#i have a final tomorrow but instead of preparing i finally finished this

[jhdyuiee]

unconditional

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ pairing: ex-bf!jaehyun x fem!reader

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ warnings/tags: smut!, angst (first day back & i’m breaking yall’s hearts, sorry!!!), unprotected sex, oral (f&m receiving), multiple positions, multiple orgasms, cum eating, marking/biting, smacking, tit/breast play, making out/kissing, fingering, name calling (good girl) and pet names (love), jaehyun is jealous type, rough jaehyun, cliffhanger/mysterious ending (also sad)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ w.c: 2.7k

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ a.n: hi, jiji is back! hm, it’s been a while. in all honesty, this abrupt break i decided to take worked out in the end bcs school has been a big pain in the ass as of late & so writing has gotten hard. i also would like to apologize once more for honestly everything. however i am back now and yes, yes i know jaehyun leaves tomorrow… sigh, let’s just say that for now bcs if not i’ll start tearing up, lol. don’t forget to stay safe guys, i love you very dearly & thank you for waiting, i will be back with so much more! 🤍

the rain came pouring down hard and unexpectedly. you were not prepared for this at all, so you took shelter inside a cafe. you settled on waiting until the rain calmed down so you could go home.

staring at the gloomy weather made you rather gloomy as well. you never had fond memories of the rain, no dancing in the rain with your lover. instead, it was almost as if the rain brought your life some type of bad luck.

“y/n?” a male voice calls for you, causing you to turn.

your eyes widened, lips slightly parting at the person who stood in front of you.

“jaehyun?” you say lowly, low enough for the two of you to hear.

his face too changes, it’s almost like he’s trying to process it really was you who was in front of him. you took him in, noting how he hasn’t changed in the 5 years since you’d parted. in fact you’d say he got even more… hotter?

“it really is you,” he says breathlessly, to which you nod. “i-is the seat taken?” he asks as he points to the seat in front of you.

“n-no” you respond. he sits down, looking right at you.

“how have you been?” he starts off by asking.

“well… i-i suppose i’ve been fine. how about you?”

he thinks for a second before responding. “i could be better,” he says, chuckling. your heart nearly melting at the sight of his dimples, the very ones you used to adored.

he asks you more questions about how the past 5 years had gone, you too gaining insight on his past 5 years. there was never any mention if you or him were in a relationship during the past 5 years, it was almost like a forbidden topic.

you mindlessly turn to the window, noting how the rain had finally stopped but the clouds were still there. you didn’t know whether to leave mid-conversation or stay a while longer. it had been 5 years, 5 excruciating years without him… to leave him now was-

“are you going to leave?” his questions bring you back to him.

your mouth opens, then closes, and opens again but he interrupts. “don’t leave… not yet. instead, please stay with me for today y/n,” he asks.

you didn’t even hesitate, already settling on your answer before he even finished asking you. you two leave the cafe, you follow him walking alongside him under his umbrella. your head filled with the endless possibilities of how today could go and where the night would lead you.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“y/n,” jaehyun whispers into your ear in a sultry tone.

your hot breath tickled his ear as your eyes interlocked with his lustful eyes. you wanted him, he wanted you. it had been so long since you’ve felt not only his touch, but a touch at all.

“can i?” he whispers as his eyes are on your lips. you nod, inviting him in.

his lips crash onto yours, melting together as they once used to. he started off gentle, almost as if he were testing the waters before involving the kiss into something more rough and filled with desire. it brought you back to the days of 5 years ago.

his hands traveled to the back of your head, tugging on your hair. his tongue fighting its way inside you until it began crashing with yours. you started feeling weak, legs almost giving out but he held you. he pressed you against the wall, body nearly melting into yours. you could feel his hardened member as it pressed against you.

you moaned into the kiss, trying to say his name. he tugged on your bottom lip, finally departing from your lips. your eyes watery, face feeling hot all over. your dazed gaze finding jaehyun’s lustful one. jaehyun groans before sinking onto his knees. you knew where this was going, so you helped him.

you began taking off your shirt, bra, and unbuttoning your jeans, taking them off. just as you were about to take off your panties, his hands stopped you. “just open your legs for me,” he says, to which you obliged.

jaehyun gives you one last look before disappearing in between your legs. you felt his lips nip and kiss on your inner thighs, making sure to mark you up. his wet tongue licks your already soaked panties, moaning when he gets a small taste of you. a taste he has been dying to have for 5 years.

sliding your panties to the side he licks your cunt up once, getting a full taste of you now. jaehyun almost swears he’s addicted to you again. “how i’ve missed this taste,” he moans, meeting your eyes again before diving back inside you.

his tongue swipes up your slit one more time before using his two thumbs to spread your pussy lips apart. he lets his tongue intrude inside your entrance, sliding against your gummy walls. you moaned rather loudly at the intrusion, tightening around his tongue. jaehyun could feel as your walls throbbed around his tongue, his cock hardening at the thought of how your cunt would feel wrapped nicely around him. jaehyun cursed himself, finding himself too impatient.

you began chanting his name, crying it out with every fucking of his tongue. he found your voice so sweet, so beautiful like a song he could hear on repeat and never get tired of. your fingers grabbed onto his soft locks of hair, grinding yourself on his face. your clit rubbing against his nose, you felt yourself reaching your end already. jaehyun knew you far too well too, knowing you were reaching your end as well. so he grips onto your thighs, fucking his tongue quicker and when he feels your walls clench around him he pulls his tongue out.

you were left on edge, whining at the loss of sensation of not being able to cum. jaehyun didn’t look up, busying himself with kitty licking your cunt. he kissed your sensitive clit, once, twice, three times. so lost you failed to notice his two digits that already worked their way along your slit.

“j-jaehyun?” you asked hazily, looking down at the male as he already stared straight at you. ���wha- oh my god!” you moaned out the last part when you felt his two digits plunge inside your soaking cunt. the squelching sound echoing in the doorway, you didn’t even worry about if your neighbors heard. you were far too focused on the way his fingers fucked inside you over and over so quickly. already sensitive from his tongue, you were close to cumming again.

“i-i’m gonna c-cum!” you breathlessly groaned, biting down on your lips so as to not shout again. jaehyun had no intention of leaving you on edge again, so he fucked his fingers into you faster and deeper. he attached his lips onto your clit, toying with it. he remembered how much you loved it when he would teasingly dote on your clit. jaehyun knew your body as if it were his first language.

you let out a gasp before you finally came all over his hand and face. you hadn’t cum like that in a while, your fingers only being able to pleasure you so much. jaehyun licked you up one more time before kissing your clit. he got up, holding your body up before you could fall onto the ground. your legs were giving up already.

he shoved his soaked fingers into your mouth, your tongue licking them clean. “you did so good, love. was always such a good girl for me,” he whispers. his way of words, too, always turned you on.

when you finally licked him clean, he removed his hand from your mouth. in a split second his demeanor changes, his eyes turning more gentle. “as much as i wanna be inside you, i don’t have a condom. so-” you interrupt him. “i-it’s alright jae, please just… i wanna feel you.”

your words too turned him on, in a matter of seconds his pants and boxers were off. his aching cock standing proud. “jump,” he tells you.

you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist. your back still against the wall. his cock rubbed along your soaking slit before his leaking tip plunged into your entrance. 

“fuck- you’re so tight, no one fucked this pretty pussy while i was gone?” he groans. you didn’t respond, already drunk stupidly on his cock that was snugly wrapped around your gummy walls. it had been too long since you’d taken anything like his.

your eyes widened when you felt a smack against your ass cheek. “i asked you a question, or are you too drunk already to answer,” he says in a rough tone.

“uh, ye-yes b-but they don’t c-compare to y-you!” you moaned loudly when you felt him thrust into you rougher, deeper.

jaehyun was always the jealous type when it came to you, you were his and his alone is what he thought. in his world, no one was allowed to have you, it was the one thing he regretted when you two broke up. he couldn’t fathom the fact that some filthy bastard would be able to lay his hands on you, someone as tasteful as you.

“no one could leave you satisfied, right love?” he asks you, to which you just repeatedly say no. his mouth forms into a smile before his lips find themselves on your shoulder. his lips kiss along them, traveling to your neck, and jaw before coming down to your tits.

he pecks one of your tits before wrapping his mouth around your nipple. he accidently bites on your nipple when he feels you clench around his cock. jaehyun mutters a small curse as he kisses his way to your other breast. it receives the same attention as the previous one, only that this time he doesn’t accidentally bite your nipple.

“such perfect tits… were always my favorite,” jaehyun mutters, kissing your tit before parting from it. “now then, are you ready?” he asks you.

“y-yes please fuck me, be rough like you used to,” you said desperately as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

jaehyun’s hands grip onto the bottom of your ass where he lifts you up slightly before plunging you back down on his cock, chucking at your choked out moan. you truly were the cutest, he loved you so very much.

he slides his cock in and out, out and in, of you. he groaned against your exposed neck as you repeatedly clenched around him. you couldn’t help it, jaehyun fucked you so deeper, cock reaching your womb with every thrust. it wouldn’t be long before you’d cum again.

crushing you to the wall, he secures you against it so he could maneuver one of his hands to your clit. he used his thumb to rub the poor thing, “cum, cum on my cock like the good old days love.”

and so you do, erupting around his cock that still fucked into you. you knew he wouldn’t stop until he came, so you waited, encouraging him with filthy words to get him worked up. it was doing the trick, you felt him twitch inside you.

“whe-where do you w-want me to cum?” he asks you, thrusting into you quickly, nearly at his release.

“in mmh-me!” you moaned, clenching around him. “a-are you sure?” he questions you.

“y-yes, i’ll buy a pill tomorrow– please, just please i wanna feel your warmth inside me~”

“fuck,” jaehyun curses, filling you up with his seeds. his lips crashing onto yours as you milked him of his cum.

he parts from the steamy kiss you two just shared to carry you to your bedroom. he still remember the layout of your apartment. jaehyun drops you on your bed, and you watch as he takes off his shirt, sneakily glancing at his still hardened member. your mouth is nearly drooling all the more.

“turn around, on your hands and knees love,” jaehyun says, watching as you obliged to his every word. he watched as you arched your back, ass sticking out nicely, leaking with his cum. he couldn’t resist smacking your ass, left and right roughly. you moaned against your bed comforter, clenching it tightly as you got smacked from behind. you feel his warm cum dripping down your thigh, you try clenching your entrance– jaehyun taking notice.

“how cute, trying to make sure it doesn’t slip out?” he teasingly says before jerking his cock, bringing it to your slit. he rubs against your juices and his cum before stretching your gummy walls once more. it was incomprehensible how tight you always were, just right for him– just made for him.

“how is it love? you always loved it when i took you from behind, didn’t you?” he continues to tease you. “i love it! i love your cock so much j-jae, so good~”

he gripped your hips tighter, tight enough to leave prints the next day. you felt as his tip touched your g-spot so clearly, reaching your womb with every thrust in. jaehyun watches as you begin to wiggle underneath, shaking your ass against him. he smirks, smacking your ass which jiggled from his touch.

a white ring formed around his cock, a mixture of you both. it oddly enough ignited him, fucking into you in rapid, deeper strokes. your tears and drool adorning the comforter. your tight walls hugging his cock tightly, and with one smack to your ass you came for a third time. you gushed all over his pelvis.

“good girl,” jaehyun mutters, continuing his ministrations before he too came once again. only this time he didn’t part from your pussy, fucking you in slow, gentle thrust.

by the time he finished, he laid on your bed. jaehyun was exhausted, and you were too but… you still had something up your sleeve. crawling to him you stopped on his side. “wh-what are you doin-” jaehyun gets interrupted mid-sentence when he feels your lips kiss his tip. he didn’t stop you, in fact he wanted you to continue.

you spit on his cock, jerking it as to spread your saliva along his shaft. your eyes traveling back to jaehyun who hungrily looked at you. going back to his cock you lower your head, opening your mouth so you could finally take him inside. you shoved his cock inside until the tip reached your throat, you gagged and groaned against his cock when you felt him twitch inside. staying like that for a while longer, trying to get accommodated. once you did, you started bobbing your head on his cock, using your tongue to lick along his shaft. never forgetting to tease his slit, something he loved.

you felt as one of his hands tugged on your hair, helping you to better move yourself on his cock. jaehyun was a mess, he felt blessed– praised the lords above. he tried thinking of the nastiest atrocities known to mankind as to not bust so quickly, but that proved to be an impossible task. i mean, how could he when you so beautifully wrapped your sweet mouth around his cock.

and so it wasn’t long before he came inside your mouth, your mouth feeling his warmth before swallowing it down. you now felt so full, unable to take anymore. jaehyun too, you milked him dry, taking all of him in you.

you crawled to him, laying beside him. he engulfs you into his embrace, kissing you so tenderly. you two were exhausted but for what it was worth, it wasn’t regretful. his hand strokes your back, playing with your hair. it was peaceful, so peaceful that you secretly wished for your days to be like this. you were almost lulled to sleep by jaehyun before you opened your eyes when he whispered into the quiet room.

“we’re unconditionally timeless, and so is our love.”

far too exhausted to reply back, you just smile. you snuggled into his body, melting into him before you drifted off to dreamland. however, it wasn’t until you woke up the next day and felt the cold that you knew. 

jaehyun was gone, gone from your life once more. the intimate night you two shared last night, his parting gift.

there was no getting back together, no peaceful nights where the two of you lay in each other’s embrace. you cried and cried that entire morning, and silently prayed for a day where you two could reunite again. for fate to align you two again because after all…

jeong jaehyun was your first love and last love.

© jhdyuiee

2024. 11. 03

final a.n: AHHHHH, jae leaves tomorrow. i don’t know what to do guys, like my man is leaving for the next 2 years. like what do you mean my man who has served needs to serve more?! consider this story as my last jaehyun fic while he is still a free man, lol, and no this doesn’t mean i’ll stop writing abt him. instead, think of this as a new beginning (?) okay i think that’s enough… i’ma go now! i hope you all enjoyed this read (wrote it in one day, very proud of my dedication after all the chaos school has brought me) and i’ll be sure to upload lots this month! stay safe, may we jaehyun fans make it until may 2026!

p.s: the cover picture makes me go feral, i just had to include it!

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 IN PAPER RINGS AND PICTURE FRAMES!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai has never been a true believer of murphy’s law, not until today at least. he swears the world is out to get him, all he wanted was to give you a nice valentine’s day... and maybe something a little extra special. (wordcount: 6.7k; sfw; very brief mentions of dazai's attempts, fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: valentine's day fic for my sweetest boy

“What do you mean I can’t have the day off?” Dazai cries out, staring down at his phone in abject horror. A pillow is flung at his head and Dazai sputters out an apology to you before lifting his phone back to his ear, making a point to lower his voice as he says, “Kunikida-kun, it’s Valentine’s Day. Not even you can be this heartless.”

“Dazai!” Kunikida says, voice stern and sharp, and Dazai knows that the man is serious because he’s not spitting out insults about Dazai’s laziness and lack of drive to do anything but lounge around and avoid work. “Trust me. It brings me no joy to make you come in today—not for your sake, but for her’s. But we have to finish up the final preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission before they leave for Kyoto tomorrow morning. Get to the office now.”

“Kunikida-kun,” Dazai complains, feeling a bit more panicked, “but I-”

“Maybe if you had actually done your work the past few days, I could’ve covered for you,” Kunikida spits out angrily. “But we have double the workload to finish by tonight because you’ve been slacking off the past week. Anyway, you shouldn’t be calling the day of asking for a day off. Be to the office asap.”

Kunikida doesn’t even wait for Dazai’s response, hanging up the phone and leaving Dazai standing in your apartment staring at his phone with parted lips and wide eyes, unable to comprehend what just happened. A noise escapes his lips, something caught between a scoff and a whimper, and Dazai thinks he might cry. He feels like a wounded puppy as he turns his attention over to where you’re still curled up in bed, eyes barely cracked open as you watch him with furrowed brows.

“Bella…” he pouts, making his way over to you so he can sit next to you on the bed. “They’re making me go into the office.”

You only roll toward him, eyes heavy with sleep, barely able to hold them open, and Dazai’s chest feels tight and warm with a lovely feeling that he’s only ever experienced with you. He reaches out to cup your cheek, fingertips grazing your skin—your lashes flutter as your eyes droop back shut, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of someone seeking out his touch, trusting his hands as if they aren’t rotted and blood-stained.

