahxrrera @cherrybeomm @vveebee @mitmit01 @blockbusterhee @yeehawnana @mochamvgz @livelaughluvryanreynolds @ami-soph @sunghoonsperfume @tzyunaes @cripplinghooman @sunooblitz @kolawnk @ningningiloveumarryme @m1kkso @ronniee-26 @wavetokgv (bold cannot be tagged)

enha taglist

© all rights to pshbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 30/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, FLUFF

Word Count: 9308

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 30 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

„I fed her”, Ben mumbled a little while later, his voice a mixture of gruffness and an unmistakable hint of pride. He moved to sit carefully on the edge of the bed, close enough that his broad frame seemed to take up all the space. He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing as though to downplay the weight of what he was saying. “Didn’t drop her, either”.

You couldn’t help the weak laugh that escaped your lips, though it came with a wince from the soreness in your chest. “You fed her?”, you asked softly, looking up at him with tired but amused eyes. “Did you… enjoy it?”.

He glanced at you, his lips twitching like he was trying to suppress a smirk. “I wouldn’t go that far”, he muttered, though the slight puff of his chest gave him away. “But I got the job done. She didn’t cry. Didn’t puke on me, either. So, yeah, I’d call it a win”.

Your smile widened, your fingers brushing against the baby’s soft cheek as she shifted slightly in your arms, letting out a tiny sigh.

“I’m proud of you”, you whispered, your voice soft and full of warmth as you looked up at Ben. Your tired eyes, so full of emotion, locked with his, and for a moment, he couldn’t look away. They were the same eyes that had always undone him—the ones that somehow made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had. Now, they were reflected in your daughter, and that connection hit him harder than he’d ever admit.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He didn’t respond right away, didn’t deflect with a sarcastic remark or a muttered grumble like he usually would. Instead, something in his expression shifted, his tough exterior cracking just enough to let something softer show through.

Without a word, he leaned in, one large hand coming up to cup your face as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was warm and firm, yet careful, as though he was afraid to hurt you in your fragile state. It wasn’t hurried or dramatic—it was quiet, steady, and real, full of relief and the unspoken things he couldn’t put into words.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, his green eyes half-closed as he let out a quiet sigh. “You scared the shit outta me, you know that?”, he muttered, his voice low and rough, tinged with something that sounded suspiciously like vulnerability.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his stubbled jaw. “I’m sorry”, you whispered.

Ben shook his head slightly, his lips brushing your forehead in a gesture so uncharacteristically tender it made your chest tighten. “Don’t”, he mumbled, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t apologize. You made it. That’s what matters”.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze scanning your face like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. “I’m glad you made it out alive”, he said, his words gruff but weighted, spoken in the way only Ben could. “And not just ‘cause of her”. He glanced briefly at the baby in your arms, then back at you, his expression hard to read but undeniably sincere. “You’re tougher than anyone I’ve ever met, and… I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever”.

Your throat tightened at his words, and all you could do was nod, your tears blurring your vision as you whispered, “I’m not going anywhere”.

“Damn right you’re not”, Ben muttered, his tone softening as his hand brushed against your cheek one last time. Then, with a faint smirk, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest as if to shake off the moment. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off easy. You’re still not lifting a damn finger until I say so”.

You laughed weakly, shaking your head as you looked down at your daughter. “Bossy as ever”.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line”, he shot back, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed the warmth behind his gruffness.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the hum of monitors and the soft breaths of your sleeping daughter, you felt a fragile but undeniable sense of peace. You had made it, against all odds. And with Ben by your side, you knew you could handle whatever came next. Together.

The hours passed slowly, but they felt oddly peaceful. You sat propped up in bed, your body still too weak to do much more than hold Aria while Ben stayed close by. The quiet moments felt surreal, the weight of your daughter in your arms grounding you even as your head swam with exhaustion. Your infusions continued to drip steadily, keeping you hydrated and stabilized, though the thought of real food or even water seemed impossible in your current state.

Breastfeeding had been the plan, something you’d looked forward to, but now the idea felt so distant. You knew it wasn’t an option—not yet. You felt a pang of disappointment, but Ben had quickly brushed off your worries earlier, muttering something about how the formula was “just fine” and that Aria was already thriving because of you. It was one of his gruff reassurances, the kind only he could pull off.

Eventually, the soft creak of the door announced Dr. Collins’ return. She stepped in with her clipboard, her usual composed demeanor softening when she saw you awake, holding your daughter. “Good to see you sitting up”, she said warmly as she approached the bed. “You’re looking much better”.

“Still feel like I got hit by a truck”, you replied, your voice hoarse but laced with humor. Ben snorted softly beside you, shaking his head.

Dr. Collins smiled, glancing at Aria as she moved closer. “Well, considering everything you’ve been through, I’d say you’re recovering remarkably well. And how’s she doing?”, she asked, gesturing to the tiny baby nestled in your arms.

“She’s…”, you paused, glancing down at the baby’s peaceful face. “Aria”, you corrected softly, looking back at Dr. Collins. “Her name is Aria”.

Dr. Collins nodded, her expression softening further. “Aria. A beautiful name for a strong little girl”.

Ben shifted slightly in his chair, his arms crossed, but his gaze flicked down to Aria, his lips pressing into a faint line as if trying to hide the swell of pride the name brought him.

“She’s healthy”, Dr. Collins continued, glancing at her clipboard. “She’s small, yes, but perfectly healthy. Her breathing is strong, her reflexes are normal, and all her initial tests came back clear”.

You let out a shaky breath of relief, your grip on Aria tightening slightly. “That’s all that matters”, you murmured.

Dr. Collins hesitated, her eyes flicking between you and Ben. “There is one thing I wanted to discuss”, she said carefully. “The blood tests we ran revealed that Aria has a significant amount of Compund V in her system”.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt Ben tense beside you. “What does that mean?”, you asked, your voice quiet but firm.

“At the moment”, Dr. Collins said quickly, “she’s showing no signs of powers or abnormalities. But with that level of V in her blood, it’s likely that she’ll develop abilities as she grows. We’ll monitor her closely, but for now, she’s stable. There’s no immediate concern”.

Ben’s jaw clenched, his green eyes narrowing as he glanced at Aria. “So, what, we’re supposed to just wait around and see if she… what? Shoots lasers out of her eyes? Flies off into the damn ceiling?”.

“Ben”, you said softly, your voice cutting through his frustration. He looked at you, his expression hard but quieting under your steady gaze. “She’s fine. She’s healthy. That’s what matters”.

Dr. Collins nodded in agreement. “Exactly. There’s no reason to worry at this stage. We’ll keep an eye on her development, but for now, she’s just a normal, healthy baby”.

Ben grunted, leaning back in his chair as he ran a hand through his hair. “Normal”, he muttered under his breath, though his gaze softened as it landed on Aria again. “Yeah, sure. Normal”.

You looked down at your daughter, her tiny fingers curling around your thumb as she shifted slightly in her sleep. “Thank you, Dr. Collins”, you said, your voice trembling with gratitude.

Dr. Collins gave a small smile. “You’re welcome. I’ll leave you all to rest, but I’ll be back to check on you later”.

As she left the room, the silence settled again, and Ben let out a long breath. He glanced at you, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Aria, huh?”.