“Then go,” you say with a yawn, leaning into his touch and pulling the dark comforter back up around your shoulders from where it had slipped down your body.

Dazai pushes his lip out even more. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to spend the day with you. You took off today too.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and Dazai wants to tell you that it is decidedly not okay but he can’t tell you that because you’ll ask why and he can’t tell you without ruining everything. “I’m tired anyway. Someone decided to keep me up half the night.” 

Dazai can hardly even muster the vulgar smile and dirty joke that should have come to him with ease, and evidently, that’s proof enough to you that something must be seriously wrong because you crack your eyes back open and peer up at him, concern slowly eclipsing the tiredness. Another thing he’ll never be used to: having someone genuinely worry over him even over the smallest things. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him softly, yawning again as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. The comforter slides down from around your shoulders again, revealing the smooth skin of your bare shoulders and collarbone, and Dazai wishes for nothing more than to slip beneath the sheets with you, wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your chest.

Instead, he lets himself lean into your touch for a moment, eyes falling shut as he basks in the feeling of your fingers carding through his dark locks, nails gently scraping his scalp. He thinks he could stay in this moment forever, but alas, the serenity is utterly shattered when his phone starts buzzing again.

Dazai lets out a heavy exhale, dark eyes dragging from you to where his phone is laying on the bed next to him, seeing Atsushi’s name flash on the screen—surely having been told by Kunikida to follow up and make sure that Dazai is actually going to show up at the office. 

“I just wanted to spend the day with you,” he says, a bit of a white lie, but he can’t tell you the real reason why he’s so disappointed. “He’s had it out for me ever since we got together. He’s jealous. This is his way of getting one over me.”

You smile lightly at him, pulling his face down a bit so that you can press your lips against his. Dazai sighs into your mouth, eyes sliding shut again as he kisses you, hand coming up again to cup your cheek as his lips move against yours. The kiss is slow and intimate, but far too short for his liking. You pull your lips away from his and Dazai gives you a wounded look when he tries to chase your lips only for you to dodge with a giggle. 

“Go, Osamu,” you tell him and Dazai lets out a groan, letting his head drop to your chest. You toy with his hair and Dazai wants to tell you that doing that is only going to make him want to stay even more but he also doesn’t want you to stop so he decides against it. “The faster you get there and get your work done, the quicker you can come home.”

Home. Another word he might never get used to, his chest feels warm and fluttery as he tilts his head to the side so he can peer up at you. “Or I can just not go in at all and deal with Kunikida’s righteous fury tomorrow.”

“No,” you say firmly, tugging at his ear and making him yelp. “Go, Osamu. Don’t be ridiculous. Let me sleep.”

Dazai sighs, rising to his feet and letting you curl back beneath the covers. He wants to tell you that it’s not that simple and that he has a whole plan and he needs to follow it strictly otherwise he’s scared that everything will go wrong, but there’s no way of explaining that to you without having to tell you why which would ruin everything. Lamenting to himself, he shrugs his coat onto his shoulders and leans down to press his lips between your brows as you start to doze off again, brushing your hair behind your ear and letting his eyes linger on your face, skin glowing gently beneath the early morning sun. 

It takes all of his willpower to step away from you and make his way out of your apartment, the ring in his pocket weighing more heavily with every step he takes.

•••

Dazai is really trying his best not to let his frustration spoil the night. The sun has already long set. What should have been a short day at the office finishing up paperwork ended up with him working overtime because of an emergency mission on the far side of the city concerning an ability user who could mimic appearances. Everybody else is still at the office trying to finish up preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission in Kyoto but the President had taken one look at Dazai’s abysmal expression and told him to go home and be with you.

And Dazai should appreciate that, honestly, otherwise he’d be stuck at the office until god knows when, leaving you at home alone all day and all night on the one day he was planning to spend the whole day with you, but he’s so bitter that he can’t even summon the appreciation he should feel. You’re taking it in stride, of course, telling him that it’s okay and you’re not mad even though Dazai insists that you definitely should be. He called you while on the train with Kunikida, curled up in a seat pouting as he shot his partner dirty looks and mourned his shitty luck because of course this would happen on the day he was planning to make the biggest decision of his life, and yours.

Not that he could tell you that part, obviously.

Kunikida had been rightfully guilty, apologizing to Dazai for the day taking as long as it did and continuously shooting him ashamed looks, but Dazai couldn’t even bask in the knowledge that Kunikida is actually apologizing to him for making him work because he’s so frustrated about how the day has gone compared to what he had planned.

It’s still salvageable, he reminds himself, glancing down at his phone. The reservations he placed for the restaurant aren’t for another hour and a half. He has plenty of time to walk back to your apartment and change so he can take you out for the night, and the thought of taking you out for the night makes all of the frustration he’s feeling absolutely disappear, entirely overshadowed by the giddiness tingling through his limbs and the nerves that tighten his chest. 

Tonight.

He twists his hands in front of his body, eyes catching on a convenience store at the corner of the block, a wide range of chocolates and flowers on display at the main window. With only a moment’s hesitation, he speeds up his pace, flinging open the door to the convenience store and beelining right to the dwindling Valentine’s Day display, weathered down by other frantic partners who were late to get their beloved gifts.

He lets out a relieved puff of air when he sees that your favorite flowers and chocolates are still available, although he’s a bit irate because the flowers aren’t as healthy as they should be, but he supposes it’s his own fault. Of course they're not going to be in perfect shape after being on display all day—if he wanted perfect flowers, he should’ve bought and brought them to you first thing in the morning.

Which he could have done if it weren’t for Kunikida, he thinks bitterly, deciding to place all of the blame on his coworker instead.

He drops the flowers and chocolates at the cash register, where an older man is working, and Dazai pulls out his wallet, flipping through to grab a few yen and place them on the counter.

The older man lets out a bit of a chuckle as he scans the chocolates and the flowers. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you, boy?” he notes. “Can’t have a happy lady at home, I know mine is angry as a bull. Hope you have more than this to appease the girl.” 

Dazai winces and then mutters, “She’s not angry, I got pulled into work. She understands.” 

It sounds pathetic even to his own ears. The man finds it amusing, evidently, from how he has to smother another laugh as he gets Dazai his change.

“Mine said she was fine with it too,” he says, “but I know I’m coming home to the cold shoulder. They never say what they mean, son.” 

Dazai’s mood falters again, the giddiness and nerves slipping away into something colder because he’s feared since he left this morning that you would be bitter over him having to go into work today. And he knows deep down that you’re not like that, that if you say it’s fine, it really is fine most of the time, but a part of him can’t help but wonder if you’re only saying it because you don’t want to stress him out even more, because he’d made it abundantly clear this morning that he wasn’t happy. 

“There you go,” the older man passes over his change and the flowers and chocolates. “Good luck.”

Dazai can barely even bring himself to give the man a proper thank you, making his way back out of the convenience stores with the flowers and chocolates in hand. His eyes flicker down to his phone again, catching the time before he continues down the street—the pit stop had only taken a few minutes, but Dazai is doubly anxious to get back home to you now. Not just because he’s worried that you’re not quite as okay with it as you’ve made yourself out to be, but also because he misses you and just wants to get back home to you, this day has been too long and it’s been especially hellish and jarring because he woke up this morning thinking he’d get to spend the entire day with you.

He’s ready to get home to you. He’s ready to take you out to dinner. He’s ready to take you down to the gardens and he’s ready to-

God, he’s ready to propose. After all of these damn years, he’s finally ready and he will not let a shitty day at work ruin that for him. He still has the whole night, and that’s what’s important because…

He stares at his hand, where a droplet of water had splashed against his skin. A dreadful feeling arises, dark and slithering as it spreads through him. He turns his gaze up to the dark sky—dark because the sun has set, yes, but he realizes now, with a pit in his gut, that it’s also because storm clouds seem to be gathering above the city. He hadn’t even noticed them in his pitiful spiral, nor had he noticed the way the wind had picked up. 

He hardly has time to react before the rain comes down. Hard. Torrential. He stands on the sidewalk, too riddled with shock and disbelief to even move for cover. He stares ahead, wondering just how much more terrible this day can get. He’s never been a believer of Murphy’s Law or any of those other dubious, paranoia-induced “laws of nature,” but he’s severely starting to question his standing on it because of all days, of course it’s today where it seems that the entire universe must be against him.

He stares at the drenched flowers he had just bought you, crumpled and ruined from the force of the rain—he can’t even bring himself to feel frustrated, if anything he’s starting to feel a bit numb with exhaustion, half-certain that there’s a god up there sabotaging him. He tosses the flowers in a nearby garbage can along with the soggy box of chocolates in his other hand, and almost robotically, he makes his way to stand under an overhang, pulling out his phone to call you.

You pick up after the first ring, you always do.

“Osamu?”

“Can you pick me up?” Dazai asks, voice hoarse and empty.

“... Of course. Where are you?”

•••

The car ride has been damningly silent and Dazai feels bad because you’ve tried to make conversation with him but he can’t bring himself to speak. You’ve given up by now though, resorting to just focusing on the road, occasionally sparing him concerned glances. His head is starting to hurt and he fears that if he says something his voice might crack, so instead he just leans his head against the passenger seat window, letting the cool glass spread through his brain and ease the pain as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“We’re never going to make the reservation,” Dazai finally decides to speak up, voice sounding cold and distant even to his own ears. He nearly flinches—he would’ve preferred it to crack than sound so frigid and aloof. 

The rain pouring down is torrential, lightning webbing across the dark sky and wind howling outside. Already, there’s been road closures, the twenty minute drive from the Agency to your apartment has taken twice as long as it usually takes and you’re still stuck in bumper to bumper traffic trying to take the long way around to the complex. The reservation is set for forty minutes from now, and it’ll take nearly as long to get to your apartment at this rate, and then Dazai still has to dry off and change from work, and then you have to drive to the restaurant which would've taken another twenty minutes without traffic. 

Not that it matters anyway, the storm has already destroyed his plans for after dinner, which was the whole point of the dinner anyway, but still, he would have at least liked to bring you to a nice dinner for Valentine’s Day.

He wonders if this is all meant to be a sign, and the thought makes his chest ache because of course when he finally thinks he’s ready to take the next step in his relationship with you—one that he knows you’ve been waiting patiently for four years now but his own hangups about himself have stopped him from ever doing anything about it—this happens. And you’ve never pressured him about it, you’ve never even brought it up to him because you know the topic makes him uncomfortable, but he’s seen the way you look at all of the happily married couples who come into the cafe when you meet him there for his lunch break and he’s seen the way you sometimes glance down at your own empty finger and Dazai thinks he’s ready. 

Against all odds, he thinks he’s ready—he bought you a ring, he planned out the whole proposal. Anxiety has been eating him alive all week as the days led up to this and now that the day is here, everything just goes wrong. He was going to bring you to the aquarium, because he knows you love to watch the dolphins and the penguins but that was ruined because of work. He was going to take you out to dinner at Le Normandie in Naka, because he’d seen you looking at the menu all longingly a few weeks ago, but that was ruined because of the road closures and traffic. And then he was going to bring you down into Yamashita Park, over to the flower gardens where there was supposed to be a band playing, because they always do on Valentine’s Day, and he wrote up everything, a long and flowery speech about how you’ve shown him what it’s like to really live, what it’s like to be human, but that was ruined by the storm. 

All the preparations he made, all of the plans he had, all of it gone to ruin. Just like that. 

And now he’s doubting how ready he actually is.

He really does wonder if this is a sign, a warning, even—higher powers telling him not to condemn you to a life with him because what sort of sane person would want a future with someone who’s spent most of his life trying to kill himself? Dazai has more issues than he’s worth and he’s still half-convinced that you don’t know what you’re getting into even though you’ve been with him for four years and have seen some of his most egregious lows. You’ve had to cut him down from the noose, fight him for the blade he held against his skin, and Dazai doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fully free himself of the dark thoughts tearing apart his brain. 

And you deserve better than a future with someone who’s fickle about living and unable to effectively combat the dark thoughts that plague his mind. This is the world’s attempt at reminding him of that before he makes a mistake.

You draw him from his spiraling thoughts as you squeeze his hand gently, lifting his hand to press your lips against his knuckles and Dazai feels even worse because why are you comforting him when he’s the one who ruined your Valentine’s Day. 

“Let’s order takeout then,” you say easily, giving him a warm smile that should have made him feel more at ease but instead it only makes him feel worse because you shouldn’t have to settle for takeout on Valentine’s Day, especially when he planned such a nice day out. “I’m craving pizza. We can curl up on the couch and watch a movie instead.”

Dazai is unconvinced.

“Don’t give me that look,” you complain, but you’re still smiling and Dazai is finding it hard to keep up his sullen attitude with you looking at him like that. “There’s a new horror movie I wanted to watch, it’s available for streaming now.”

“This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go,” Dazai murmurs, finally intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing a circle with his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“Let’s make the most of it anyway,” you tell him, giving him another radiant smile, and Dazai feels a bit like a fool—he’s never listened to the warnings from higher powers before, so why the hell should he now? When you give him another reassuring squeeze as you rest your joined hands back down on the console, turning your attention back onto the road, his chests lighten and the creeping doubts start to trickle away. 

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all work out anyway.

•••

It takes less than an hour for his slim hopes to be crushed yet again.

Dazai stares at the food in front of him, too numb to even think to go chase after the delivery driver and tell him that he got the order wrong. You’re standing somewhere to the side, looking even more concerned—not because of the food, because of him, and Dazai knows that he should reassure you and tell you that everything is fine but he can’t even muster the strength to speak the words. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, reaching out to grab his hand. He doesn’t even intertwine his fingers with yours, but you’re undeterred, clutching his hand tightly, and he knows he’s being unfair to you but he just doesn’t even know what else to do. “Osamu, it’s fine, really. It’s just some food.”

“You don’t even eat any of this food,” Dazai says, voice tight and more than a bit frustrated. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take, the morning had started off so nice waking up to you fast asleep on his chest and every passing second since then has just gone further and further downhill. “Not one thing has gone right today, and they can’t even get one order done correctly. It’s not fine, I-”

Dazai’s eyes flutter shut when you reach up to cup his cheeks between your hands, squishing his face gently before leaning in to press your lips against his. He sighs against your lips, the frustration slowly starting to dissipate as you rest your forehead against his, stealing one, two, three more kisses before finally pulling back a bit to speak.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him again, and Dazai thinks he should be the one reassuring you because it’s your Valentine’s Day that has been utterly ruined but he only relaxes into your touch, soaking up all of the comfort you offer him. “I have pizza bagels in the freezer, we can throw them in the oven. Honestly, I’ve been tempted to make them all day, anyway, but I wanted to wait for you. It’s not a big deal.”

“... Yeah?” Dazai asks quietly, and you give him that soft, soothing smile that always puts his nerves at ease. He lets out another puff of air, nodding. “Okay, I’ll put them in.”

He steals another kiss from you, and then another, and the tension in his shoulders finally begins to melt when he feels you giggling against his lips, shooing him away to go put the pizza bagels in the oven.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, that maybe the night is still salvageable, he reaches for the door to your freezer and as his fingers curl around the handle, the power goes out. Thunder shakes your apartment complex, lightning webs the sky outside, and the wind outside becomes even more treacherous. And with it, the ability to use the oven to make the pizza rolls you want disappears.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. Dazai thinks it should be comical at this point but he can find no humor in it, his throat tight and clogged with a million unwelcome emotions. He swears there must be someone up in the heavens laughing at him, finding entertainment in his misfortune and misery, and maybe he deserves it for all of the sins he’s committed in the past but he wishes that they wouldn’t drag you into this. 

He casts a miserable look in your direction, unsure if you even notice because you’re already at work trying to fumble to light a few candles, and Dazai is so tired that he thinks he might die. All he had wanted was to take you on a nice day out, ending the night with dinner and a stroll through the gardens at Yamashita before finally gathering the nerve to get down on one knee in front of you, showing you the ring he’d been so nervous buying and-

And then he pauses.

Where is the ring?

The thought dawns on him so damningly that he feels physically ill, realizing that he hadn’t felt the familiar weight in his pocket earlier when walking home from the Agency, nor had he noticed it when he slipped his jacket off and laid it on one of the kitchen chairs. He rushes over to where he had left his jacket, panic spreading through him so intensely that he can hardly think straight, ignoring how you call his name, worried.