You smiled weakly, brushing a finger across Aria’s cheek. “You picked it too”, you murmured.

Just as Ben’s faint smirk began to fade, Aria stirred in your arms, her little fists clenching softly as her mouth opened and closed in tiny, insistent motions. A faint whimper escaped her lips, signaling her hunger. You looked down at her, your heart swelling despite your exhaustion.

“She’s hungry”, you murmured, your voice filled with warmth and determination. You glanced at Ben, your tired eyes meeting his sharp green ones. “I want to feed her”.

Ben’s expression immediately hardened, his brows furrowing. “You’re too weak”, he said flatly, his arms crossing over his broad chest as he shook his head. “You can barely hold her, let alone feed her”.

“Ben, I’m her mom”, you said softly but firmly, the weight of your words making him falter. “I want to do this”.

He huffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Yeah, and I’m the one who’s been making sure you stay alive”, he muttered. “You’re not gonna keel over just because you feel like playing mom right now. Let me do it”.

You glared at him, though the exhaustion in your body made it less effective than usual. “Ben, I’m not asking”, you said, your voice trembling slightly but full of resolve. “She’s my daughter, and I want to feed her. Now, please, ring for the nurse”.

Ben clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking between you and Aria as she whimpered again, her little hands curling tighter. He let out a frustrated sigh before standing and pressing the call button on the wall. “Fine”, he grumbled, his tone clipped. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you pass out mid-bottle”.

A few moments later, the nurse entered the room, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to Ben’s simmering irritation. “She’s hungry”, you said, offering a small, tired smile. “Could you please bring us some formula?”.

“Of course”, the nurse replied with a nod, quickly leaving to retrieve the bottle.

Ben leaned against the wall, his arms still crossed as he watched you with a mix of exasperation and concern. “You’re stubborn as fuck, you know that?”, he muttered, his voice low.

“Wonder where I got it from”, you shot back, giving him a faint smile that made his lips twitch despite himself.

The nurse returned with the bottle, handing it to you carefully. “Here you go”, she said softly, adjusting your pillows to give you more support. “Take your time, and let me know if you need help”.

“Thank you”, you said, your voice full of gratitude as you shifted Aria slightly in your arms, cradling her closer. Her tiny mouth found the bottle instinctively, latching on and beginning to feed with quiet, contented sounds.

Ben stayed silent, his sharp eyes watching your every move as though he expected you to collapse at any moment. But as you held Aria and fed her, a calmness washed over you, the bond between you and your daughter palpable in the quiet room.

“I told you I could do it”, you murmured after a while, glancing up at Ben with a triumphant smile.

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah”, he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re still not doing anything else. Feeding her’s all you get for now”.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, your focus returning to Aria as she continued to drink. Ben’s gaze softened as he watched the two of you, his irritation melting away as he leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the edge of the bed.

“You’re lucky she’s got your guts”, he said quietly, his voice rough but filled with a strange mix of pride and affection. “Kid’s already a fighter. Just like her mom”.

You looked up at him, your smile softening. “And her dad”, you whispered.

Ben didn’t respond, but the faint glimmer in his eyes said enough.

As the time came for Aria’s first diaper change and a fresh set of clothes—a soft onesie you’d picked out weeks ago, back when everything seemed simpler—you glanced up at Ben. You knew you were pushing it, but you couldn’t help yourself. “I want to do it”, you said softly, your voice tinged with a quiet plea.

Ben turned to you, his sharp green eyes narrowing immediately. “No fucking way”, he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You can barely sit up without looking like you’re about to keel over. Feeding her was enough. This? No. Not fucking happening”.

“Ben, I—”.

“No”, he growled, cutting you off. “You’re not moving a damn inch. Got it?”.

You sighed, biting back the urge to argue further. You could see the tension in his jaw, the protective edge in his tone. As frustrating as it was, you knew he wasn’t going to budge.

Moments later, the nurse entered the room, carrying the supplies needed for Aria’s diaper change. She gave you a kind smile before turning to Ben. “Alright, Dad”, she said, her tone upbeat. “You’re up”.

Ben’s eyes widened slightly as he straightened up, his hands going to his hips. “Me? The fuck do you mean, I’m up?”, he asked, glaring at the nurse as though she’d just insulted him.

The nurse smiled patiently, setting the supplies down on the foot of the bed. “You wanted her mom to rest, right?”, she said, raising an eyebrow. “That means it’s your turn. Don’t worry—I’ll guide you through it”.

Ben shot you a look, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief. “You’re really gonna make me do this?”, he muttered, though there was no real venom in his tone.

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows. “Your turn to shine… Dad”.

He grumbled something under his breath but moved to the foot of the bed, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to go into battle. The nurse handed him a clean diaper and some wipes, her tone cheerful as she began explaining the steps.

“Alright, first, you’ll need to undo her onesie and take off the old diaper”, she said, gesturing to Aria.

Ben hesitated, his large hands moving awkwardly as he fumbled with the tiny snaps on Aria’s onesie. “Christ, who makes these things so fucking small?”, he muttered.

As Ben finally managed to get the tiny onesie unsnapped and peeled off, he froze, staring down at Aria’s naked, squirming form. He let out a sharp snort, his lips twitching as he muttered, “She looks like a damn chicken”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite your exhaustion, the sound weak but genuine. “Ben!”, you said, a hint of scolding in your tone. “She’s a baby, not a chicken”.

He raised an eyebrow at you, then gestured toward Aria’s skinny little limbs and the way she wiggled, her tiny fists flailing in the air. “Look at her”, he said, his tone dry. “She’s got these scrawny legs, no meat on her bones. I’m just saying it like it is”.

The nurse stifled a laugh, shaking her head as she handed Ben a wipe. “Well, this little ‘chicken’ is your daughter, and she’s looking like she´s supposed to", she said, her tone light. “Now, focus. You’ve got a job to do”.

Ben rolled his eyes but returned his attention to the task at hand. He peeled back the old diaper, grimacing slightly as he got his first real look. “Alright, I take it back”, he muttered. “She’s not a chicken. She’s a little grenade. A fucking messy one”.

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh too hard. “Welcome to parenthood”, you teased.

Ben shot you a look but didn’t respond, instead taking the wipe and holding it awkwardly. The nurse guided him step by step, her voice calm and encouraging. “Always wipe from front to back”, she reminded him.

He froze, turning to you with an incredulous look. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”.

“It means don’t mess it up, Ben”, you said with a smirk. “It’s to avoid infections”.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Of course it’s complicated", before carefully wiping Aria, his massive hands moving with an unexpected gentleness. “Front to back”, he mumbled to himself, like he was committing it to memory.

When he was finished, the nurse handed him a clean diaper. “Now, slide this under her, fold it up, and secure the tabs. Snug, but not too tight”.

Ben had already pinched Aria’s tiny wrist gently between his thumb and forefinger, clearly intending to lift her up as though she were a doll, when the nurse quickly intervened.

“Whoa, no!”, she said, her voice firm but not unkind. She stepped forward, putting a hand out to stop him. “You don’t lift her like that. You need to support her back and neck”.