His chest tightens, blood running cold as he fumbles through the pockets of his jacket trying to figure out which one he left it in only to realize that it’s not snugged safely in any of them. Dazai thinks he might throw up, wondering if it had fallen out when he took his jacket off at the office, or if it had fallen out while he was walking to work, or when he stopped at the convenience store and pulled out his wallet, or when he was walking home. If it was the latter three, the ring is gone and he’ll probably never see it again, and he probably should take that as a sign from god to not condemn you to a life with him.

“Osamu?” you ask, voice soft and cautious as you make your way over to him, obviously sensing his distress. 

Dazai wants to cry. Or maybe he wants to laugh. He can’t tell. He leans his elbows onto the counter, hiding his face in his hands, and then he decides to laugh, or maybe he’s crying, he’s not sure honestly, but his shoulders are shaking and you’re wrapping your arms around his waist. Dazai wants to melt into you and he wants to tell you just how abysmally terrible this day has been but he can’t without telling you what he had planned and that only makes him more miserable. 

You coax his face out from where it’s hiding against his hands as you stroke his hair, pressing your lips to his shoulder, and then his temple, and as soon as he turns his face to you, you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness streaming down his cheeks, and he realizes distantly that he must’ve been crying. God, when was the last time he cried before this? He doesn’t even remember. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, keeping your voice soft as if to not startle him. 

He doesn’t want to answer, so he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck, hiding himself from view again. As always, you take it in stride, wrapping your arms around him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head and hold him close, lips pressing against the top of his hair. And Dazai is still so frustrated—he’s so frustrated and upset with himself and upset with the world, but as soon as he’s wrapped tight in your arms, it becomes increasingly hard to remain focused on all of the negative thoughts.

“I’m so tired,” is all he can say, voice hoarse and cracking, blunt nails digging crescents into your back as he clings to you desperately. 

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He’s so tired. He just wanted this to be a nice day, and he wanted to finally push himself into giving himself to you entirely, because it’s what he wants. It’s what he wanted. He wanted to be yours and he wanted you to be his. Officially. But if the world really is trying to warn him against it, he’s thinking that maybe he should heed its warnings for once—for your sake, because he’s sure that anyone tied to him must be cursed. 

“Let’s go lay down,” you tell him softly, carding your fingers through his hair gently. The motion is so soothing that it nearly makes his eyes droop shut, exhaustion seeping deep through his bones. “Os-”

There’s a harsh knock at your door. 

Dazai’s eyes slide shut again, frustration coming back tenfold because he can’t even have a single moment with you without it going horribly wrong. You sigh as you break yourself free from him and Dazai longs to be back in your arms instantly, the weight of the day bearing down on him twice as heavily without you there to share the burden with him.

“I’ll go get the door,” you tell him, leaning up on your toes to press your lips to the corner of his. “Go lay down, I’ll join you in a second.”

“No,” Dazai says, capturing your lips in a real kiss briefly before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll get the door. You go change into your pajamas.”

“You sure?” you ask him, concern clear in your eyes as you look up at him.

Dazai only nods, pressing his lips to your forehead before ushering you off into the bedroom. You cast him one more worried look but Dazai shoos you away pointedly before making his way over to the door, frowning a bit because who the hell is showing up at your door this late? He thinks that if it’s the restaurant that sent the wrong food, then Dazai might just slam the door in the delivery man's face because the damage has already been done and Dazai is feeling petty.

But no. It’s not the delivery man standing outside your apartment with the right food this time. Rather, it’s an anxious looking Atsushi and a stressed Kunikida. Dazai’s eye twitches a bit—as if his day hadn’t been ruined enough with work, he swears to god that if they're about to bring even more to him on top of dragging him away from you all day, someone might die. 

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi sounds absurdly relieved at the sight of the man but Dazai’s expression doesn’t budge, waiting for them to explain why they were interrupting his night with you. “We were just leaving work and-I wish I’d seen it sooner, I’m sorry-I would’ve come sooner but-I mean we tried to call and text but-”

Dazai has no idea what Atsushi is talking about, so he drags his eyes from the anxious boy up to Kunikida, waiting for a proper explanation. Kunikida’s lips twist when Dazai looks at him and Dazai thinks the man has no right to look at him that way after being the root cause of how awful his day.

Suddenly, Dazai catches sight of the familiar velvet box sitting in Kunikida’s hand, and he’s not sure what amalgamation of emotions rocks his body—fear, relief, apprehension—but he doesn’t like it, reaching out to snatch the box from Kunikida and cradle it to his chest, watching the two of them uneasily.

“You moron,” Kunikida snaps, careful to keep his voice low, but not low enough because horror shoots through Dazai when Kunikida continues with, “why didn’t you say you were-”

“Lower your voice,” Dazai says, panicking, casting a glance back toward where you’re still getting changed in the bedroom.

“Why didn’t you say you were proposing?” Kunikida finishes in a whisper, voice still a sharp hiss. “If you’d mentioned that I would’ve-”

Dazai feels flustered, and he does not want to answer and admit that he hadn’t thought it would make a difference. Luckily—or maybe unluckily, he concedes—he doesn’t have to answer because he hears you making your way out of the bedroom.

“Osamu?” you call curiously, “Is that Kunikida-kun and Atsushi-kun?”

Dazai’s eyes widen when he realizes that he has nowhere to hide the ring as you come around the corner from the hall. He promptly slams the door in both of his coworkers’ faces without even the sparest thank you, ignoring their surprised yelps as panic begins to spread through him, doing his best to hide his hands behind his back when he turns around to face you.

And then-

Then he hesitates. 

The excuse on his lips about last minute mission briefing or Dazai having to sign off on a time-sensitive report dies when his eyes fall upon where you’re standing, dressed in your fuzzy pajamas with your arms wrapped around your waist and a confused expression painted on your face. The only lighting in the room is the few dim candles that you set up once the power went out, and the soft ambience casts an ethereal glow over your face. He thinks, not for the first time, that you might be heavenly, an angel sent to guide him on the path of good because how could he ever allow himself to fall back into his old, tainted habits without tarnishing you as well, and tarnishing you is simply unacceptable. 

All of the doubts that have risen throughout the day wash away as he looks at you, and he wonders, briefly, how he could’ve ever had any doubts? Dazai, for all of his insecurity and fears of commitment, wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He does. He knows it so thoroughly that he can feel it in his bones; he doesn’t want anyone else, he doesn’t want to be alone, he wants you. He wants to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night, he wants to lounge around on the weekends because you’re both too lazy to get out of bed and do something productive, he wants to be there for your lows when you’re so overwhelmed with work that you can hardly think straight much less properly take care of yourself and god, against all odds, he wants you there for his too, when he feels like he’s being consumed by his own thoughts, spiraling down a dark and never-ending train that might not be as dark and never-ending with you there as a light to guide him out of it. 

“Marry me,” he says, breathless, voice laced with desperation.

You stare at him, eyes wide. He stares back, frozen, unsure of what to do because this was not how this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be extravagant, romantic, like you deserve, not some half-assed spur of the moment proposal. The words hang heavily in the air between the two of you, but he forces himself to push forward, too far in deep to back out now. 

He fumbles as he tries to shift the velvet box into one hand to bring it in front of him and show you. He drops it. Of course he does. Everything else has gone wrong today so why not this too? But still, he pushes forward, kneeling down to scoop up the ring box and prop himself up on one knee in front of you, throat swollen and tight as he opens up the box to show you the ring inside of it. He’s holding it backwards. Of course he is. So he fixes it promptly, swiveling it around with trembling fingers, waiting anxiously for you to respond. Or even just react. 

You haven’t budged from where you’re standing a few feet away.

What if you say no? God, the thought hadn’t even crossed his head but now his heart starts to sink from his chest down to his feet because you’re not moving and you’re not saying anything and he doesn’t know if you’re just processing his words or if you’re trying to figure out the best way to reject him. 

He starts to fumble out words. “This was not how this was supposed to happen,” he admits, speaking so quickly that he can barely understand himself. “It was supposed to be a nice day, we were gonna go to the aquarium to see the dolphins and penguins, dinner at Le Normandie and then go down to the gardens at the park, and there was supposed to be a band and flowers and I had a whole speech ready and it definitely was not supposed to be like this but everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong, but I want to marry you and I don’t want to wait anymore, and I’m sorry that this is a shitty proposal, you deserve better than this. And I’m probably making it worse, I should have just waited for another day, but-”

But please say yes, he wants to say, but he can’t force the words out; he can only stare at you, expression more open and vulnerable than he thinks he’s been in his entire life. And he realizes, a bit horrified, that you could ruin him right now—he’s laid his heart out on a platter and it’ll only take one swift motion for you to crush it in hand and he thinks he’s terrified but-

All of the air is ripped from his lungs with a harsh oof. In an instant, his back is to the floor and you’re on top of him and Dazai is staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, trying to figure out what exactly happened.

“You’re so stupid, Osamu,” you cry out and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that you’re crying, hands propped up on his chest to brace yourself up, tears pooling in your eyes and streaming over your cheeks and dripping onto his own face. “Is this what you’ve been so upset about all day? I don’t need any of that, all I need is you.”

Oh. Dazai can’t breathe, and it’s not because you’re on top of him it’s because your words are processing and he’s realizing that-are you saying that-

“Of course, I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, a puff of air that he does not have in his lungs, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling—elation, relief, exhilaration, all of the above—but he does know that he’s never felt anything like it before and he doesn’t want it to go away. Ever. Dazai swears he sees a flash of a camera from the window, and he swears doubly that he hears Yosano let out a hoot of a cheer and Kunikida hushing her, dragging her away, but he can’t even bring himself to care. 

 Yeah, Dazai thinks to himself, eyes sliding shut as he rests his head back against the floor, the first genuine smile of the day tugging to the edge of his lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, clutching at his shirt, sniffling and hiccuping over each breath. He wraps an arm around your waist, using his free hand to slip the ring out of the box and slide it onto your finger. You cry harder. He kisses the top of your head, wondering how he could ever have any doubts or hesitations. 

He could definitely spend the rest of his life like this.

[mamaestapa]

yes pls omg one with joe 🥺

Baked With Love…|| Joe Burrow x reader

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•summary: You and Joe spend “Thanksgiving Eve” baking together

•warnings: fluff, Joe gets a little frisky, allusions to sex…

“Joey,” you said your boyfriend’s name in a sing songy tone, “It’s pumpkin pie time.”

Joe chuckled and walked into the kitchen, setting his phone down on the countertop of the island and pulling out a chair to sit on.

“Finally,” he sighed out, “you don’t know how long I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Today, you and Joe (well, mostly you) have been working hard in the kitchen, preparing desserts to take to your “friendsgiving” tomorrow at the Wilson’s. You and Joe agreed to make the desserts since neither one of you were too skilled when it came to preparing the actual dinner.

Earlier you made an apple pie and a batch of snickerdoodle cookies, deciding to save the pumpkin pie for last. You had Joe help you get out all of the ingredients that were needed to make his favorite dessert. Once all of the ingredients were spread out on the counter, you pulled out your grandfathers pumpkin pie recipe from the kitchen drawer where you kept the handwritten recipes to some of yours and Joe’s favorite foods. You set the recipe down on the counter, eyes scanning over the instructions.

You walked over to Joe and wrapped your arms around his torso, letting your chin rest on his shoulder as you held onto him.

“I’ll let you decide what you want to do. Crust or filling.” You said, giving him options to choose from even though you knew which one he’d pick.

“Filling.

Yep. You knew it.

“Perfect,” you replied with a sweet smile. You removed your arms from Joe’s body, reaching out to grab his hand instead so you could pull him off the barstool and over to the mixer. You gave him the ingredients needed for the filling, along with the specific instructions on how to make it perfect.

After Joe was situated by the mixer, you began to make the crust. It wasn’t too difficult to make as you’ve made it a couple times before on your own, but it was still a process that included very careful and precise measurements—it’s probably a good thing you’re making the crust and Joe isn’t.

As the two of you were hard at work putting together the pumpkin pie in a comfortable silence, you thought about how you could use some music right now…

“We need some music going right now.” Joe suggested as he opened the can of pumpkin filling.

It’s almost like he read your mind..

“You should play some Kid Cudi,”

You sighed at Joe’s song selection suggestion. It’s not that you didn’t like Kid Cudi because you really did like him and his music. However…that’s all Joe has been playing while you baked. You needed a break from Man on the Moon.

“I agree, we do need music, but can it not be Kid Cudi though?” You asked as you rolled the dough over the floured counter. Joe gasped lightly, sounding slightly offended as he said, “But I thought you liked Kid Cudi?”

You chuckled softly as you turned to look at your boyfriend. “I do,” you said with a nod, “but it’s all we’ve listened to today babe. I need a change.”

“No Taylor Swift.” Joe said, pointing at you and giving you the look.

“How about Tame Impala? We both like them.”

“Deal.”

You smiled triumphantly and clicked shuffle on your Tame Impala playlist that was full of yours and Joe’s favorite songs. Borderline began playing, making you and Joe instantly break out into your own little dances while you prepared the pumpkin pie.

Once Joe was finished with the filling and satisfied with how well it was spiced, he brought the bowl over to you so you could put it into the pie pan lined with the crust dough. You thanked Joe for making the filling before scooping it out onto the crust. You evened the filling out before putting it into the oven to bake.

As you leaned down to put the pie in the oven, you felt a pair of hands cup your butt and squeeze gently before quickly pulling away. You yelped at the contact, slamming the oven shut and whipping around to look at Joe, who was a chuckling mess.

“Joe!” you yelped, “what the hell?” You laughed as you finished your sentence. Joe held his hands up, his laughter only growing when he watched your mouth gape open. His hands were covered in flour, meaning there were definitely two white hand prints on your butt right now.

You let out a laugh before prancing over to the counter covered in flour. You grabbed a handful of flour and held your hand up, “Come here Joey.”

Joe chuckled and slowly made his way over to you, “Lay it on me, sweets.”

You took the flour in your hand and rubbed it all over Joe’s black t-shirt, making sure to leave extra white patches over his pecs and abs. Joe reached over and grabbed more flour, throwing it onto the top of your head. You shrieked and grabbed more flour, doing the same thing to Joe. You were both laughing messes as you had a flour fight in the kitchen for a good two minutes. However, the fight stopped when Joe got a handful of flour, rubbed his hands together, and left two handprints on your boobs. You looked down at the white handprints on your sweater. Joe’s handprints looked huge on your chest…

You don’t know what came over you, but you flung yourself at Joe, kissing him harshly. He seems taken aback at first, but he smirked into the kiss as he realized his idea had worked. It’d been a little while since the two of you have been intimate…

When you both pulled away for Joe, Joe huskily ordered you to jump. You did as he said, jumping slightly as he helped you up and sat you on the counter. The two of you made out heavily for the next couple minutes before you remembered how messy the kitchen was. You pulled away from Joe, glancing at the mess on the floor and countertop across from you before looking back at your boyfriend.

“Someone should clean up the mess we made.”You said, cocking your head to the side and giving Joe a pointed look. He just smirked as his hands trailed up your sides, resting on your rib and cupping the side of your left breast.

“Just wait…” he trailed off as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “because that won’t the only mess we made that’ll have to be cleaned up.” He bit down softly on your earlobe, tugging it gently before pulling head away from you. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as you looked into Joe’s intense blue eyes gaze.

A smirk pulled at your lips as you wrapped your arms Joe’s neck, clawing at his back as you harshly crashed your lips against his.

Pumpkin pie wasn’t the only sweet thing Joe was going to be tasting tonight…

hi loves!!

i don’t know why i made this a little spicy? i wanted to do something fluffy but as i started writing, i was like mmmm no i should do this instead😌

anyways, i hope you’re enjoying these thanksgiving/holiday blurbs! i’ve gotten some fun requests to go along with the ideas i had too :) i’ll probably post one more tonight, and do the rest tomorrow…because there’s a lot lol

hope you all have a great day/night😚🤍

[siddyyyyyyyy]

It's All an Act

Actor!AU Bruce Wayne x fem!Reader

wc: 7.6 K summary: Actor!Bruce plays as your love interest in your up-coming movie warnings: afab!reader, both being about the same age, acting sex scenes on set (not real secs for now), reference to the Writer's Strike (2023) please don't arrest me, sassy and smug Bruce, making out a/n: got this idea while scrolling through pinterest, lost my mind somewhere during this, originally wanted to make a single part on it, but I think it's better if I make it a few parts instead. enjoy!

next part

Everyone knew you. Well, it was hard to find someone who didn‘t at least know how you looked like. The same goes to Bruce Wayne, but there is probably a chance that he is even more successful than you.