Ben froze, blinking at the nurse with a mix of confusion and irritation. “Well, how the fuck am I supposed to get the damn diaper under her, then?”, he muttered, glancing down at Aria, who squirmed blissfully unaware of her father’s struggle.

The nurse smiled patiently, demonstrating with her hands. “Here, let me show you. Slide one hand under her bottom, and your other hand under her back, like this. Then gently lift her just enough to slip the diaper underneath”.

Ben huffed, muttering something under his breath about “overcomplicated baby engineering”, but he followed her instructions, his large hands carefully cradling Aria’s fragile form. He lifted her with surprising gentleness, her tiny body barely moving as he slid the fresh diaper into place beneath her.

“There you go”, the nurse said encouragingly. “Now, lower her back down and secure the tabs”.

Ben did as instructed, his movements slightly awkward but undeniably careful. He fastened the tabs with a bit too much force at first, but the nurse quickly corrected him, guiding his hands to adjust the fit. When he was finally done, he leaned back, crossing his arms and looking down at his work with a critical eye.

“She doesn’t look like she’s about to fall apart”, he muttered. “Guess I didn’t screw it up”.

The nurse chuckled. “You did great. Now, let’s get her dressed”.

Ben groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he picked up the tiny onesie you’d chosen for Aria. “I’m starting to think babies were designed just to make adults look stupid”, he grumbled, holding up the onesie like it was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Arms first, then legs”, the nurse said, smiling as she stepped back to let him work.

Ben sighed, his brows furrowing as he carefully maneuvered Aria’s tiny arms into the sleeves. His large hands fumbled slightly with the delicate fabric.

But the real problem came when it was time to deal with Aria’s legs. Her tiny limbs were scrunched up tightly against her body, as if she was perfectly content staying in her curled-up position. Ben stared down at her, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion.

“She’s like a damn pretzel”, he muttered, glancing at the nurse for guidance. “How the fuck am I supposed to get her legs in this thing if she won’t cooperate?”.

The nurse stifled a laugh, stepping closer to offer some advice. “That’s normal for newborns”, she said gently. “They’re used to being curled up in the womb. Just be gentle, and don’t force her legs straight. Guide them into the onesie one at a time”.

Ben sighed heavily, before he carefully held one of Aria’s tiny feet, his massive hand dwarfing her delicate limb, and tried to guide it into the onesie’s leg opening. The fabric bunched up awkwardly, and Ben growled in frustration.

“She’s fighting me”, he grumbled, shooting a glare at Aria as if she was doing it on purpose. “This kid’s got her mom’s stubbornness already”.

You couldn’t help but laugh weakly from the bed, watching the scene unfold. “She’s not fighting you, Ben”, you said, your voice soft but amused. “She’s just… tiny. And new to all of this”.

“Yeah, well, she’s winning”, he muttered, finally managing to get one of her legs into the onesie. He moved on to the other, his hands surprisingly steady despite his gruff demeanor. “This better get easier, or I’m hiring someone to do this part”.

The nurse chuckled. “You’re doing fine”, she reassured him. “It’ll get easier with practice”.

“Yeah, practice”, Ben grumbled. “Can’t fucking wait for that”.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to get Aria’s second leg into the onesie. He adjusted the fabric carefully, making sure it wasn’t twisted or bunched, and then fastened the tiny snaps with a level of concentration that would have been comical if it weren’t so endearing.

“There”, he said, leaning back to survey his work. “She’s dressed. And still alive”.

The nurse smiled warmly. “You did great, Dad. She looks very comfortable”.

Ben snorted, crossing his arms as he glanced down at Aria, who was now squirming contentedly in her fresh diaper and onesie. “She’d better be”, he muttered. “I just wrestled a chicken-sized octopus to make it happen”.

You let out a quiet laugh, your heart swelling as you watched him. “You’re a natural”, you said softly, your voice full of affection.

Ben turned to you, his green eyes softening slightly as he smirked. “Damn right I am”, he said gruffly. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook. You’re taking over as soon as you can sit up without looking like you’re gonna pass out”.

“We’ll see”, you teased, leaning back against the pillows as you watched him pick up Aria with surprising gentleness. He cradled her in his arms, his expression softening as he looked down at her tiny face.

For a moment, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the monitors. You could see the pride in Ben’s eyes, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud. He was figuring this out, one step at a time—and somehow, you knew he was going to be a great dad.

It started as a slight sniffle, but within moments, your emotions overwhelmed you. Tears began streaming down your face, and before you knew it, you were sobbing uncontrollably. You couldn’t hold it back, your chest heaving as you watched Ben holding Aria against his chest. The sight of him, so strong and rough around the edges, cradling your impossibly tiny daughter with such care—it was too much.

Ben’s head snapped toward you, his expression immediately shifting to one of alarm. “The hell’s wrong now?”, he asked, his voice sharp but edged with concern. “Did I do something? Did she do something?”.

You shook your head, unable to get any words out through your sobs. You tried to wipe at your face, but the tears just kept coming. “No—no, it’s… it’s just…”, you stammered, your voice breaking as you tried to explain. “It’s you. And her. And this. I can’t…”.

Ben blinked at you, his green eyes wide as he processed your words. For a moment, he looked like he might bolt, the sheer weight of your emotions clearly throwing him off. “Oh, for fuck’s sake”, he muttered under his breath, shifting Aria slightly in his arms as he stood awkwardly by the bed. “It’s the hormones, right? Collins said this would happen”.

You nodded, still sobbing as you reached out a hand toward him, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “You’re so… you’re so good with her”, you choked out. “I didn’t think you’d be so—so perfect”.

Ben’s face flushed slightly, and he glanced down at Aria as if to deflect from your words. “Yeah, well”, he muttered, his voice gruff. “Don’t get used to it. I’m still figuring this shit out”.

But even as he tried to brush it off, you saw the way his arms tightened slightly around Aria, the way he glanced back at you with something softer in his eyes. He stepped closer to the bed, lowering himself into the chair beside you as you continued to cry.

“Christ”, he muttered, his tone softer now as he looked down at you. “You’re a fucking mess”.

“I know”, you wailed, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t help it”.

Ben sighed, shaking his head as he leaned forward slightly, holding Aria against his chest with one hand while his other hand reached out to brush against yours. “Hey”, he said, his voice low but steady. “It’s alright. You’re allowed to cry. Just don’t drown the fucking kid in tears, alright?”.

You let out a watery laugh, wiping at your face as you tried to calm down. “I’m sorry”, you whispered. “It’s just… seeing you with her, it’s everything”.

Ben huffed, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Don´t go writing me a damn poem about it”, he said, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. He looked down at Aria, his expression softening as she shifted slightly against him, her tiny hand brushing against his chest. “But I guess… she’s not so bad. For a chicken”.

That made you laugh again, a weak but genuine sound that cut through the haze of your emotions. “She’s not a chicken, Ben”, you said, your voice trembling but warm.

“She’ll always be a little chicken”, he muttered, glancing back at you. His green eyes held a rare warmth, the kind he usually kept hidden. “And you’re gonna be fine. Both of you”.

It wasn’t even 7 in the morning when Ben stirred beside you. His eyes were still closed, his body heavy with the kind of exhaustion only a few hours of sleep could bring, but his supe hearing had already kicked in. He caught the faint murmur of voices outside your hospital room—familiar ones.

“Is this the right room? They said it was this one, didn’t they?”, your mother’s voice carried through the corridor, a mix of excitement and nerves.

“I don’t want to barge in”, your father replied, though his tone betrayed the eagerness he was trying to hide. “But I’ll be damned if we wait any longer to see her and that baby”.

Ben groaned low in his throat, his arm tightening instinctively around you as he let out a muttered curse. “Your parents”, he grumbled, his voice rough with sleep. “Of course, they’re here already”.

You blinked awake slowly, your body still aching and weak, but your mind sharpening as you processed his words. “My parents?”, you mumbled, trying to sit up. “Already?”.

Ben cracked one eye open, his expression deadpan. “It’s barely sunrise, and they’re out there like it’s fucking Christmas morning”.

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows as you tried to summon the energy to face them. “They’re excited. They’ve been waiting for this as much as we have”.

Ben snorted, shifting slightly in the bed to sit up. “Yeah, well, they could’ve waited until after I’d had more than three hours of sleep”.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of him so grumpy and yet so protective. “Do you want to let them in, or should I?”.

Ben grumbled something unintelligible before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll get it”, he muttered. “Might as well make sure they don’t wake up half the damn hospital”.

He stood, running a hand through his messy hair as he made his way to the door. The sight of him— shirt rumpled from sleeping beside you, his usual tough exterior softened by the exhaustion of the past few days—made your chest tighten. He looked like a man who’d been through hell and back, but also like someone who’d fight that battle all over again if it meant keeping you and Aria safe.

Ben opened the door, his broad frame filling the doorway as he leaned against it, arms crossed. “You couldn’t wait a couple more hours?”, he said gruffly, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at your parents.

Your mother’s face lit up immediately, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she ignored his tone entirely. “Oh, Ben! Is she awake? Can we see her? How’s the baby?”.

Your father cleared his throat, clearly trying to keep things more composed. “Good to see you”, he said, though his gaze kept darting past Ben, trying to catch a glimpse of you inside the room.

Ben sighed, stepping aside to let them in. “Yeah, yeah, come on in”, he muttered. “But keep it down. She’s still recovering”.

The moment your parents stepped into the room, your mother rushed to your side, her hands flying to her mouth as she took in the sight of you. “Oh, sweetheart”, she said, her voice trembling. “You look so pale. Are you okay? How are you feeling?”.

You smiled weakly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I’m okay, Mom. Just tired”.

Your father stood back slightly, his expression softer but no less emotional. “And the baby?", he asked, his voice quiet but full of anticipation.

“She’s perfect”, you said, your smile widening. “They kept her in the recovery room overnight to make sure she’s okay, but she’s healthy. She’s amazing”.

Ben leaned against the wall, watching the interaction with his usual mix of aloofness and quiet observation. Your mother turned to him suddenly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she put her hands on her hips. “And you”, she said, her tone sharp but affectionate. “You’ve been taking care of them, haven’t you?”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “What do you think?”, he said dryly, though his voice held no real edge.

Your mother softened immediately, stepping forward to give him a hug he clearly wasn’t prepared for. “Thank you”, she said quietly. “For being here. For everything”.

Ben froze for a moment, his arms hovering awkwardly before he patted her back stiffly.

Ben stiffly endured your mother’s hug, his hand patting her back awkwardly before she pulled away, her eyes glistening with emotion. He glanced over at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly, silently warning you not to say anything about what had really happened. You’d agreed—your parents didn’t need to know how close you’d come to not making it.

Your father stepped closer to you, his eyes scanning your face, then flicking briefly to Ben as if gauging how things had really been. “You said it was complicated”, he said carefully, his tone neutral but laced with concern. “But… you’re okay now? You sure?”.

“I’m okay, Dad”, you said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “It was just… a lot. But the doctors were incredible. And Ben…”. You glanced over at him, your smile faint but warm. “Ben’s been here the whole time”.

Ben snorted quietly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Yeah, well, not like I had anywhere better to be”, he muttered, his gruff tone doing little to hide the truth.

Your mother sat down on the edge of the bed, taking your other hand in hers. “You should’ve called us sooner”, she said, her voice trembling slightly. “If things were that complicated, we could’ve—”.

“We didn’t want to worry you”, you interrupted gently. “And it all happened so fast. There wasn’t really time”.

Your father frowned slightly but nodded, clearly still uneasy. “What kind of complications?”, he pressed. “You didn’t say much in your texts”.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking to Ben for support. He caught the look and straightened, his expression hardening slightly as he stepped forward. “The kind that aren’t worth dredging up now”, he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “She’s fine. The kid’s fine. That’s what matters”.

Your father’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t push further, his gaze shifting back to you. “As long as you’re okay”, he said quietly. “That’s all we care about”.

Your mother nodded quickly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And you’ll tell us if anything else comes up, won’t you?”, she asked, her voice full of worry.

“Of course”, you said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “But we’re really okay now. I promise”.

Ben’s sharp green eyes shifted toward the door, his head tilting slightly as if listening to something in the distance. He smirked faintly, his arms still crossed over his chest. “Oh, here comes the chicken”, he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Your father frowned, clearly confused. “What chicken?”, he asked, glancing between you and Ben. “What’s he talking about?”.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking your head. “He calls Aria his little chicken”, you explained, your voice full of affection. “It’s his… nickname for her”.

Your mother blinked, her mouth dropping open slightly as she looked at Ben. “You call her a chicken?”, she asked, her tone hovering between disbelief and amusement. “That’s what you’re going with?”.

Ben shrugged, completely unfazed. “She’s tiny, squirmy, and she looks like one of those grill chickens when she’s all curled up”, he said gruffly. “Fits, doesn’t it?”.

Your father looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or question Ben’s sanity, but before anyone could respond further, there was a soft knock at the door. Ben turned toward it just as a nurse peeked in, pushing a small bassinet into the room.

“Someone’s ready to come back to her mom and dad”, the nurse said with a warm smile, her hands gently maneuvering the bassinet into position beside your bed.

Your heart swelled at the sight of Aria, bundled snugly in a soft blanket, her tiny face barely visible beneath the swaddling. She was peaceful, her chest rising and falling with steady little breaths. You felt a lump rise in your throat, the overwhelming love you felt for her making it hard to speak.

Your mother gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, she’s beautiful”, she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Look at her”.

Your father stepped closer, his usually reserved demeanor breaking as he leaned over the bassinet. “She’s so small”, he murmured, his voice full of awe. “But perfect”.

Ben moved to stand beside the bassinet, his broad frame towering over it as he glanced down at Aria. His expression softened, though he quickly masked it with a snort. “Told you”, he said, glancing at your father. “Chicken”.

Your father gave him a bewildered look, but before he could say anything, the nurse lifted Aria from the bassinet and handed her carefully to you. “Here you go, Mom”, she said gently. “She had a great night. Everything looks perfect”.

You cradled Aria against your chest, tears brimming in your eyes as you looked down at her tiny face. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft, contented sigh, and your heart felt like it might burst.

“She’s perfect”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “Absolutely perfect”.

Your mother leaned closer, her hand brushing lightly against Aria’s blanket. “She looks just like you when you were a baby”, she said softly.