And that‘s exactly what you are trying to change with your new movie. Casting him as the main character and yourself as his love interest will get the media spiraling. Being a director and actor really does have its charms sometimes. And surprisingly enough, he accepted the role since he auditioned to it in the first place. Now you can finally get to prepare all the stuff for the filming days once you got all the other actors for each role filled, and the script finished.

There‘s no more satisfying feeling you get when everything seems to work out and it‘s time to actually film the movie. The hardest part is to keep it a secret for a few months until the production gets into working. But for now you are pretty satisfied with your work, getting some progress and even getting to test out new cameras for the movie, form a company that supports the production. Only thing that‘s making you a little weary is the actual success of the movie. What if he ends up getting even more popular than you? What if the movie flops completely and you need to somehow cover that up? What if you won‘t have good chemistry on set, even with two talented actors like you two? What if…

»Have you finally got the copy of the storyboard?«

Malva asks, looking to you with her usual strict look, one of your close friends waiting for your answer. She is working with the camera crew, has gone to filming school with you. Has sticked to your side through thick and thin, and she still gets ideas that blow your mind at times. Her ideas are mostly for camera directing, but that's the most exciting part in filming for most, so it really pays out.

At her question, you hand her the copy of the storyboard, getting to discuss some questions and how you actually imagined the scenes to look like, getting invested on talking with her that you don‘t notice your co-star arrive on set and search for the director.

»I‘m guessing you are the director? Sorry for interrupting.«

There is that bright smile in front of you that never fails to make you swoon for at least a split moment. No, actually, you can‘t stand the way he looks so perfect and has more prominent in media than you. Although it is a little weird when he mostly takes on smalled roles as side characters and rarely gets a main role like this.

»No, don‘t be sorry, I‘m glad you made it! We‘re still setting up some stuff, so you can get ready in trailer seven.«

He nods and gets to the trailer that is going to be his while filming, letting you have some more time with Malva and your crew to set everything up and start to film the first scenes.

You settle on filming the scenes in the middle of the movie, only able to use the setting for today and tomorrow, really hoping you won‘t film too long so the landlord of the property won‘t get angry at you.

Once settled, the filming starts and it goes by fairly nice and as planned. Sure, it was a little funny acting out a scene with him, playing a couple who‘s having an argument about their current state of relationship, even when they just met on set.

Either way, the crew and co-director are satisfied with the result after taking some more takes. Maybe this will be better than you‘ve expected. Until you realised what the next scenes were going to be. You hate yourself for writing this script. A sex-scene, seriously? Trying to overshadow your small worries, you get ready in your trailer with some help of your staff before you discuss the ‚choreography‘ of the scene together with Bruce and the intimacy coordinator. This loosens you both up, having a plan and also know what to expect from this scene, since you literally just wrote „They undress and have sex.“ What a creative script writer you are.

You don‘t know what you expected, but you didn‘t necessarily think that Bruce would be so open and chill about such a scene. During your discussion of boundaries and acceptable touching areas, he seemed like he didn‘t have any problem being touched anywhere, really. It was a little strange at first, but you quickly realised he probably just wants to get over with it. And that made you a little sad. He should be comfortable during the scene, not be annoyed and hoping for it to end quickly, considering filming usually takes a few hours. The co-director and you want some close-ups, wide- hots and midshots in order to edit it together as the best verion of the scene in post. Of course it‘s going to take hours and it‘s important to feel comfortable during the long filming hours together.

But he reassured you after asking him again with that charming smile of his, hating how perfect it looks like. You‘ve seen him on interviews and on the red carpet before, but seeing him smile like that never fails to make you wonder if he is actually real.

Finally, with everything settled and with the modesty garments on, you can finally film the ‚Reuniting Scene‘ with your co-star.

Your movie is about two past lovers who find each other gain after a few years, then getting together again. What a classic. The plot is however more than that. The main character, Bruce, or rather Andy in the movie, is a playboy and billionare with a secret identity. His love interest doesn‘t know this though and just wants to get together with him again, and he is way too naive to get in bed with you almost immediately after one cafe date. Playboy activities.

This means that the scene you are about to play is essential for the movie.

First, you start with wide shots. Easy done, getting a camera set up that follows your movements onto the bed. After getting some shots of Andy passsionately and messily kissing you while guiding you urgently to the bed, you already feel a little worn down. So, time for a break!

During the break, he approaches you to discuss the other stuff in the script.

»Just… how did you get the idea of this plot? I mean, a playboy having a secret identity as a hero? How did you come up with that?«

You didn‘t know he was a secret interviewer as well. But putting your slight surprise aside, you start explaining to him briefly what got you into this idea while trying to keep it as brief as possible. Also without telling him about your initial plan of getting more popular than him... In a way.

All the while he listens to the while you explain, listening intently while nodding along from time to time. Unfortunately, you got a little carried away while explaining him your reasons for the movie, having ended up info dumping on him a little about your researches you did for writing the script, which however made him listen to you even more intently.

»So, I also just watched a lot of videos and documentations about gun handling and missions from former private agents, so I can make this as believeable as possible, but I also feel like I still haven‘t mastered it quite well for now, even though I made sure the props are as realistic as possible and we have a good choregrapher for the fight scenes later on – « You ramble on as you get on set again, settling onto position on the bed while talking his ears off in the meantime. It doesn‘t seem like he minds though, listening to your words, while throwing in some small questions and check-ups as he is hovering above you on the bed.

»Yeah, you can put your hand on my thigh – and I also made sure to actually make the small mission Andy is in will be as realistic and logical as possible, but I‘m also a little unsure if the scenario is actually so realistic as it is…«

»You‘re really determined to get the most realistic movie of the year, huh?« He muses back once you trail off, looking to you once you are both finally in position on bed.

»What? How could you ever think of that?«

You retort sarcastically, not having noticed how much you‘ve been talking until the co-director just calls »Action!« for the cameras to roll and you have to act.

Your breath hitches subtly once you feel his hand ride up your thigh before landing at your collar of your shirt and starts to unbutton it in careful but rushed movements. Again, you have to follow the small choreography you both came up with earlier, your brain working quick to actually follow through and act as if this already feels like heaven. Finally, you get your head together and reach for the back of his neck to connect your lips, getting a small moan from both of you. His hands finally pry your shirt off and he disconnects his lips from you to trail them down your throat towards your chest, a small shiver running down your spine against your will.

You both agreed for him to have the upper hand in this, since he is acting as a playboy, and you‘d be lying if you said he isn‘t quite confident in his role. Your thoughts are quickly thrown away as you feel him press kisses against your temple and down to your jaw while his hands roam over your sides. Mimicing his actions, your hands feel across his lean back and press him further down towards you. A low growl escapes him before he takes your thigh in his hand to push it up against his side.

The scene ends for now, needing to repeat it for a close-up shot. You are actually grateful he has expirience in intimate scenes, not needing to give him any more instructions or tips since he has quite a good knowledge in it already. Repeating the same scene for the next shot was easier, actually having had a little time to prepare instead of being pulled away from your rant about your script. Afterwards, you get another break and take your time to actually collect yourself before continuing with the scenes. Your co-director pulls you to her side for a moment to look over the filmed scenes, not having expected for them to actually look… hot? Well, this is good, actually. It‘s a little strange seeing you on screen like this, but you knew you would need to look over the scenes either way.

Once satisfied, you get back to your spot to sit down and scroll through your phone, distract yourself from the scene you just filmed over and over again, feeling how mush your brain feels right now.

This time, Bruce doesn‘t come around to ask you about the plot and other stuff, probably having had enough of your rant earlier. You really tried to explain it to him briefly, but it ended up in a full ramble session.

Filming the last few scenes were a little difficult to master from the last hours of filming, but time came by faster than you‘d expected and it is time to pack up and leave the set for today.

◐

The filming days actually went by rather fast, and your work relationship grew stronger with Bruce. You had some fun actually acting the scenes out with him, even when the first day was just slightly awkward between you two. Currently, you are neck deep in a book, annotating the pages at the side with a red fineliner during your break. The colour matches the book cover. Bruce walks by and the book in your hand catches his attention. Reading the title, he immediately recognises it and steps up to you.

»My son loves this book.« You finally look up from the words on the page and lock eyes with him, being slightly surprised by it.

»Which son?« You ask slowly, being unsure if this question was offensive or not, even though he showed his rather dark humour early on and doesn‘t seem to be hardly offended by something ever. He huffs out lightly amused and answers your question without missing a beat.

»Jason. My second son. He is a big bookworm, I think he read more classics than school textbooks.«

»Well, he isn‘t the only one.« He smiles lightly at that and takes a seat besidde you, his cup of coffee still in hand.

»So, you‘re a bookworm? Or just to pass time?«

Honestly, you haven‘t exactly expected for him to strike up a conversation with you that seems to be genuine at that as well. The first talk he started with you was just about the script anyway and it was more to clear up his curiousness and slight confusion. This actually feels like he wants to talk to you and get to know you.

»I read quite often. At least when I have time, like now.«

You answer him and close your book, setting it on your lap before clasping your hands over it. Bruce takes your answer in, asking another question.

»And you annotate? What exactly do you write down?« That question throws you a bit off guard, trying to answer him without sounding like a total loser.

»Uhm… usually just my thoughts. And sometimes I analyse sentences, if I feel like it.«

Finally, Bruce seems to be a little impressed. Or maybe he is just good at acting surprised, which you wouldn‘t doubt he is doing right now.

»Really? So, you usually just leave simple comments or thoughts? That‘s actually pretty nice, but I wouldn‘t have the energy to do so.«

You manage a small chuckle at his words, not sure if you should be flustered or not. Was that even a compliment?

»Oh, I get it. Can‘t have much time to yourself with this job.«

He lets out a small laugh as well and nods in agreement, fidgeting with his coffee cup in his hands a little.

The conversation pauses briefly, Bruce speaking up again and looking towards you.

»Would you like to go out and get some coffee some time? Get a break from all this, wouldn‘t hurt right?«

Without much thinking you agree on it and set up a date for it, only later realising it sounded a little suspicius. Even if it was just a little suspicious, you won‘t let that go in your mind. He basically just asked you out. And typically enough, you didn‘t even notice it or gave it a second thought until later when he left again.

Was this genuine or was it just method acting? This would be a little too much for method acting, no? Maybe. Does this concern you even more? Yes.

Getting off the break, you continue to film the second act of the movie, already feeling like this will actually pay out in the end.

It doesn‘t really seem like he is method acting, more like acting out the scenes like a normal actor after practicing his lines thoroughly, and being confident in his performance. Besides, method acting has nothing to do with him asking you out. Method acting, also known as ‚The Method‘ is a form of rehearsal where the actors tries to understand his character and analyses their emotions in order to act it out as accurate as possible and to show the audience the depth of the character. While it is mostly common used for theater, it‘s also common to use it for film.

You are really trying to figure Bruce out. In past interviews he was nothing but charming and polite, strictly polite even, but on set he is no different. It‘s strange, most actors you‘ve worked with were at least a little chaotic and different on set, but not him. You hate to say it, but he is not like others. He has something more to him. A certain charm and touch you can‘t quite put a finger on yet. And being with him almost every day because of work is giving you the opportunity to check on it and find it out, but he is hard to reach as well. It‘s not like he is hard to talk to, it‘s quite the opposite. But your conversations have never been more than mere small talk and discussions about the script, that usually ends up with you rambling off about it. So, you are frustrated.

Eventually, you help the crew and technicians with putting the stuff away for today, knowing you shouldn‘t do it, but you can‘t just leave the studio without helping them with the rest.

Bruce catches you however and snatches the heavy camera from you so he can put it in its case without your back breaking halfway.

»Oh, you don‘t need to, I can- «

»None of that. You already work so much, it‘s only fair when someone helps you out. Besides, I like helping people.«

He ignores your words and just smiles softly, as he puts the camera gently into its case, it seeming as if it doesn‘t weight anything in his arms. The he handled it with such ease really hurts your ego a bit, but also makes you wonder what his workout routine is. Because there is no way he just didn‘t break out a sweat while doing that. Unlike you.

»We don‘t want to miss out on our small date, right? Or did you forget already?«

You don‘t see it but Bruce is ready to be rejected and made fun of with how surprised you look at him. But truth is, you really just forgot about the arranged meeting you both settled on earlier in lunch break, because of all the things you had to do today.

»No, sure we‘re still going out. I just… kind of, forgot about it, but I didn‘t! I mean, I just, uh… let‘s just go, okay?«

You tag him along to the exit and he leads you to the café he mentioned earlier, it seeming already cosy enough from the outside. He opens the door for you before choosing a place to sit at and goes to the counter to order you both a warm drink. He sits down across from you at the table again and just looks at you with a small but noticeable smile. It is quiet for a moment before he speaks up.

»What kind of books do you read again? Or any other hobbies you have?«

Is he really trying to just befriend you or are you just another hopeless case of delusional? Quickly putting those thought aside, you answer him and make it short this time. No rambling now. Once he finds out about your passion for thriller, he perks up and shares his own few favourites about thriller and detective stories. Although he tends to love real biographies and real incidents, there is a mutual interest for those gernes in books.

»It‘s a good thing we have something in common. But I‘ve never tried annotating books before like you do. Is it fun?«

You shrug lightly in response, answering him after a brief moment.

»Depends on the person, but I really enjoy doing that. I like reading through stuff and write down my own thoughts. I also underline sentences and just… use the book. I didn‘t buy it for nothing, right?«

He nods lightly to your words, probably not used to someone using a book to actually write in it just for fun. Most people see it as a crime to doodle into the pages fo your book, but you take pride in it.

»Could I borrow one of your books? Especially one that you wrote in already.«

The suggestion takes you by surprise, but who are you to say no to that? Of course you nod without thinking too much about it, already thinking about which book you will lend him.

»Sure, I‘ll lend you one! I‘ve waited so long for someone to ask me this, what book do you want? I can also just take the book I read today. I have read it over three times anyway.«

Now Bruce is slightly surprised but also glad you agreed to this so easily. He nods slightly, not wasting time on responding to you.

»Animal Farm? Sure, that sounds good.«

Even when the novella isn‘t a thriller or detective, he is still willing to read it just to get to know you even more and read through those silly comments on the sides. Reaching over, you hand him the book which he puts safely into his own bag before the conversation continues between you both and you end up chatting about other stuff as well and enjoy your coffee while talking. You don‘t even realise how much time goes by before the staff in the shop are slowly getting ready to close it, cleaning around and making sure you both don‘t want to order anything anymore. That‘s also when you see how dark it is outside, getting out of the shop with him and walk down the dimly lit streets side-by-side.

Once you are both back at the parking lot, he walks you to your car, making sure you won‘t get kidnapped.

»You know, we could read together in my library some time. If that would be okay.«

That thought put a smile onto your facce but you quickly mask it, not wanting to come off as too excited.

»We could, at least I won‘t mind. I don‘t want to be a bother in your home or anything.«

You respond, still trying to be polite but he seems to destroy it with shaking his head.

»You won‘t be, promise. I‘m sure Damian won‘t mind, and all my other kids only visit occasionally now.« Bruce reassures you, smiling a little at you as he stands before you, waiting for your response. Sighing out you give in, agreeing to the invitation.

»Fine. We can meet up some day to read. I‘m sure I‘ll have time in about a week.« Bruce nods and feels glad you will make some time for him to hang out again. Reading together in comfortable silence? There is nothing better in Bruce‘s mind.

◐

The silence is filled with tension while Andy is standing tall, still with his suit and pistol in hand. His lover is standing right in front of him, a look of horror on their face that makes his chest shred into pieces.

»I can explain...« Andy carefully starts and puts the safety on in his gun before placing it onto the table beside him.

»First you are some kind of playboy, now you are… a murderer?! Who are you really, Andy?«

His lover demands, voice trembling lightly as the tension only rises and rises more between them. With a small step, he tries to get closer and make sure his partner isn‘t freaking out totally.

»I am not a murderer, Bell… I‘m...« There‘s a dramatic pause before he continues, taking a deep breath.

»I am Strong Guy.«

Bruce is doing his best not to laugh at his superhero name from the script, clenching his jaw and keeping up his tense glare, waiting for you to say your next line. Even his damn children tease and make of him for accepting such role, but that‘s not really a surprise.It‘s only a matter of time when he will finally crack up, having warned you prior already.