Your father hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly as he glanced between you, Ben, and Aria. There was something cautious in his tone as he finally asked, “Anything… strange so far?”.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching as you looked up at Ben. The question lingered heavily in the air, and you saw Ben’s jaw tighten briefly before he rolled his eyes, letting out a low grumble.

“She didn’t laser-eye the fucking nurses, if that’s what you’re asking”, he said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. “No flying off the bassinet, no glowing hands, no weird suped-up baby antics. Happy now?”.

Your father blinked, clearly startled by Ben’s bluntness, but your mother gave him a sharp look. “Oh, for heaven’s sake”, she said, her voice laced with exasperation. “We weren’t accusing her of anything, Ben. It’s just… with everything, you know…”. She gestured vaguely toward you and then back to Aria, her voice softening. “We’re just trying to understand”.

Ben snorted, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to understand. She’s fine. Just a regular, squirmy, chicken-sized kid”. His green eyes flicked to you, softening slightly as he added, “Right now, anyway”.

You gave him a faint smile, your fingers brushing against Aria’s soft cheek as you cradled her closer. “She’s healthy”, you said gently, looking back at your parents. “That’s all that matters right now. She’s just a baby”.

Your father nodded slowly, though his gaze lingered on Aria with quiet curiosity. “And if that changes?”, he asked, his voice steady but serious. “If she does… you know, show signs of something?”.

Ben sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “If that happens, we’ll deal with it”, he said firmly. “Not like we’ve got a choice, do we? But for now, she’s just a kid. No reason to make a big deal out of nothing”.

“Well, you might be bulletproof, but that doesn’t count for my daughter”.

Ben’s sharp green eyes snapped to your father, narrowing slightly as his jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”, he asked, his voice low, edged with warning.

Your father didn’t flinch, though he glanced briefly at you before answering. “It means”, he said carefully, “that if Aria develops some… abilities, and something goes wrong, it’s not you who’ll get hurt. It’s my daughter”.

“Dad”, you said softly, trying to cut through the growing tension, but Ben spoke over you.

Ben’s jaw twitched, but instead of snapping back like you expected, he took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He ran a hand through his messy hair, then turned his intense green gaze on your father, his tone calm but firm.

“She won’t hurt her”, he said quietly, yet the conviction in his voice filled the room. “I won’t let that happen”.

Your father’s brow furrowed, his skepticism evident, but Ben held his ground, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I know what you’re thinking”, Ben continued, his voice steady. “You think because I’ve got a history, because I’ve been on the wrong side of this shit, I don’t know what it’s like to protect people. To protect her”. He glanced at you, his expression softening briefly before his eyes returned to your father. “But you’re wrong. I know exactly what’s at stake. And no matter what happens with Aria—whether she’s got powers or not—I’ll make damn sure she’s in control. And that no one gets hurt”.

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though weighing Ben’s words carefully. “And how can you be so sure?”, he asked. “What if something happens that you can’t stop?”.

Ben didn’t waver. “Then I’ll figure it out”, he said firmly. “I’ve been around long enough to know how to handle supes, how to deal with powers. And more than that, I’ll teach her. If she has abilities, she’s gonna learn how to control them, how to use them if she has to—but never to hurt the people she loves”.

You swallowed hard, your heart swelling at the unexpected vulnerability in Ben’s words. He wasn’t just making promises—he was laying down a foundation for how he’d protect your family, no matter what.

“And as for your daughter”, Ben added, his gaze flicking to you with a softness that made your chest tighten, “nothing’s gonna happen to her. Not while I’m here. I won’t let it”.

Your father studied him for a long moment, his expression still skeptical but not as hard as before. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Alright”, he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ll hold you to that”.

Ben snorted softly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You can try”, he muttered. “But I don’t break promises”.

Your mother, who had been watching the exchange silently, stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on your father’s arm. “I think we all want the same thing”, she said softly, her eyes darting to you and Aria. “To protect her. And to make sure she grows up happy and safe”.

“She will”, you said, your voice trembling slightly as you looked down at your daughter.

Eventually, the tension in the room eased, and the atmosphere grew lighter. Your father seemed to relax a bit, though you could still see the lingering concern in his eyes. Ben leaned back against the wall, watching everything closely, his arms still crossed but his posture less rigid.

When the nurse brought in a tray of food for you, it became clear that sitting up was going to be a challenge. You felt the weakness in your body, but you were determined to try. Ben stepped forward, his instinctive protectiveness kicking in as he prepared to help.

But before he could, your father spoke up. “Let me help her”, he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Ben hesitated, his sharp green eyes flicking to you, then back to your father. For a moment, you thought he might argue, but then he stepped back, nodding slightly. “Fine”, he muttered. “Just don’t drop her”.

Your father shot him a look but didn’t respond, turning his attention to you instead. “Alright, honey”, he said softly, moving to your side. “Let’s take it slow”.

Ben hovered nearby, his gaze tracking every movement as your father carefully helped you shift upright. It took a few tries—your body still felt like it was made of lead—but with your father on one side and Ben subtly steadying you from the other, you managed to sit up. Your head spun slightly, and you felt your father’s grip tighten.

“You okay?”, he asked, his voice full of worry.

“I’m okay”, you said, your voice trembling slightly but full of determination. “Just… dizzy”.

“Let’s try to get you eating”, he said, picking up the tray and setting it in front of you.

Meanwhile, your mother sat on the other side of the room, holding Aria. The baby was bundled snugly in her arms, her tiny face peaceful and serene. Your mother’s eyes were bright with wonder as she rocked her gently. “She’s incredible”, she whispered, glancing at you with a soft smile. “You did good, sweetheart”.

You managed a few small bites, the warm food helping you feel a bit steadier, though your body still felt like it was moving in slow motion. You were hyper-aware of Ben in the room, standing near the wall but with his sharp eyes locked on your mother and Aria. His usual confidence seemed tempered with something quieter—protectiveness, perhaps, or the unease of trusting someone else with his daughter.

You glanced at him as you took another small bite, watching his hands twitch subtly at his sides. It was barely noticeable, but you caught it every time your mom shifted Aria in her arms—pulling the blanket higher, adjusting her tiny hat, or rocking her gently. Every movement seemed to set off some internal alarm in Ben, and though he didn’t move closer, you could see the restraint in his posture.

“Ben”, you said softly, your voice pulling his attention. He raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing tightly over his chest as he looked at you. “She’s fine”.

“I know”, he muttered, though his gaze flicked back to your mother almost instantly, his jaw tightening. “I just don’t like other people… handling her”.

Your father smirked slightly as he adjusted the tray in front of you. “She’s her grandmother”, he said lightly, though his voice held a hint of teasing. “Not exactly ‘other people’”.

Ben shot him a glare, but it lacked his usual bite. “Doesn’t mean I trust her not to drop the chicken”, he grumbled.

“Ben!”, you said, laughing softly despite your exhaustion. “My mom raised me just fine. I think she knows how to hold a baby”.

Ben raised an eyebrow at you, his lips twitching into a faint smirk as he muttered under his breath, “Think she might’ve dropped you a few times too often, though”.

“Ben!”, you exclaimed, though your voice was laced with laughter, your tired body shaking slightly from the effort. “That’s my mom you’re talking about”.

He shrugged, the smirk still lingering as he leaned casually against the wall. “I’m just saying, explains a few things”.

Your mother, who had clearly caught his muttering despite the low tone, turned her head to glare at him, though her lips twitched in amusement. “I heard that”, she said pointedly. “And for the record, I never dropped her. Not once”.

“Not once?”, Ben asked, his tone skeptical as he pushed off the wall and sauntered a step closer. His green eyes glinted mischievously, and he gestured toward you. “Not even when she was squirming around like a little chicken? Seems unlikely”.

Your mother arched an eyebrow, refusing to take the bait. “Not once”, she repeated firmly, her tone prim.

Ben’s smirk grew a fraction as he crossed his arms once more. “Funny”, he muttered toward your mom, “I had you pegged as the clumsy type. Always dropping my coffee or bumping into desks back in the day”.

Your mother froze for a moment, her mouth dropping open slightly in disbelief before she composed herself. “Excuse me?”, she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I did not drop coffee, thank you very much. And that was a long time ago”.

Your dad snorted loudly, clearly unable to hold back. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Oh, come on, sweetheart”, he teased, his grin widening. “You did it on purpose half the time. You were just trying to piss him off. You always said he deserved it for giving Monica all the pay raises and the easy jobs”.

Your mother’s cheeks flushed, but there was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at Ben. “Well”, she said, her voice dry, “I wasn’t wrong, was I? Monica was your favorite, after all”.

“Monica was good at her job”, he said defensively, though the edge in his voice was mild. “Most of the time”.

“Right”, your dad said, still chuckling. “Good at her job—or good at stroking your ego? Because from what I remember, the only thing Monica excelled at was making you feel… like the king of the tower”.

The atmosphere shifted slightly, but instead of turning tense, it remained surprisingly light. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound raspy but genuine. “I think you’ve been caught, Ben”, you teased, your voice weak but amused.

Ben’s smirk returned, sharper now, as he leaned a little closer, his green eyes glinting with his signature boldness. “I bet now everyone’s glad it was Monica and not you, huh?”, he said casually, his voice dripping with dry humor. “Would’ve been a little awkward if I’d first fucked you and then ended up with your daughter”.

The room went completely silent, the weight of his words landing like a bomb.

Your mother’s jaw dropped, her face flushing a deep crimson as she stared at him, utterly speechless. Your father blinked, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and disbelief.

“Ben!”, you exclaimed, your voice a mixture of horror and strained laughter. Despite how exhausted you were, you managed to swat weakly in his direction. “Oh my God, you can’t just say that!”.

“What?”, Ben replied, shrugging innocently, though the smug grin spreading across his face betrayed him. “I’m just saying. Could’ve been a lot messier”.

Your mother finally found her voice, though it came out as more of a strangled squeak. “That is not something you joke about!”.

Your dad, however, broke the silence with a deep, booming laugh, leaning back in his chair as he slapped his knee. “Well, he’s not wrong”, he said, grinning as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Would’ve made for one hell of a family reunion”.

Your mother turned her glare to your father now, smacking his arm. “Don’t encourage him!”, she snapped, though her indignation was starting to crack under the sheer absurdity of the situation.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning loudly. “I can’t believe this is my life”. you mumbled, though there was a faint laugh hidden in your voice.

Your mother threw her hands up in exasperation, her glare darting between you and Ben. “Why is he like this?!”, she asked, her voice full of disbelief. Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned to Ben, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you like this?”.

Ben, entirely unfazed, smirked as he stepped forward, wiggling his fingers dramatically. “C’mon, it’s feeding time”, he said, his voice dripping with mock impatience. “Gimme my daughter”.

Your mother raised a brow, her grip on Aria tightening slightly as she rocked the baby against her chest. “Oh no, I don’t think so”, she said dryly. “You tainted mine; it’s only fair I’ve got yours now”.

Your dad choked on his laugh, quickly turning his head away to hide his grin as you let out a groan, burying your face in your hands again. “Mom!”, you exclaimed, your voice muffled but full of disbelief. “I’m sitting right here!”.

Ben’s smirk only widened, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “Tainted, huh?”, he said, raising an eyebrow at your mom. “Seems like it worked out pretty well for her. Don’t hear any complaints coming from that side of the bed”.

“Ben!”, you hissed, glaring at him with flushed cheeks. “You’re not helping!”.

Your mother’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, but she didn’t back down. Still holding Aria protectively, she raised her chin and shot Ben a look that could have stopped traffic. “Not helping? He’s not even trying to help”, she said sharply, though there was a faint, amused twitch at the corners of her lips. “He’s just making it worse, like always”.

“Worse?”, Ben repeated, arching a brow as he leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. “I’d say I’m making it more interesting. Admit it, the place was boring before I showed up”.

“Boring?”. Your mother scoffed, her voice climbing slightly. “I’ll take boring over you traumatizing my granddaughter with your ‘interesting’ any day”.

Ben snorted. “Oh, please. This kid’s going to have thicker skin than all of us put together. She’s not gonna blink at a little banter. Isn’t that right, chicken?”. He reached out, his large hands gently brushing the edge of the blanket Aria was wrapped in.

Just then, the door creaked open, and the nurse stepped into the room, carrying a small bottle of formula in her hand. She glanced around, her eyes landing on the group as she smiled warmly. “Alright”, she said, holding up the bottle, “who wants to feed her?”.

Ben immediately straightened, his green eyes snapping to the bottle. “Me”, he said gruffly, stepping forward without hesitation. He held out his free hand.

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her arms folding over her chest as she gave him a pointed look. “Oh, you’re volunteering for something now? How generous of you”.

Ben shot her a glare. “She’s my kid”, he said simply, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll feed her”.

Ben sat down carefully on the edge of your bed, right beside you, his movements deliberate as he cradled Aria in one arm and held the bottle with the other. You knew him well enough to see through his act; he could have sat anywhere, but he’d chosen this spot so you could see your baby up close, even from your weakened position. He wouldn’t say it out loud, of course—he’d just let his actions speak for him, like always.

The nurse gave him an approving nod before slipping out of the room.

It was only the second time Ben had fed Aria, but despite the lingering awkwardness in the way he held her impossibly small body, he looked surprisingly confident. His large hands, so used to holding weapons or fists, now supported her tiny frame with a gentleness you wouldn’t have thought possible. There was a rough grace to it, like he was learning quickly, adapting as he went.

Aria squirmed in his arms, her little face scrunching up as she let out a series of soft, annoyed sounds. Her fists flailed weakly, and her tiny legs kicked against the blanket wrapped around her.

“Easy, chicken”, Ben muttered, his deep voice low but soothing as he shifted her slightly in his arms. “I’m getting it. Hold your horses”.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, his usual bravado toned down into something softer as he adjusted his grip on her. He tilted the bottle slightly, making sure it was positioned just right. Aria let out another tiny grunt before finally latching onto the nipple, her little mouth working furiously as she began to feed.