»No way. You… can‘t be. How is that possible? But Strong Guy is basically from space, right? What… have I been dating an alien the whole time?«

You are in complete shock and disbelief. At least trying to seem like it. When you wrote the script, you really had to hold yourself back from writing a better scene than this. But Hollywood is demanding and only wants to please the poor viewers who are seeing the same movie over and over again, but in a different fond every year. At least the Writer‘s Strike is almost over and other, more legendary directors can direct more original and creative movies… well, depends if the WGA and other people responsible for that will actually care about anything other than money.

»Babe, believe me, I am still me. The Andy you know from high school and the same one you fell for all those years back.« Strong Guy, Andy, uses a softer tone with you now and looks genuinely desperate not to lose his partner because of his secret identity.

Your character isn‘t strong for that matter and gives in after a few more weak attempts of arguing, before the tension eases up and you both hug each other tightly, whispering sweet nothings against the other.

Once the scene ends, you have to repeat for another four times to get it in every angle and make sure you get the best takes. By the time that‘s finished, Bruce can already feel how drained he is after the dramatic and less than poorly written scene. Don‘t get him wrong, he likes the way you tell the story, but the dialoge couldn‘t be any more cheesy and… over-cliché in his opinion. Not that he would that say to your face.

Malva approaches you with a glass of water in hand, offering it to you to cool your mind after the rather intense scene.

»I‘m counting the days, you know? When you and him become… a thing?«

She elbows your side playfully, making you almost spill your water and choke on the sip you just took.

»Mal, what the fuck!«

»Fuck! Yes, when is that going to happen?« She inquires and awaits your answer curiously, seeming dead-serious. But you know her better than that. She is most likely just teasing and tries to force another crush on you yet again.

»I‘m not going to answer the question. We barely know each other.« You mumble back finally and sip on you glass of water in attempt to hide your tiny smile, glancing towards Bruce to make sure he isn‘t secretly eavesdropping on you two.

»Look, I‘m just trying to be honest. The way he looks at you? You can‘t tell me you haven‘t noticed. He is, like… so expressive with his eyes and so dreamy...« Malva trails off and sighs out softly, making you cringe lightly beside her.

You hush her quickly once the man you are both fussing over walks by, exhaling wearily and speak to your best friend again.

»Okay, I may have lend him one of my annotated books and he probably invited me to his library to read together. Next week, or something.«

Her jaw falls almost literally to the floor as she listens to you, in disbelief and is actually speecheless for a second.

»Oh, you have to tell me about how it went! You two already look so good together on set, I can‘t imagine — « You cut her off quickly by pressing your palm against her lips, embarrassed and also noticing Bruce being dangerously near your area.

This is going to be a hell of filming and hang outs in the next few months…

◐

You knew his house was big, but… you nearly want to throw up at how big and pretty it is. If there‘s thing you can compliment him, is that he has good taste in almost everything besides coffee. What sane person likes their coffee completely black and plain?

Walking up to the big double door, you ring the bell and wait patiently. Your wait doesn‘t last long as one of the doors swings open and a rather small boy greets you with a judgemental look. That‘s surely one of his sons. Jason, probably? No, he is too old to look this young…

»Hey there. I‘m here to meet Bruce, is he here?« You greet as polite and friendly as possible, always having managed to scare off children without meaning to. Or at least babies.

»Father should be inside.«

Politely enough, the boy steps aside and lets you enter, watching you intently as you take the interior in.

Feeling a little awkward, you decide to ask. »What‘s your name, by the way?«

He narrows his eyes at you and crosses his arms, answering your questioin that was meant to be polite.

»You are not worth it to know my na —«

»Damian! I‘m sure you showed her around a little and were polite, weren‘t you?«

Bruce hurries down the stairs and approaches you both, seeming only slightly tense as he awaits his son‘s answer, running his hand through his hair.

»Of course, father...«

Damian scoffs lightly and averts his eyes away from you to the floor, seeing some similarities between him and Bruce.

The older man smiles and steps beside you, eventually paying his attention back to you.

»Sorry, this is Damian. My youngest.« He finally introduces and gestures to his son in front of you, taking him in again and nod slightly. Damian is doing a poor job in hiding his displeasure on meeting you, grumbling something under his breath as he gives you a sharp side-glance.

»Alfred said he needs some help in the garden, why don‘t you join him?« Bruce uses the code word they settled on in case Damian should be somewhere that he isn‘t welcome to and gets the message, making his way outside to the backyard.

You watch him wander off in a rather moody demeanor, feeling Bruce‘s warm hand settle between your shoulderblades.

»I hope he wasn‘t a bother while I was gone. He can get… pretty angsty at times.«

He apologises but you quickly wave it off, actually being quite amused and not bothered at all.

»No, I get it. I was just as grumpy and annoyed when I was younger, I don‘t blame him.« At your words, he raises an eyebrow while leading up ustairs with him, walking to his library.

»That‘s interesting. I could never imagine you as a grumpy teenager though, what were you like? Also throwing a tantrum for not receiving the latest comic book?«

He teases lightly but also refers to one of his kids when they were a little younger and spoiled, all to his fault.

»No, I was more of a… rebellious kind? I hated it when people wouldn‘t take me seriously and protested a lot. Over the right stuff, though! Maybe you could call it a punk phase, but I really just wanted to be taken seriously and be understood, you know?«

Bruce listened to you explain while entering the library after passing the hallway, looking to you once again with a fond expression.

»You and I may have more common in that sense, then. I also tried to prove myself to others and threw myself into… some situations. But all for the right reasons, right?«

Maybe Malva was right. You should hurry up and claim this man for yourself.

Snapping your gaze away from him, you take in the big library you are both in, it being a spacious room with tall shelfs, full with books that go up the ceiling, and some couches around in the middle to lounge on. You genuinenly haven‘t expected for him to have this whole area as a library that‘s actually filled with so many books, being literally surrounded by them.

»So? Have you got a book to read? If not, you can always lend one from here.«

He claps his hands once and walks to one of the larger couches before sitting down on it, the book you gave him from your earlier hang out in his hands.

»Oh, I came prepared, I have my own book with me.«

You answer back and take a seat beside him on the couch, taking out the book from your bag as you lean back and start to read where you left off.

He shares his last glance at you before he foccuses on his book for now, feeling joy at the small comments you left on the sides of almost every page, being content just reading in silence for now while sitting beside you.

Some time passes and you both have read quite a lot over the time-being, itching for a small break. Alfred, his butler apparently, had got you both some warm tea and cookies onto the coffee table in front of you and left after saying his usual polite words.

Tasting the cookies, you have never eaten such delicious and not overly sweet cookies before. You need to steal his recipe later and make them yourself at home. The tea is just as good, still warm and having a comforting effect on you. Bruce speaks up, his body turned more towards you on the couch as he has his arm around the back of the couch, sipping on his cup of tea.

»What do you think of your book so far?« It seems like he always asks these questions on purpose, just to hear you talk his ear off about a random topic. But you answer truthfully anyway, looking to him now as you take a break from munching on those cookies.

»I really love the way Pushkin wrote about his wife in his novels, every female character he inserts seems to be his wife and he won‘t waste any time on sweet talking everything. But his works actually represent a path from Neoclassicism through Romanticism to Realism, or whatever they say, so… I just love how easy his rhymes are in some passages and how obvious that is that he was such a hopeless romantic...«

You glance around the library as you talk, eventually trailing off and checking in to see his reaction. He leaned his head against his fist from his arm that rests on the back of the couch, eyes ever so tender and nonjudgemental. Almost loving.

»You okay?« You ask finally, unsure because of his quiet demeanor and how he just stares at you. How long has he been staring for?

»Yeah. Just wondering if you could use that mouth for more than just talking nonsense.«

Now you feel offended, no matter how much he‘s flirting with you right now.

»Nonsense? I think you just lost your mind, I never talk nonsense, especially not about my favourite writer.«

Bruce can‘t help but smile at that, glad you didn‘t react badly to what he just blurted out without actually meaning to.

»I‘m sure everything you say is logical and accurate, but I —«

»Oh, so you weren‘t listening the whole time? Why do you even bother asking me about those —«

This time, you are the one getting interrupted and he puts a gentle hand onto your knee to try and soothe you.

»Because I love the sound of your voice.«

Oh, you froze. Bruce is panicking, he never thought he would be so straightforward with his feelings towards you, but something about you just lets him let loose and be himself. It‘s almost scaring him.

But you didn‘t freeze because you were startled or shocked, but because you never expected for him to compliment you in such a genuine and nice way. And his hand on your knee is only making your case worse. As he is about to get his hand back to himself, you move closer to him and hug him as tightly as you can. Bruce stumbles slightly back into the couch because of the force of your hug, but doesn‘t waste any time on hugging you back. He is instantly relieved at your reaction, letting himself melt into the hug and rub your back lightly in return.

»Not good at taking compliments?«

You scoff at his teasing comment, leaning a little off of him to look into his eyes again.

»At least I don‘t tell people they talk ‚nonsense‘ just to compliment them later.« He rolls his eyes at your light jab, loosening his grip around you as he is unsure if you want to stay in the hug for longer or not. When you don‘t let go, he decides to follow your lead and just let you stay half on top of him with your arms wrapped around his neck. It could come off as friendly cuddling, almost, but there seems to be still some light tension between the two of you.

The fact that Bruce has invited you to his Manor to simply read together says a lot. It is well known to the media that he hasn‘t really been in a relationship, and that he doesn‘t go around dating or hooking up usually. Bruce Wayne is mostly a mysterious person to the media, talking and responding politely and patiently to the interviewers or reporters, letting his guard down only rarely among other people he doesn‘t really know.

Working together with him has shown you that he can warm up to people, especially when they share interests or just seem good-hearted. Like you.

You have shown him how coorperative and kind you are to all your staff and co-actors, he has seen some of your interviews as well. Being kind and bringing a positive message is important for you, and you‘ve made sure to show it. Either through films or other actions, you managed to let Bruce believe there is still good in this world and genuine people. You aren‘t full of money, your beliefs are similar to his in that sense.

He hasn‘t realised it yet, but his hand traces mindless circles around your back as you two stay in the hug, your own hand lightly fidgeting with the back of his shirt collar.

As time passes and you two talk about whatever, the evening rolls by quickly and it becomes dark outside, making the atmosphere more relaxing. By the time you two have talked, you both adjusted your position more, his arms still around in a way while your body is laying mostly across his lap with your head resting against his chest. You didn‘t realize how comfortable it would be to lay almost completely on him, and you‘re trying to make it last.

He uses the opportunity to talk more about himself since you didn‘t really get the chance to get to know each other that much with work. Bruce mostly talks about his sons and daughter, describing their personalities as best as he can, telling a few funny stories here and there from their younger years, knowing they would kill him if they would find out he told you about it.

It‘s endearing hearing him talk about his children, listening to him with heart eyes as you stay in his arms, melting against his chest.

His voice smooth and low, a subtle rasp to it while he eyes dart around the room from one spot to the other until they land on you from time to time. He started to play with your hair at some point, twirling some strands around his finger before letting go and starting again, his hands always busy with something.

»Did anyone ever tell you how soothing you are? Like, I never expected for you to be so calm and kind until now. What‘s with the persona for the press?«

He looks down to you and continues to play around with your hair a little, adjusting his hold on you to let you stay comfortable against his chest.

»Everyone has an online persona. Like to stay more private about my stuff.«

He shrugs lightly, letting his arms stay loosely around you. That response makes you smile, leaning up a little.

»Does that mean I‘m special?«

Bruce can‘t help but smirk at that, shifting to make you face him more.

»I guess you are, yes.«

His warm expression makes you contemplate wether or not this has something more to it, if you both just really good friends already or more. The tension in the room seems thicken, especially with how close you both are right now on the couch. The library falls into a comfortable silence again, this time with both of you staring at the other. You study his features, realising how much prettier he is from up close. From this proximity, you can barely make out the faint freckles across his cheeks, making you want to study him more and find out about all the other faint or small features he has, taking pride in seeing such details.

He also focuses on your face, the way your eyes flit around his face and are soft in the warm light of the room. His hand carefully cups your cheek, feeling the soft and warm skin under his palm. Without thinking, you lean into his hand, looking back into his eyes.

It almost feels magical and surreal how close you are to him, realising you are both about to get even closer. Your heart starts to pick up its pace, but you don‘t pull away. Bruce‘s thumb brushes against your cheekbone, his adam‘s apple bobs briefly before he leans in, seeing how willing you are to stay close and closer.

Eventually, your lips meet and it feels better than any cinematic movie could ever potray a romantic scene. The kiss lingers before you break it, but stay close, your noses barely brushing together.

He trails his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, threading his fingers into your hair.

»Please tell me you wanted this just as much as me.« His voice is quite, careful. Warm.

»Genuinely? From the moment you invited me to your library.«

He smiles at your response, freely with his perfect teeth showing. Without further discussion, he presses his lips against yours again, making sure to be gentle, as if he could break you by being too harsh.

You tremble lightly in his arms, too enrupted by the sensation of the soft kisses to care about anything else. Getting the courage, you wrap your arms more around his neck and lean more into him, making him melt from the inside and become weak for you. You could do anything to him and he would happily let you. Is it a little too early to be so trusting? Maybe. Does he care or want to waste this time with you? Fuck no.

He sighs into the kiss and leans back further into the soft couch, making you follow and press yourself further against him. It becomes overwhelming, getting to sit properly on his lap, your hands on either side of his face, his hands resting contently at your thighs. And it happens.

You can‘t help it, you want – need friction from him, and buck your hips against him, earning a low groan from him.

His grip on your thighs tightens, breath starting to get shallow the longer you kiss. At his subtle reactions, you do that again, starting to grind lightly against him, your own breath growing heavier.

Bruce feels his head spin because of you, the way you are so eager to continue, to feel him more and to get more is making him fall even more for you. The fact alone that you are willing to trust him with your body is enough to get him going more, but he hates that you are both in his library at the moment and you are both nothing official yet.

He does what he thinks is logical and wants to be the responsible from the two of you.

His hands grab onto your hips, stopping you from picking up the pace or apply more pressure against him.

»Hey, easy… easy, we have all the time in the world, just...« He sighs out, loosening his grip on your hips once you simply sit on him.

»Did I do something wrong?«

You panic and look him over to see if you hurt him or made him uncomfortable.

»No! No, no, no, you never did anything wrong, I just… I don‘t want this to be our first time.«

As soon as he drops those words, you slump your full weight on him, slightly confused and disappointed.

»I just want you to have something better than having it in my damn library. You deserve more than that. It needs to be special.«

His hands settle on your waist, his hair slightly tousled and face flushed, chest heaving lightly as he catches his breath, but still feels breathless because of you.

You stay quiet for another moment, processing his words. It‘s difficult to do so, that sight in front of you is making you feral but he doesn‘t want to do anything more because… he wants to treat you better?

Now you are really starting to wonder if he is real. There is no way someone would be nice enough to actually stop making out before it escalates, just because he wants to make it special in another time.

»Oh… okay, then. I won‘t force you anyway.«

You shrug lightly, feeling disappointed. But you would hate to force him to something more. Bruce seems glad you agree on it so easily and lets his hands trail up and down your sides more until he sets you down beside him, a shit-eating grin on his face.

»Sorry for cock-blocking you, dear.«

He murmurs into your ear, making you flush and groan, elbowing his side annoyed; all the while he laughs amused.

←MASTERLIST

a/n: let me know what you think about it, hope you enjoyed it!

[tteotlma]

Brewing Emotions

- tension and unspoken feelings finally come to a head.

Sam Winchester/Reader 2.1kw

a/n: i wrote this after finishing spn over the summer. can u tell i love tension.

tw: mild violence mention, mild sexual content (kissing), emotional distress

The drive back from Wheeling, Illinois to the Bunker was an excruciatingly silent drive. It seemed as though everyone was steeping in their misery, and it was gonna be hard to shake off.

A family of Djinn’s were plaguing the city with missing persons for the past three weeks, and by the time the three of you showed up – there was more bloodshed than expected. Turns out the Djinn were running this operation for way longer and tens of lives were lost.

The three of you tried to save the remaining five survivors but because they were so weak, not all of them could be saved. Much to Sam and Dean’s dismay, only two walked away.

Of course, you were devastated as well but having been a solo hunter far longer than teaming up with the boys – you learned the hard way that losses were inevitable.