“There we go”, Ben murmured, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Told you I’ve got it”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

-

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219

[elixirfromthestars]

Bucky and any form of comfort is something I always welcome 🥺❤️ Seeing how worried/protective he gets always does something for me 🥺❤️❤️ My lovely, you took the concussion prompt and gave us a sweet moment of comfort with Bucky and it was so wonderful to read!! 🥹🩷

All my feelings under the cut ✉︎ᯓᡣ𐭩

The amount of anxiety I had knowing the fall was coming eventually had me on the edge of my seat!! The bickering and back and forth with Nat just built up the tension perfectly before the fall happened!! 🫢‼️

Natasha uncrosses her arms and takes a step forward, settling her hands on her hips now. Her expression hardens. "Well, he sure as hell couldn't have expected you to risk your neck by fixing it. Barnes could hang those lights without the ladder, Y/n. Honestly, the man would jump to do this for you."

^ Of course he would 🥹🩷 Bucky, the man that you are across all universes, what I would give to have him 🤧🩷🩷

Your descriptions of the fall and the pain throughout were written beautifully!! Truly it was written so vividly and well I could feel every ounce of it!!

Bucky's jaw tightens and he looks like he's holding back a string of curses. His hand moves, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that feels almost out of place given the tension radiating off of him.

"You hit your head?" he asks quietly, softly. So soft indeed it's like your mind floats on a cloud. You might as well just let it reach the sky. His thumb grazes your temple, again so soft, careful not to press anywhere that might hurt. "Where does it hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart."

^ He’s so gentle and sweet with her omggg 😭🩷🩷 I love how he checks up on her and immediately goes into comfort mode 🥺💗

"Can't scare me like that, sweetheart. You hear me? l'l take care of those lights, yeah? You stay away from that ladder. Don't wanna see you up there again."

His tone is soothing. The gravel of his words again softened but the worry he carried since he found you concussed on the floor of your little balcony is still going strong. His hand - a little hesitantly - moves to rest on your thigh, his thumb swiping over the fabric of your trousers. The motion makes your heart stutter.

^ The fact that’s he’s so worried and upset and yet he still reaches out to comfort her 🥺🩷 Maybe even to reassure himself she’s okay and there next to him 🥺🩷🩷

"Hey." A gentle hand settles on your cheek. A thumb swipes over your skin. Warm. So warm.

"You still with me?"His voice is soft. So soft.

"Yeah," you mutter, the faintest smile tugging at your lips again. Bucky's hand makes sure the ice pack is still firmly pressed to the back of your head, every ounce of his focus split between the road and you.

^ Ending it with such a soft exchange and yet giving us the knowledge with Nat that like there’s so much more going on between them—ahhhh I love it!!! 🩷🩷🩷

My lovely, now I want, no I need Bucky to come and comfort me like this whenever I need it 🥺❤️ Having such a soft worried Bucky by my side would solve all of my problems 🥺🩷🩷 Written beautifully as always!!! 🫶🏼💕

Whumpcember (day 5)

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: Concussion

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Reader gets concussed; worried!Bucky

Author’s note: This is my first fic for this year’s Whumpcember writing challenge. Hope you guys enjoy this! Thank you for the support after my October writing challenges that motivated me enough to do something like this again!! ♡

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

“Y/n, I’m serious. This is a bad idea.”

“Stop lecturing me, Nat, I’ve got this!”

“You’re two seconds away from breaking your neck. Not to mention ruining my night.”

“I am deeply flattered by your concern,” you tease, shooting her a sideways grin as you shift your weight on the ladder beneath your feet that groans faintly. “But you could have a little faith in me, you know.”

You tug another section of the Christmas lights in your hand loose, readying to hang them up. One foot wobbles slightly as you reach up and you balance yourself out on the uneven ground.

Natasha’s voice drops into that icy, lethal calm you’ve seen her use right before someone gets their ass handed to them. “Alright. If you don’t get your ass down that ladder in two seconds-”

You interrupt her with a huff, rolling your eyes as they stay focused on securing the lights. “Jokes on you, Romanoff - I’m probably the only person alive who isn’t scared of your threats.”

Natasha is leaning against the door to the balcony, arms crossed, her dark red hair catching the glow of the evening light. Her sharp eyes are locked on your form precariously balancing on the ladder.

She exhales sharply. Her brow quirks, but her jaw tightens. “You know, Barnes isn’t going to lose sleep if those lights don’t go up,” she states flatly, voice brimming with the no-nonsense tone you know all too well. “Actually, he won’t notice a damn thing. But what he will notice is you flat on your back in a hospital bed, wrapped in a cast because you couldn’t stay off a shaky ladder.”

She crosses her arms tighter and although she actually looks quite composed to you, you know she’s on edge. Her voice is firm.

You let out a frustrated huff, focusing on freeing another stubborn knot in the string. The December air makes your fingertips tingle. You shudder slightly at a harsh and cold gust of wind, swaying just a little to the left and gripping the balcony edge to steady yourself.

You twirl the string of lights dramatically, then carefully secure the next hook.

“Relax, Nat. I’ll be done before he gets back. And then all he’s going to notice are these beautiful lights-” you grunt while reaching higher “- shining on the balcony. After all, he’s always complaining it’s too dark out here. So, problem solved.”

Natasha uncrosses her arms and takes a step forward, settling her hands on her hips now. Her expression hardens. “Well, he sure as hell couldn’t have expected you to risk your neck by fixing it. Barnes could hang those lights without the ladder, Y/n. Honestly, the man would jump to do this for you.”

You glance down at her shortly, still stubborn and confident, and wave a dismissive hand as you reach to hook another section. “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if he did it himself.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “A trip to the ER isn’t worth your little holiday moment, Y/n.”

“There won’t be a trip to the ER-”

The jingling of keys at the front door pulls you out of your banter with Natasha, stopping your comment from reaching its end. It startles you enough that your hand freezes mid-motion, the lights tangled loosely in your grip. Your heart skips a beat.

Bucky is home.

The realization hits you as your body reacts - a tiny, involuntary jerk that throws off your already unsteady stance. The ladder sways beneath you. You sharply shift your weight, searching for solid footing, but your foot lands on empty air instead of the rung you expected.

Time seems to speed up and slow down all at once.

The ladder teeters violently, and before you can even process what’s happening, gravity yanks you downward.

A split second of panic floods your chest. A startled shriek tears from your throat. The next thing you feel is the sharp and immediate pain blossoming at the back of your head, as it connects with the hard wall of your apartment. The impact sends stars bursting across your vision.

The world spins briefly, but before the ground can meet you, Natasha’s arms wrap around you, keeping you from crumpling onto the floor and perhaps landing wrong.

“Damn it, Y/n!” Natasha’s voice is almost harsh but she gently lowers you to the ground. Her face is close to yours, her green eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and concern.

“Y/n?”

The shout echoes from inside the apartment, strong and tinged with alarm.

Bucky’s voice barely reaches you through the throbbing in your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out everything except the pounding pain.

Your name comes again, louder this time, closer - close enough for the panic in his voice to reach your fuzzy mind. You wince.

The sound of hurried footsteps rings out against the floor. The balcony door flies open. Before you can get hold of what’s happening, Bucky is there.

He moves too quickly for your brain to fully process in your clouded state - one moment, he’s at the door across the room inside, and the next he’s crouched in front of you, his broad frame blocking out everything else.

His eyes rake over your face, your body, wide with worry. He’s scanning you like he’s trying to piece together exactly what happened.

“Y/n,” he says again, voice softer now, but not less urgent.

You can’t answer immediately. The pain in your head pulses severely, radiating outwards in waves. You wince as you reach back to touch the sore spot gingerly.

Bucky’s gaze darts upwards, undoubtedly looking at Natasha who is kneeling beside you, her arm steady around you. “What the hell happened?” he demands, voice dropping low.

“She fell off the damn ladder,” Natasha explains bluntly, nodding toward the object still standing behind you. “Hit her head on the wall on the way down. I caught her before it got worse.”

The pain flares again and you let out a soft groan.

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he looks like he’s holding back a string of curses. His hand moves, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that feels almost out of place given the tension radiating off of him.

“You hit your head?” he asks quietly, softly. So soft indeed it’s like your mind floats on a cloud. You might as well just let it reach the sky. His thumb grazes your temple, again so soft, careful not to press anywhere that might hurt. “Where does it hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Back,” is all you manage. It sounds hoarse. It doesn’t sound like your voice and you’re surprised for a second, blinking confused.

Bucky’s hand is still on your face, his body right in front of you. The sharp and tense exhale that falls from his lips reaches your cheeks. His other hand clenches into a fist before he forces it to relax. His knuckles remain white.

“You shouldn’t even have been up there. What were you thinking, mhm?” he says, voice thick and tight, though there is a glimmer of guilt.

“Lights,” you croak, wincing, wildly gesturing with your hand to the halfway-secured Christmas lights above.

“Why didn’t you wait? Would’a done that for you, doll.”

“Surprise.”

“Tried telling her that. Stubborn as they would come.”

Natasha and you talk at the same time.

You tried glaring at her but it was a rather weak attempt and Bucky’s hand restricts possible motions with your head to meet her eyes.

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line and he shakes his head as if trying to push away his frustration. He shifts even closer, eyes intently focused on yours. You can’t look at him for long. “Y/n,” he instructs softly but firmly, “I need you to tell me if you feel dizzy or if your vision’s blurry. Anything feels wrong, you say it. Got it?”

You manage a weak nod, though the motion sends another twinge of pain through your skull. “My head is pounding, but… no dizziness.”

His shoulders relax just a fraction but his hand doesn’t leave your face and he doesn’t stop assessing you with his eyes. His thumb brushes along your cheek tenderly. “Okay. We’ll get you inside. Ice pack, and then straight to the ER. A doc should check you over.”

You open your mouth but Bucky anticipates your protest. “No arguing,” he scolds stiffly, though there is a pleading undertone that shuts you up.

“Called it,” Natasha remarks dryly, shooting you a chastising glance. A hint of a smirk tugs at her lips, though her tone remains all business.

Bucky doesn’t smile. He doesn’t so much as blink at her comment. His eyes stay locked on yours, and the worry etched into his features doesn’t ease a bit. His brow is pinched, furrowed so tightly, it’s almost painful to look at but that could also just be your aching head.

Bucky and Natasha help you inside and immediately catch you and hold you firmly to their sides when you stumble slightly. Natasha grabs an ice pack at Bucky’s command. She knows better than to argue with him when it comes to you.

So she lets him half carry you to his car while she slips to the kitchen and gets a pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. She hands it to Bucky without a word.

Once you’re in the passenger seat, Bucky crouches beside you in the open door, carefully pressing the pack to the back of your head. The chill bites at your skin, making you flinch just a little. You bring your hands up to hold it there yourself.

After making sure you’re okay with this position and sitting comfortably and no other pains have come up, he climbs into the driver's seat.

His intensity doesn’t waver.

His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it has to be - just shy of crushing - and his jaw works as he grinds his teeth, the muscles in his neck and shoulders visibly taut. You imagine stretching out your hand to the back of his neck and massaging the tender skin there. You blink away the thought. Surprised it even came up.

Bucky glances at you every few seconds and you feel Natasha’s gaze on you as well from the backseat. The silence in the car is heavy.

It’s almost unbearable and you hate seeing Bucky this rigid. You’re afraid he’s mad at you.

“Buck, it’s just a bump-”

You don’t get to finish your reassurance. His head snaps in your direction, eyes flashing with something unreadable. “It’s not just a bump, doll,” he cuts in adamantly, but behind the steel in his tone, there is the softness that always accompanies his voice when he talks to you. “You hit your head hard enough to almost black out for a second. That’s not something to shrug off.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the shake of Natasha’s head catches your peripheral vision and you drop it.

“Should have waited for you. M’ sorry,” you say silently, hands still holding that ice pack to your head.

Bucky lets out a long drawn sigh. Heavy. A hand moves over his face. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Can’t scare me like that, sweetheart. You hear me? I'll take care of those lights, yeah? You stay away from that ladder. Don’t wanna see you up there again.”

His tone is soothing. The gravel of his words again softened but the worry he carried since he found you concussed on the floor of your little balcony is still going strong. His hand - a little hesitantly - moves to rest on your thigh, his thumb swiping over the fabric of your trousers. The motion makes your heart stutter.

Your head feels foggy, like you’re floating just out of sync with the world. A faint, dumbly smile tugs at your lips, the pain in your scull muted for a moment by the softness in his eyes. You blink slowly, words tumbling out before you can think clearly about how you phrase your sentences to make them have a purpose.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you mumble, voice slightly slurred. Your head is spinning. Your words come slow. “You always say it’s too dark out there. And they are Christmasy. The lights. S’ nice.”

There is silence for a beat beat but then Bucky lets out a tiny huff of laughter. It’s more like a released breath but it makes your cheeks flush and your heart pick up all the same. You’re grinning again. You love the sound of his laugh. It’s the last thing you want to hear right before you die. It’s the only thing you want to hear for the rest of your life.

You blink again. Damn, your head really is messed up a little.

Bucky shakes his head slightly. He sighs again, deeply. A little strained. “That's sweet, Y/n,” he murmurs and he holds your eyes a moment longer. They are glinting with something. There is definitely fondness there but also something deeper. “And the lights look real nice, doll, but-”

“See?” you interrupt and throw a triumphant grin back at Natasha.

That earns you a full-fledged glare.

You turn back around.

“Still,” his voice drops again, returning solemn just like his expression as he looks back at the road ahead. “No surprises for a while, yeah? Let me handle things like that.”

There is a slight crack in his voice.

You blink at him again, trying to focus, but your muddled brain and the amount of his concern make it hard to form a coherent response. You only nod faintly. Thankfully, your head doesn’t hurt as bad at the movement anymore.

You might also imagine the knowing smirk pulling at Natasha’s lips in the backseat. She’s awfully silent behind you, eyes flicking between you and Bucky with a smugness in her expression. You pinch your brows together and try to figure out what this is about but your mind can’t seem to comprehend much at the moment.

“Hey.”

A gentle hand settles on your cheek. A thumb swipes over your skin. Warm. So warm.

“You still with me?”

His voice is soft. So soft.

“Yeah,” you mutter, the faintest smile tugging at your lips again.

Bucky’s hand makes sure the ice pack is still firmly pressed to the back of your head, every ounce of his focus split between the road and you.

Natasha keeps smirking.