You were also less emotionally constipated than the other two, so you knew the better way to feel better was to surround yourself with things that bring you joy. But tweedle dee and tweedle dum here like to sit and stew in silence.

You were able to get them to talk here and there for the first few hours but your efforts ultimately fell short and silence took over. Exhaustion took over and you just let the silence be. During the car ride, you stared at the back of Sam’s head trying to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him in some way. Especially running your hands through his hair. You didn’t know if it was because of your feelings for the man, or because the act of petting lowered stress levels but whenever you found yourself feeling troubled you always found your hands in the man's hair, and vice versa.

Sure the science article was about animals but – potato, potato.

Instead you just crossed your arms and tucked your hands into your armpits, closing your eyes to try and get some shut eye.

The first person to say something was Dean, when the car pulled up to the Bunker.

“I’m gonna wash up.” He huffed, as his leather jacket squeaked against the leather seat while shimmying out of the car.

Perfect, you and Sam could prepare a meal while Dean washes up. You were about to reach out to Sam when he sprung out of the car.

“Hey Sam-” you rushed, following his steps in unloading the car. “Why don’t we-”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little grimy so I’m just gonna wash up too.” He mumbled, lugging the duffel bag over his shoulder, and walking away.

“Oh, okay.” you whispered, trying not to sound dejected. You entered the bunker and everyone made a B-line for their bedrooms.

Throwing your backpack onto the ground, you started undressing wanting nothing more than to just step under hot water and let it burn the tension away from your shoulders.

—

By the time you were done, you were already feeling much better. Your pajamas felt softer and cleaner than the stale outfit you had been wearing for the past two days. Your hair no longer felt stringy and greasy, and your skin felt exfoliated. Now to top it all off with a nice warm cup of tea.

You startled, seeing Sam standing in the kitchen.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna see you until tomorrow.” You said, giving him a soft smile as you walked up to him.

“Uh, well we hadn’t eaten anything since that rest stop about seven hours back.” He returned the same smile, before beginning to chop vegetables. You nodded, placing a swift hand on his shoulder blade as you passed him, to let him know you were walking behind.

He cleared his throat, and a small smile spread on your lips.

“I’m making tea,” You started, “would you like some?” Opening the drawer in front of you, an array of colored boxes splayed out before you.

“Sure, I’ll just take a cup of whatever you’re having.”

You took the small red box out the drawer, placed it on the counter and opened the cabinet above you to get your mugs. You grabbed your favorite, and when you went to grab Sam’s you realized it wasn’t in the usual spot next to yours. Pushing around the mugs, all that could be heard was the ceramic clinking together.

“You need help there?” A small scoff escaped his mouth.

“Your mug isn’t here.” Ceramic still clinking, standing on your tippy toes to try and get a better look.

“That’s okay just grab any other one.” He said, throwing the chopped vegetables in a large bowl.

“But you like that mug,” He turned to look at you. “I swear I put it here when I did the dishes.”

“Maybe someone used it.” He obviously wasn’t convincing you that another cup could be used so he put down the knife with a chuckle and walked towards you.

You could feel his presence loom over you as he stood behind you – barely able to feel his warmth on your back. You tried not to move a muscle.

“Yeah look it’s right here,” He said, reaching into the only shelf you couldn’t reach, and behind a large bowl he pulled out a dark blue mug. He looks down at you as you turn to grab the mug.

“Well, that’s not where I put it.” you mumble, taking the mug from his hands.

Inspecting the mug, to make sure it’s clean you notice Sam falls silent. You look up at him and catch him looking at you – quite intently.

Heat rushes up the back of your neck, and you give him a little smile hoping to god this tension building up isn’t just your imagination.

“Are you okay?” You ask under your breath. Sam blinks and shakes his head clearing his throat.

“Uh, yeah, yes I am.” He spits out, and he steps away. The cool air swooping in and taking place where he previously stood. He goes back to chopping vegetables in silence. His kurt answer leaves you thrown off, so rather than respond you choose to join in the silence and fall into a sort of rhythm beside Sam as he preps the salad he’s been working on as you work on the tea you offered.

As Sam shakes the bowl to mix the dressing, you could feel his warmth and you wanted nothing more than to step closer, under the impression that maybe his warmth could take away these remaining forlorn feelings.

"How'd you like your tea?" you ask, steeping the leaves.

"Like I said, whatever you're having." He puts down the bowl and turns to look at you. You shift your eyes towards him, then away when you feel his gaze boring into you.

As you grab the honey and a spoon, you turn to get some oatmilk from the fridge. Suddenly, you realize Sam is no longer behind you but beside you, his chest at eye level. You startle and look up.

"You okay?" His eyes never leave your face.

"Yeah," is all he says, his gaze unwavering.

Shifting uncomfortably, you begin to look anywhere but at him. An unbearable longing aches within you to touch him—to feel the rough texture of his shirt beneath your trembling fingers, to inhale the faint scent of his cologne mingling with his skin's warmth. You yearn to be enveloped in his embrace, to feel his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close until his steady heartbeat thrums against your chest. Every fiber of your being screams for that connection, that solace, that undeniable closeness.

Your hands clench and unclench at your sides as you look down, the weight of his gaze becoming too intense.

"What is it?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, afraid to break whatever spell he might be under.

He remains silent. Instead, he steps closer, fingers trailing lightly along the hem of your shirt. He moves even nearer until his chest is mere inches from your face. His hand circles around to your lower back, slowly pulling you in. The movement is so gradual you're barely sure you're moving at all. It's not until you feel Sam begin to lean in, his arm wrapping fully around your waist, that you realize he's been wanting to touch you just as badly as you've been wanting to touch him.

Your breath catches in your throat as Sam's arm tightens around you. Your already small world narrows even more to just the two of you—the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, the faint thrum of his heartbeat. You finally allow yourself to raise your hands, letting them rest tentatively on his chest. You slowly look up at him.

"I-I'm sorry, for brushing you off earlier," he says, a glint of remorse in his eyes.

Your hands move to hold his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. "It's okay," you whisper, maintaining the intimate atmosphere between you. "You don't have to apologize."

You watch as Sam presses further into your hands, his eyes closing. A breath of relief leaves his lips, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. The vulnerability in this moment strikes you, making your heart swell with affection.

Studying his face, your hands glide into his hair, gently pulling him close. As if by instinct, Sam buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His hands, initially at the middle of your back, slide down to your hips. He tries to bring you closer, but you're already pressed against him. Instead, your hips align more firmly with his as he holds you there.

The sound of your shaky breaths mingles with the scent of his cologne. The warmth of his body envelops you, and the gentle tickle of his breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. Time seems to slow, each sensation heightened in this intimate embrace. It all feels like a dream—a long-awaited, exquisitely real dream.

Sam's fingers flex slightly at your hips, as if reassuring himself that you're truly there. You respond by carding your fingers through his hair, relishing the softness beneath your touch. The world outside fades away, leaving only this moment, this connection that you've both longed for.

Sam pulls away to look at you, his eyes searching your face. You lightly tug at the hair entwined in your fingers, a silent gesture of affection. Without a word, Sam begins to lean in. His lips brush against yours, feather-light and questioning. Your stillness is all the encouragement he needs.

Years of unspoken feelings finally come crashing down as Sam captures your lips in a proper kiss. He pulls you impossibly closer, one hand cradling the back of your head as if afraid you might slip away. His lips part slightly, and you seize the moment to nip gently at his bottom lip. Sam responds by deepening the kiss, and you meet him willingly, your mouths moving in perfect harmony.

A soft noise escapes him, echoed by your contented sigh. The kiss grows more passionate, your shared breaths becoming ragged. Sam's hands, which haven't left your body, slide down until his fingers find the bare skin at your hips. He kneads the flesh there, his touch both tender and desperate.

The intensity builds with each passing second. Sam's kisses grow more insistent, more passionate, mirroring the longing you both have harbored for so long. The forgotten tea steeps on the counter, the abandoned salad wilts - neither of you notices or cares. There's only this moment, this long-awaited connection, consuming you both entirely.

"Hey, did you guys make any—" Dean's words cut off abruptly as he entered the kitchen. "Well, alright Sammy!"

You and Sam spring apart, both flushed and breathing heavily. Dean stands in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise before a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

"About damn time," he chuckles, shaking his head. "Don't let me interrupt. I'll just grab a beer and go."

As Dean rummages in the fridge, you and Sam exchange sheepish glances, a mix of embarrassment and barely contained laughter in your eyes. The spell of the moment is broken, but the warmth of it lingers.

Dean grabs his beer and heads out, but not before throwing a wink over his shoulder. "You might want to take this somewhere more private next time. And Y/n? Your tea's probably over-steeped by now." He chuckles.

As Dean's footsteps fade down the hall, you and Sam look at each other trying not to laugh, the tension dissipating. Sam reaches out, taking your hand in his.

"So," he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "about that tea..."

You squeeze his hand, your heart light despite the interruption. "I think we might need to start over," you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face.

As you move to prepare fresh tea, Sam's arm wraps around your waist, unwilling to let you go just yet. You lean into him, savoring the closeness. The night may not have gone as planned, but it's ended better than you could have imagined.

—————

pls leave comments/feedback! i luv hearing ur thoughts!

[cailinsblog]

The Girl of His Dreams |Connor bedard

Connor bedard x reader

Masterlist

It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon, or so it seemed to Connor Bedard. He’d just finished a practice with the Chicago Blackhawks and was heading back to his apartment, mentally preparing for the upcoming game that weekend. But something in the air felt different today. Maybe it was the anticipation of his first full season in the NHL or maybe it was because of the event he couldn’t get out of his head—meeting her.

Y/N.

Connor had seen her across the room at a charity event a few weeks ago. She had caught his attention the moment she stepped into the venue, her warm smile lighting up the place. She wasn’t the type to draw attention, but there was something so magnetic about her presence that Connor couldn’t look away. He had been too shy to introduce himself that night, but it didn’t stop him from wondering who she was. The days that followed, Connor found himself thinking about her more than he wanted to admit. She was smart, kind, and beautiful in a way that was so effortless. He wasn’t even sure if he would ever see her again, but that didn’t stop him from hoping.

Then, by some stroke of luck, fate had intervened.

He had seen her again, this time at a coffee shop near the rink. She was sitting by herself, typing away on her laptop, completely unaware that the hockey star she’d caught the eye of was just a few feet away from her. Connor’s heart raced when he realized it was his chance. He had practiced this moment in his head so many times, yet he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous.

As he approached her table, his palms were sweaty, and his nerves were nearly unbearable. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Y/N looked up, surprised to see him standing there. But her reaction wasn’t what he had feared. Instead of being starstruck or awkward, she just smiled, her eyes soft and inviting. “No, go ahead.”

Connor hesitated for a moment before sitting down, his heart still beating faster than it probably should have been. “I… I’ve seen you before. At the charity event. I’m Connor.”

Her smile grew, and for the first time, Connor felt himself relax. “Y/N,” she replied warmly. “Nice to meet you, Connor.”

The small talk flowed easily after that. They talked about their favorite coffee orders, what brought them to the charity event, and how Connor was adjusting to life with the Blackhawks. But as much as they talked, Connor found himself becoming increasingly aware of how badly he wanted to ask for her number. Every moment he hesitated felt like a missed opportunity.

After what felt like an eternity of talking, Connor finally took a deep breath and said, “I know this is a little forward, but would you want to maybe grab dinner sometime? Or… I could give you my number, and you could text me if you’d like?”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, as if considering her answer. The silence between them felt deafening, and Connor could feel his heart thudding painfully in his chest. But then, to his relief, Y/N smiled again, her eyes twinkling. “I’d like that. I’ll text you,” she said as she jotted down her number on a napkin.

Connor smiled wider than he ever thought he could. His nerves were still there, but now they were replaced with a wave of happiness and excitement that was impossible to ignore.

Over the next few days, the two of them texted back and forth, getting to know each other better. Their conversations were effortless, filled with inside jokes and shared laughter. And then, after a couple of weeks, Connor finally worked up the courage to ask her to one of the Blackhawks games.

“Hey, so I know this is a little last-minute, but would you want to come to the game with me tomorrow? I’ll get you tickets,” he asked over text, his fingers hovering nervously over his phone screen.

Y/N didn’t even wait a minute to respond. “I’d love to!” she replied, and Connor could feel his heart race again.

He picked her up the next evening, his nerves threatening to get the best of him. But when he saw her standing outside her apartment in a cozy sweater and jeans, he forgot all about the nerves. Y/N looked incredible, and as she climbed into the car, she flashed him that same warm smile that had first captured his heart.

At the game, Connor could hardly focus. He was too busy sneaking glances at Y/N, watching the way her eyes lit up when the crowd cheered. It was obvious to him that she wasn’t just interested in the game; she was genuinely excited to be there, to be a part of this part of his life. During a break in play, he handed her a Blackhawks jersey, the number 98 stitched onto the back.

“For you,” he said shyly, his cheeks flushed.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “You’re a part of this now, too.”

She accepted it with a laugh, pulling it over her head right there in the stands. “Thanks, Connor. I’ll wear it proudly,” she said, looking down at the jersey.

He couldn’t help but grin, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness. It was all so surreal—the idea that this amazing woman was now a part of his world.

But little did Y/N know, the real challenge for Connor was yet to come.

The night after the game, Connor found himself tossing and turning in bed. The Blackhawks had just finished a tough game, one where Connor had missed a crucial shot on goal. He knew he was capable of so much more, and the weight of letting his team down started to eat away at him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed.

So, at 3:00 AM, he did something completely out of character—he got in his car and drove to Y/N’s apartment, convinced that he needed to talk to someone who could help him put his thoughts at ease.

He knocked gently on her door, his nerves back in full force as he waited for her to answer. A few moments later, the door opened, and Y/N stood there, her hair tousled from sleep but her eyes soft with concern when she saw who it was.

“Connor? What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately stepping aside to let him in.

“I just… I don’t know. I had a bad game, and I feel like I’m letting everyone down,” Connor admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s heart ached as she walked toward him, gently taking his hands in hers. “You’re not letting anyone down, Connor. You’re young, and you’re still learning. You have so much potential, and there’s so much more to come. This is just the beginning for you.”

He looked at her, feeling the weight of her words settle into his chest. For the first time that night, the tight knot of anxiety loosened, and he felt a wave of calm wash over him.

Y/N reached up and cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “You’re going to do amazing things, Connor. But you need to be kind to yourself, too.”

Connor smiled, the burden lifting off his shoulders. He leaned in, his lips brushing gently against hers in a soft kiss. It was full of warmth and comfort, a kiss that reassured him everything would be okay.

When they pulled away, Connor rested his forehead against hers, feeling safe and secure in her arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Y/N smiled softly. “Anytime, Connor. You’re not alone in this.”

As he held her close, Connor realized that meeting Y/N had been the best thing to ever happen to him. She wasn’t just the girl of his dreams; she was the one who would help him believe in himself when everything seemed overwhelming.

And in that moment, Connor knew that no matter what happened on the ice, he had someone who would always be there for him—someone who would love him not for his successes, but for who he was.

And that, more than anything, was enough.

---

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

NSFW ABC's

TW: NSFW, a little yandere, bondage, breeding visualizations,

Aftercare

what are they like after sex?

Katsuki is spent after going at it.

He doesn’t really do things halfway – so when he starts mumbling into your neck in curt, growling groans while messaging your hips with warm hands – crotch against your rear – you take it as a warning to prepare yourself to get wrecked.

He’s cute like that – telling you without telling you.

And aftercare isn’t much different – not caring for you in appreciative words so much as in small affectionate gestures instead. Holding you in his exhaustion – big spoon – heavy arms wrapped around you snuggly as he places soft kisses on the back of your neck.

You’re both so sticky with sweat but too tired to feel icky – falling asleep – thinking it’s tomorrow’s problem.

Bondage

is there a rope-bunny? if so, which of you? what’s used? how and what is tied up?

Pent up after work with only a couple of hours to spare between eating dinner and going to bed – the two of you don’t always have the time to plan anything too kinky. Often, you’ll have to start in the shower and finish in bed before saying goodnight.

And besides, it’s not always Katsuki has the patience to bother with ropes, even if you do have the time. 

He’s tired when he comes home, but horny all the same – and all he’ll want is to find enjoyment by using just his own two hands. Pinning you and feeling you between his fingers – raking in your soft flesh after a long day – groping you and manhandling you until you tap him with that specific look – telling him he’s being a bit too much… 

Clingy isn’t the exact word you’d use as it doesn’t really describe the feeling of how weighty his muscle mass is when topping you. It’s rather something between over-eager and clumsily desperate.

Heavy-handed.

But other times… 

If the two of you have the entire day together, and you’ve decided you’d rather have a stay-at-home date rather than go out – then he’ll insist you do something a tad bit more choreographed.

And fuck knows, he has all the equipment to make it happen. 

Cum

how fast are they? where do they like to shoot it? what’s it look/feel/taste like?

You’re not entirely sure what to blame it on. Stamina or orgasmic constipation, or whether it’s due to his own hard-headedness – if he’s playing some bet on himself to see how long he can last. All you know is that when he finally releases, it’s like new year’s. 

All anticipation and desires weighed on one final firework – drunk off champagne and consumed by the thought of bedtime straight after. 

He likes being buried to the hilt when he blows – likes feeling it cream hot inside you and how you clench around him tightly as though you also love it when he gives it to you raw. Even though he knows you allow it only because he asks it of you.

You would probably say no – but Katsuki has a way of being really cute when he wants something. The way he’ll mouth kisses on your cheek and almost beg for it, asking you sweetly and breathlessly, “can I?” – you don’t really have the wits with you to tell him to pull out.

You find yourself wearing pads even when you’re not on your period. 

Dynamic

who’s in charge? what type: dom/sub, sado/maso, etc…? 

Bakugou’s domestic more than he is dominant. Almost motherly, he does the cooking and the cleaning – while also assuming the role of the man in your relationship with his round-the-clock profession – leaving for work after making breakfast for the both of you, kissing your cheek before walking out the door.

But as someone who, through pure habit, does everything without thinking twice about it – he’s absolutely stunned into a pleasant surprise when, in those moments, you decide to do something in his stead. 

And the same counts for pleasures in the bedroom. 

As in, he’s quick to roll over if you want to take the lead – if and when you place your hands down flat on his chest and push him down – mounting him with that very dauntless look in your eye – spirited and brazen – when you lord over him like something between a hovering angel and a demon bearing down on prey. 

He can feel something in his gut rumble and yield as you roll your hips in exactly what tempo you’ve set – his hands held loosely at the swell of your haunches, doing nothing but encourage your reign.

But even though he may like and even want it, he’s not one to ever request such a thing – so aside from those times you take the initiative all on your own, he gladly takes care of the both of you all by himself as though it’s the only obvious thing to do.

Expertise

are they any good?

Precision and expertise are as though written in Katsuki’s constitution.

However… 

If there’s a time Katsuki’s ever clumsy, it’s when he’s drunk with lust for you. When he’s got his hands on your waist and his mouth on your face – when he’s grinding himself against you and only has the mind to focus on how lucky he is to get to be the one that fucks you every night. 

But a little clumsiness doesn’t mean he’s bad at it. 

Albeit he’s a bit overbearing – being dizzy with overwhelming arousal – he’s equally concerned with your pleasure as he is his own. And though he’s not one to ask if he’s making you feel good, he’s always looking out for your little mannerisms to answer the question – and usually, your reactions tell him he’s doing a good job.

Face

what do they look like during? what expressions do they make?

He seems to always have this curl between his brows. Furrowed as though in deep focus or in a struggling strive to reach his goal – in slight irritation of how on the brink he finds himself – chasing the full feeling. Teeth grit in those moments he’s not moaning when you bite his neck in retaliation to his harsh thrusts. 

Sometimes he’ll even be so cute as to bite his tongue in his concentration – rhythmically swaying your hips back against his in his pursuit – as though he’s trying to feel every little ridge of his catch on yours and how you squeeze him tight when he’s got his cockhead nudged snug against your cervix.

And his eyes will close – teeth sinking into his lip as a soft shuddering hum of a moan leaves him – closing in on it. And when finally reaching it – he’ll bow his head and take refuge in your chest – his hips shaking against you – panting hot dewy breaths onto your skin until fully collapsing in the aftertaste.

Games

do they like to play? if so, what?

He likes chasing you down and tackling you. And he’s not shy off a tickle-fight. He absolutely loves having you pinned in a burst of unfiltered smiles and laughter as you cry for him to stop while splashing like a fish out of water beneath him. 

It’s as though your thrashing reaches his heart, riveting his entire body ablaze. 

You make him feel the same way he feels when he’s using his quirk – sparked on fuel, eager to explode, and just bursting at the seams.

He thinks you’re so beautiful then – and all other times, but especially then – when you have a few sprinkles of tears in the corner of your eyes from the force of your giggles, all your walls down in trust of him even though his arms are scarred beyond repair with evidence of his brutal nature.

That’s the moment he thinks of knocking you up. 

He wants you to be a family – a complete family with a couple of brats running around. He wants to blow raspberries on their bellies and make them giggle the way you do. He wants to see you play here-comes-the-airplane when tricking them into eating. He wants goofy family pictures lining the staircase and the mantle, and the desk in his office. He wants childish celebrations – Christmas, Halloween, April Fool's Day. He wants it all. 

And he wants it all with you.

Horny

how horny are they?

Winning makes him horny. His work – investigating, patrolling, fighting, exploding. Every win, big or small, celebrated with you – his cheerleader, his prize. It goes straight to his head, and what goes to his head goes straight to his dick, and his dick leads straight to you.

He always comes home in a winner’s high, grinning that devilish smirk while he lifts you off the ground with greasy smokey hands, rubbing his face into the nook of your neck until you giggle – asking you if you saw him and how he kicked ass on the news. 

You tell him yes even if you haven’t – you know you’ll get a full recap over dinner anyway.

He’s in the best mood those days – brazen and handsy with you, smiling and talkative – bragging about his takedowns and sharing the funny office shenanigans Kirishima and Denki get up to. 

Then he’ll make an effort to act invested in you, asking you about your day – but you only look at him knowingly and tell him it was nothing special – recognizing his interest as just that – interest.

There’s no smooth segway from boasting about his achievements to asking to fuck you, but you help him get there – putting your dishes in the sink, you come back and drape your hands around him, giving his neck a kiss, blowing on his ear while telling him to come and claim another victory.

Intimacy

how lovey-dovey are they?

He’s connected with you, with a focus on your movements, taking in all your little reactions and kissing you when catching you doing something unreasonably cute.

But he’s the cute one – trying not to leave any bruises on you despite you having told him it’s okay. 

He doesn’t like seeing his transgressions marring your skin as unseemly reminders of his short temper and vicious strength – and how completely at his mercy you would be were he to exercise it.

He fears he’d start thinking differently about your relationship if he did. He fears he might come to use it against you to get his way like he’s done in the past with others that have made the same mistake of caring for him.

The thought of your face twisted with betrayal – looking at him like he’s nothing but a villain – that’s what keeps him in check. He understands that the day he breaks your trust is the day he loses you – maybe not in the physical sense if he can help it, but he would be helpless to stop you from never loving him the same way ever again.

But even though his thoughts disgust him while he swears to himself that he won’t ever make you feel in any way inferior – he still regards it as a ticking time bomb. That you one day will realize that he’s not as good as you think he is and try to leave him – and that on that day, he just won’t be able to let you go.

Junk

what’s their private look/feel like?

He’s thick and heavy-hung. Ripped the same way the rest of him is – muscular – with fat veins like cables pumping power. High-strung with a sturdy spine, lifting it up like a cannon ready to fire. A plump tip with a deep slit shaping it where beads of white pill – like fine pearls running down the length of it into the ash-blonde wisp bearding the beast – growing lightly upward in a happy trail towards his navel – upon finely cut muscles, steering clear of his larger scars, and spreading even further upon his pelvis to his chest in short circular curls – contrasting the tan sand color of his skin the same way the stubble on his chin grows – scratching you every time he gives you a kiss.

Kinks

what turns them on?

Katsuki's kink is consent – hearing you tell him to go faster or harder or deeper – feeling you claw your nails into his skin while your legs pull him closer, wrapped tightly in a lock around his torso – how your own hips move impatiently against his – desperately begging for more of him.

He also likes hearing you tell him to be gentle, to go slower, to make his digs longer – how you moan sweetly for him and caress his body with gentle touches, all smoothly in soft small hands – how your lips press against his neck and blow on his ear – when in the absence of skin harshly smacking skin the two of you hear the schlick all to well as you mold into the other’s embrace.

Really – just anytime you ask for anything – when you show him you want him. When you ask to ride him and when you tell him to take over. When you tell him to kiss you and when you’re too caught up in it to understand what or how to ask so you instead just say his name with a moan.

Location

where do they like doing it?

Katsuki likes going at it anywhere at home in the comfort of your shared house – with the exception of his car if he’s feeling impatient – his sofa, his kitchen counter, his dining table, his tub, his shower, his windows, his home-office desk, his bed, on a pile of his dirty laundry. 

It’s in those intimate places that he can really let loose, leave the worries of the world outside and keep his focus on you and all those innermost personal ways he wants to ingrain you in his life – root you in his privacy – tattoo you into his skin.

Though there have been times when you’ve visited him at his hero agency – bringing lunch – where he’s been too riled up and tattered from huge wasteful meetings with other pro heroes who’s all had their head’s too far up their asses to come to any agreement regarding anything – when seeing you has been such a blessing that he just hasn’t been able to keep himself from grabbing at you – desperate for comfort and some consolation in burying his frustrations deep inside your tight cunt. 

Where due to his occasional raging fits and his own personal need for privacy – his office is both soundproof and fitted with airtight blinds – therefore, nothing to keep him from making you scream when he takes you hard against his desk.

And aside from the office, there have been times you’ve stayed with his parents where he’s not been shy of getting friskywith you in his childhood bedroom.

So, in correction, maybe it’s closer to anywhere he feels at home – and not restricted to the house.

Masturbation

do they? if so, how often? to what?

Katsuki masturbates only on one occasion. And fuck knows it’s on those nights he’s fucked things up with you enough to be banished from the bedroom to the sofa. 

He knows that he should be lying awake feeling guilty about other things regarding the reason he’s sleeping alone in the first place – but he can’t help it when his blood’s pumped up on adrenaline after your fight, and how the frustration still lingering in his skull only has one fix solution which is to rub one out and fall asleep so he can be calm enough to apologize to you in the morning.

He just needs to remind himself of how much he loves you, and though it isn’t the most dignified or romantic way – imagining you in compromising positions with filthy words on your lips – it’s proven to be the most efficient way for him to forgive and forget the fact that he thinks you should be the one banished to the sofa and not him.

Which is another thing fuck knows – that the two of you never agree to who’s in the wrong and can only ever agree to disagree after a long night's sleep without each other.

Nos

turn-offs

Katsuki’s main turn-off is losing. 

His performance in bed is tightly knit with his performance at work – so if things are going poorly in either field, things are bound to be going poorly in the other. 

Slumps ruin his confidence, making it but a brittle thing – an absolute insult to his normally unshakable self. 

It’s the stress; it makes him both tired and restless at the same time. He’s the type to scratch at his scalp and pull his hair out – only withholding screaming so not to scare you.

In such periods all he wants is your gentle touch rubbing his sore muscles while you cuddle and kiss his forehead and cheek – telling him that everything will work out and be okay. 

In those periods, the nights are spent with his head buried in your bosom and his hands balling your nightie in tight fists – struggling to keep from crying – while your hand smoothly runs through his hair – only continuing when he finally breaks and starts to jostle with silent sniffles and wet tears staining your chest.

Oral

do they give/receive? how are they giving/receiving?

Katsuki gets lost in you – humping the sheets as he gorges himself. 

Your scent turns him in – your taste turns him on – the soft squishy flesh of your cunty lips kissing him back turns him on – how your thighs quake around his face turns him on – how your hips buck against his jaw turns him on – and the hand you have riddled in his hair, tugging on him in desperate demands as you spill and shake in aftershocks against him turns him on.

It riles him up so much he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt in one fell swoop, once crawling on top of you with hands still buried into the squeezable fat of your thighs, spreading you into a wide-open invitation – groaning against your mouth with your undoing glossing his chin and lips and his breath the scent of your raw arousal.

With your essence on his tongue, he cums almost embarrassingly quickly.

Position

what’s their favorite position? what position are they best?

Katuki’s favorite position is you – flat on your back and belly-up beneath him in a tight sticky mating press. 

Sticky forehead against sticky forehead, sweat sprinkled dewy across your cheeks as you look back up into his eyes with lust and plead – all pooling into one mesmerizing mixture he can’t stop himself from drowning in – his mouth open with heavy huffs and puffs, drool dribbling into your mouth where you pant on beat with his humping. 

Thighs spread wide under the pressure of his hands where he has you folded neatly against the pillow beneath you – lifted from the mattress to meet every single dig of his cock – pulling all the way out before storming your ribs with a deep swing of his hips, slapping against you and filling you all the way up again.

He loves how your thighs quake when he pushes into the very deepest part of you and how your moans lose all energy and devolve into nothing more but pretty pitter-pattering – your eyes glossy and doe-like, wet lashes blinking slowly while looking up into his. Loving how your cunt clenches as how you hold your breath – in anticipation of receiving more of him – how your velvety walls flutter upon the length of him – a sopping wet hot welcome allowing him to burrow deep with ease. 

Reaping what he sows he takes you fully as you are – convinced you were made for him.

Question

do they ask for sexual pleasures? if so, how?

He’ll give you a heads-up rather than a request – a little threat on your phone telling you to do whatever it is you feel you have to do before he comes home because the second he’s home, he’s going to have you up against the nearest wall.

Other times, his warnings come more in the form of the hungry look in his eyes as he silently leers at you from across the dinner table or the other side of the couch. Looking at you like he’s hunting prey – claws coming out to play soon after in how they paw at you right as he lounges to capture you.

He does that – silently attack you – with touches and lips and needy dry-humping until you cave and tell him to take you up to the bedroom instead. He only barely listens – tugging off his belt and pulling his pants down before wrapping your legs around him and lifting you up. Sometimes the two of you don't even make it all the way up the stairs.

Sometimes however, he’ll come after you in softer ways. If you’re already in his arms, and he’s just noticed how close the two of you are – getting so very hot and bothered by the mere realization. 

In moments of downtime… 

When you’re standing there in home attire, plush loafers, and a pretty apron – cutting vegetables for dinner – and he just wants a quick crotchdance as an appetizer for what desert he’ll want after dinner. 

Or, following a long day, when the two of you are snuggled up with a movie in bed hours after the sun’s set – when you’re in his arms, and he’s just incapable of focussing on the plot. 

And other bedtime routines where the two of you’re doing your skincare rituals and getting ready for a shower – and you’re standing there in cute pajamas he knows will be on the floor soon. 

Role-play

do they? if so, what roles? dress-up?

Sometimes he likes to roleplay you as a silly little villain. 

He doesn’t really understand why – but seeing you look all cute and catlike in a black robber’s mask – acting as though he’s arresting you – really riles him up. 

Your initial thought process led you to believe it was a way for him to somehow justify being a bit rougher with you – but later, you found that the fault rather existed in that certain intoxicating sensation of authority he feels when he is in his hero suit – when he has you face-first against a wall with your hands behind you back – cuffing them before kicking your legs open for a search. 

He'll warn you to refrain from resisting as he drags his fingers over the little black costumey spandex you’re wearing to fit the role of a cat burglar – tight booty shorts leaving the crease of your asscheeks exposed, same way the deep dipping slit of the top lets your cleavage almost spill over.

He'll yank your head back with a fist riddled in your hair – looking down at you with that crazed smile you often see on the news, making your chest tight and breath thin – knowing you're in for a hell of a ride.

While other times – mostly to make you giggle – he’ll be the one impersonating a villain. But he’s only silly and cute when pinning you, poking fun with a smile while play-biting at your neck – telling you what shit luck you must have to find yourself in such an unfortunate situation and that he’s going to make you regret walking around without your hero-boyfriend to protect you.

You know it’s not all fun and games, though. You know there's some truth to it for him. You're not blind to the way he sees you as something in need of protecting. It's not exactly as though your supposed weaknesses, along with Katsuki’s temper, aren't two of the most argued subjects the two of you disagree on.

Secrets

impure thoughts/feeling/fantasies they have of you

He has many impure thoughts about you, but he’s all very shameless about expressing those. Ever the honest man, he’ll talk dirty like it’s nobody's business – whispering ever the salacious raunchiest desire right at your ear with a sharp smirk playing on his lips, so sharp you get snagged on it each and every time.

But, there are things he’ll keep to himself – certain stirrings in his stomach that confuse him. When your voice slips into that oh-so seductively sultry tone with your hand filtering through the spikes of hair atop his head, looking down at him with eyes full of love and this other something he’s not sure why makes him so quiet.

His heart goes absolutely feral with fluttering pounding then – even though he knows you’re just being silly – even though he knows you’re just out to pull his leg… He can’t help the chills of goosebumps that spread throughout him when you level him and say something along the lines of good boy~

You fluster him with that, and it’s all too clear with how he blushes bright red and adopts that sheepish look that’s so unlike him – and in the way his voice wavers when he tries and tells you to stop it with that shit.

Toys

do they have? which? when/how do they use them? on who?

One of the drawers in the bedroom is dedicated to Katsuki’s little collection. 

Fluffy cuffs, silken ropes, chains, and tape – all meant to restrain you, as well as other complicated confinements such as spreader bars and armbinders and the like – along with other subjugating toys like leashes, collars, blindfolds, and gag balls – all heavy-duty hardcore means of bondage.

You couldn’t stop blushing the first time he introduced you to the kink – eyes wide and face heated – it actually robbed you of breath. Sure, you’d seen it in porn and felt sticky feelings of pleasure upon what you saw, but you’d never truly imagined it for yourself, at least not to the extent Katsuki was offering.

But he was asking so nicely – in such a sweet way you hadn't ever witnessed him do before – softly reassuring you that you could trust him and that he wouldn’t do anything without making sure you were comfortable with it first.

You couldn’t very well tell him no when you hadn’t even tried it first.

You don’t know what about it he enjoys so much – if it’s the fact that you’re completely pressed beneath his thumb or that you trust him enough to let yourself be – all you know for sure is that Katsuki has a smile on his face every time you have your body in a bind.

Sometimes you giggle and put the cuffs on him – and he’ll do a little muscle dance for you to keep you smiling, looking at you with that very deep red and playful look, watching you try and tease him with feather-light touches and chaste little pecks – waiting for him to snap, break free and punish you hard for being a little brat.

Underwear

on/off? normal/lingerie? naked? colors?

Of course, you make him groan when you wear those spicy intricacies of red lace and mesh – those fiery and flowery patterns of expense that leave little to the imagination and are better left off on the floor after he rips them off you.

But on the other hand – he thinks he finds you sexiest when you’re wearing comfy cotton boxers and no bra but hissignature black T-shirt with the skull print.

When you look like the very epitome of at home. 

There’s just something about seeing you in comfy clothing – be it pajamas or his silly merch, or one of his shirts that just dwarfs you – it’s nice seeing you so natural around him. Clean of all makeup with a pair of fuzzy socks on your feet – looking goofy and cute as you shuffle over to him. 

And there’s something very soothing about it, too, in how it feels so trivial and personal and right – reserved only for him, as though something you’re only comfortable with him seeing.

Volume

are they loud? what sounds do they make? or do they prefer your sounds instead?

It comes as no surprise that Katsuki’s a loudmouth even in bed when he is one everywhere else.

He’s full-throated, with rusty growls and groans, hunting your insides like a wolf chasing down prey – only getting louder the closer he comes, rutting against you hard and fast with his face buried in your skin, softly biting and panting out damp breaths while his hands clutch you tighter.

He likes the sound of your moans too. They drive him wilder – fueling the beast within – making him go rabid. A hand closing around your throat, feeling your noises strum against his palm. Mouth his name, and he loses all composure – hearing it drip, sticky sweet off your tongue, along with drool and a whine. 

His head gets so hot and cloudy it becomes hard to think, only feel the pressure way down low in his pelvis, wanting to burst and bloom and spill and fill you up so good you get hearts in your eyes at the milky warmth.

Wild-card

something sexually specific to this character

There’s a lot of sweat. It’s a slippery sport for the two of you, and it’s only ever more wet come summertime.

But it’s quite a pretty site – the way it becomes like steam pilling and rolling off his tough glistening muscles, sparkly in droplets sprinkled on his tan sand-colored skin, dripping from the spikes in his hair like he’s melting.

It would have been more of a problem if it didn’t smell like sweet honeysuckle and caramel. Sweet yet somewhat burning to the taste, it’s almost like syrup and chili – and quite addictive, you confess while dragging your tongue over the dew on his chest, kissing the scars which paint him like a canvas, and licking your lips clean of the oils as he tugs you by your chin to look up at him.

You can tell he thinks it’s kind of gross – the way he leaves a damp print on the sheets after every sleep – or when the two of you walk together, and he doesn’t want to hold your hand. But you make sure to take him between your fingers, placing kisses to his knuckles – over those places where he’s split his skin on punches or torn and worn them on his quirk. 

He’ll tell you that you look like a pet

X-rated

dirty talk

Curse words, grunting, and filthy little nothings make up most of Katsuki’s dirty talk – plus curt encouraging exclamations of yeah groaned breathily against your neck as the two of you melt against one another.

But it’s when he’s tipsy that his tongue really loosens.

Unknotting into something truly unlike him – lovey-dovey confession just pouring from his lips, mouthing at your skin with his head bowed. 

And it’s not just him telling you how much he loves you – but much sappier stuff – angsty and almost just a little bit worrying stuff… 

How he needs you to be his forever and never leave him, how you should just get pregnant with his kid already, quit your job and be his beautiful housewife who stays at home with the kids, waiting for him to come back from work and fuss over him when he finally walks through the door.

You giggle at him come morning – teasing him for all his silliness while he lies with his head drowned in a pillow and a hangover. You stroke his hair and ask if you should be the good housewife that you are and go bring him breakfast in bed – and he’ll groan at you to shut up.

Yandere

toxic/yandere traits

He knows he’s being insane, and he scolds himself for it – trying his best to keep it to himself and find ways to cope with it without burdening you.

But the truth is he finds your life outside him annoying.

He wished you’d leave all of it behind you once you moved in with him – but you’re still leaving for work on days he’s off duty and out with friends when he comes home. You still have people calling you when you’re eating dinner and others texting you when you’re having sex. You’ll bump into people you know when the two of you’re out and give his arm a little punch afterward, telling him how you wished he’d be a little nicer.

But the thing you don’t understand is that all those pesky friends of yours – all those old classmates and boyfriends and girlfriends and coworkers – they’re all competing for your attention. And it doesn’t always feel like he’s the one winning when you blow him off to hang out with them instead.

And aside from people, it’s your job that keeps you from him. 

Some days he wonders if you’d say yes if he asked you to move out of the country with him. But you’re always going on about your carrier and your dreams, and he fears you’d resent him if he asked you to give it all up.

It bothers him to no end – hurts him – because if it were a choice to hang out with his friends or you, he’d pick youevery time. And when it comes to his job… he honestly thinks he’d give it all up if it meant you’d only ever look at him for the rest of your lives.

Zone

what part of you do they love the most?

Your voice and the look on your face when you say his name. 

He hopes you always look at him that way. Softly yet vividly with a gentle smile shaping your lips – one which only widens the longer you look until fully blooming into something that tugs at his heart, giggling out something silly, like calling him a creep for staring at you for so long.

If only you knew… He could stare at you all day until sleep forced his eyes closed. 

He gets so upset when he doesn’t get to see you. He pulls up his phone with a pout to FaceTime you, growling out a curse word if you don’t pick up – opening up photos for comfort instead. 

He has no need to create or pick any album – he only ever takes pictures of you. 

It’s mostly goofy pics of you eating food he’s made for you. Others where you’re sleeping – especially if you’re sleeping on or next to him. And a few more risqué shots, where you’re either dressed only in underwear or nothing at all. Plus, a couple of photos you’ve told him to delete – those where you’re sweaty and messy – with his cum drooping shut one eye, dripping off your cheek like glaze, running down your plump lips into your gaping mouth, landing perfectly on your welcoming tongue.

Still looking up at him with those eyes.

Those soft yet vivid eyes he can stare into forever. 

tip-jar: Kofi

[boyfhee]

ALWAYS ⋆ lhs

prompt · “this—” [ points at their chest ] “—belongs to you. always,” requested

g · fluff warnings · vegetable mentions lmfao wc · 0.6k

note · i tried something new ( sticking to the point instead of over explaing the scenes )

“you’re upset,” heeseung finally says after a series of sighs dancing off his lips, walking up from the couch to the kitchen, taking a seat opposite to you by the counter as you start preparing dinner. “what happened?” 

you start putting vegetables in a bowl to wash them, taking an onion from his hand as he passes you one, eyes lost amidst the unreadable expression on your face, looking for answers. “nothing,”

“did i do something?” he asks again, voice softer than before. 

you shrug, “perhaps,”

“you need to be more specific there, love,” 

you pause, wondering if it’s actually worth telling him— the reason is quite embarrassing, honestly. the look on his face resembles hesitation, you can tell he’s thinking if he’s doing something wrong, along with the slightest of guilt with panic that gleam in his eyes. on other days, you would cup his face and discard every second thought intoxicating his mind, but not today. 

“i went to jake’s aunt’s flower shop to see how you and the boys were holding up with volunteering,” so, you get back to your vegetables, letting the words fall off your lips ever so nonchalantly while heeseung listened with extreme care. “and i saw you being all smiley with a certain someone,” 

“oh,” and you understand that he has gotten the hint in the way his lips curl into a smirk, knowing how you are referring to, and the way he gets up and walks next to you, putting his arms around your waist to pull you closer. “do tell me more,” 

“and i wanted to have a little talk with you guys but,” you continue, as per his request, the frown on your face fighting back to morph into a smile at heeseung’s playful gaze that lingered upon you while your own is busy travelling walls and ceilings. 

“but?” the smile on his lips grows wider. 

“but—” 

“but, you got jealous and left,” he finishes your sentence for you with a mocking smile, knowing exactly the direction this conversation was heading in. “is that right?” 

it isn’t wrong to be jealous, neither is it wrong to accept that you’re jealous, but you know better than saying yes and giving him yet another reason to tease you. “no, heeseung, i was not jealous. i was just concerned,” 

“i see. i was too, about the sales,” he explains, pressing his lips into a thin line. “she was getting lilies, and jake’s aunt particularly told us to smile and greet customers to make them feel welcomed so that they visit again,” 

it had become a saturday routine for heeseung to lend jake’s aunt a hand or two at her shop, along with jay and sunghoon. the boys had been hunting for part time jobs and she offered a perfect deal after her previous employees left almost three weeks ago. it was surely difficult to assist everyday due to classes so they settled for tuesdays and saturdays, with sundays if there is ever an influx of customers. 

“and what if she gives those flowers to you tomorrow?” your question makes him look at you with a blank expression as if he was to say, not again, sweetheart. “c’mon, hee, we both know iseul likes you,” 

“well, that might be true but this—” he points at his heart, looking at you with eyes full of all the love present in the universe, as if you hung the stars in his sky. “—this belongs to you, always,” 

“oh, then i must be the luckiest person in the world,”

you laugh at his corny and yet sweet words, getting lost in his gaze as if nothing else is worth looking at, getting caught up in surprise when he leans down to plant a soft peck on your lips. “i think i’m luckier to have you own my heart,”

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 17, Unanswered - Pt. 5*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Explicit Dream!Sexual Content - Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here. (dream!oral (f-receiving))

Word Count: 1.3k

Previously On...: A conversation with Steve informed you that Bucky was fine, and on his way back to the Tower. He just couldn't be bothered to contact you, it seems. Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool.

A/N: Yay, look at that! Some more smut! Finally! Last part of Chapter 17. You know what that means, friends! BETRAYAL IS AROUND THE CORNER!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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You went about the rest of your evening and night as normally as you possibly could to distract yourself, checking up on the work emails you’d missed while you were ill and approving some requests for PTO. You’d listened to some back episodes of a True Crime podcast you’d been meaning to catch up on and aimlessly browsed Reddit, making some anonymous posts debunking some of the more outrageous relationship theories that were popping up concerning you and Steve. You were most definitely, for example, not having his super soldier baby.

Fortunately, you only threw up once during that time, and you were optimistic when, after you did, your stomach growled with hunger. You headed to the kitchen, considering potentially grabbing a plate of Thai leftovers from the other night, but remembering your reaction to Nat’s to-go plate, you opted instead to just make yourself a turkey and cheese sandwich. Best not to risk a repeat performance.

Once you made it back to your room, you decided you’d been awake long enough and called it a night. Checking your phone one last time, you were disappointed, yet not surprised, to see you still had no new messages from Bucky. As you put your head down on your pillow, you could only hope tomorrow would bring better tidings, and soon, you were asleep.

You were dreaming. And oh, it was a very good dream, indeed. You weren’t exactly sure what you were dreaming about, you just knew that delicious tension was building low in your stomach and, fleetingly, you hoped it was the kind of dream where you actually got to finish, and not the kind that left you frustratingly hanging over the precipice without actually falling. Those dreams were the fucking worst.

The dream slowly came into focus, Bucky’s head between your legs, his soft hair brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as his tongued fucked you, the hardened muscle working its way in and out of your cunt as if drawing life from it.

You moaned in your sleep as his tongue slipped from your weeping hole, only to latch onto your clit, dancing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You felt your back arch off the bed as his thick fingers found your entrance and began working their way in and out of you, the pace growing faster by the minute. God. This dream was so fucking good, you never wanted to wake up. Your orgasm was so close, you could practically taste it.

“Bucky,” you moaned in your sleep. Even as a figment of your imagination, he was good enough to elicit sinful sounds from your lips. The pressure was building. You were nearly there.

“That’s it, doll,” Dream Bucky said, his nose rubbing against your clit. He added another finger, stretching you so damned well. “Almost there, baby. You can do it. Come for me.” His mouth returned to your clit, suckling from it and driving you over the edge. 

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps, the noises you were making positively pornographic without your conscious mind awake enough to dampen them. But Dream Bucky kept working you through your release, rhythm never faltering.

“I think you can give me another one, pretty girl,” Dream Bucky said. He increased his pace, and soon you were falling again, your arousal coating his hands.

When your aftershocks had subsided, Dream Bucky’s hands pulled away, and you whimpered at the loss of contact. But then, you felt your bed dip, felt the solid, comforting presence of Bucky’s body as it crawled up alongside of you, felt his arms wrap around your waist.

You weren’t dreaming.

“Buck?” you rasped, voice still thick with sleep. “Is that really you, or am I still dreaming?” You reached out and touched his cheek, feeling the unmistakably real sensation of his overgrown stubble against your palm.

“I’m sorry sweets,” Bucky said, a devious smirk plastered across his face, “did I wake you?” He was already divested of most of his clothing, down to just a pair of tight, burgundy boxer briefs.

You yawned and raised your arms over your head, stretching out like a cat. “Was I supposed to sleep through that?” you asked him.

“Mm,” he said, kissing the side of your neck and making you shiver, “I’d really hoped you wouldn’t.” He shifted and you could feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against you. It woke you up immediately.

“Why the fuck haven’t you called me back?” you snapped suddenly, all traces of sleep having gone, leaving you with only your anxiety and unanswered questions. “I’ve been worried fucking sick all day long and I haven’t heard a peep from you! You think you can just give me 24 hours of radio silence, not knowing if you were dead or alive, and come waltzing back here with that magic tongue and I’d just–”

Bucky silenced you with a bruising kiss. “Magic tongue, huh?” he said when you broke for air. You nodded dumbly, currently unable to form a sentence with the way he’d just kissed the shit out of you.

“‘m so sorry, sweets,” Bucky said, his hands slowly making their way to the hem of your sleep shirt and pulling up, exposing your breasts to his lingering gaze. “I never meant to make you worry.” He slipped the shirt over your head, and despite your ire, you helped him do it. “Forgot to pack my international adapter for m’ phone.” He began placing gentle kisses to your breasts. “Battery died.” He took one nipple hungrily into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the peaked flesh. “Couldn’t charge it.” Then the other. You carded your hands through his hair. “Think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?”

His hand snaked down your belly to cup your heat. God, he had a way of making you feel so fucking good.

“I might be able to be persuaded,” you breathed as his fingers began toying through your slick folds. But logic soon smacked you like one of Natasha’s “love punches,” and you reached out a hand to stop his movements. “We should probably talk first.”

A flash of panic crossed Bucky’s face, and you wondered if he was worried about the articles. “Did you get my messages?” you asked him nervously.

Bucky nodded. “Plugged my phone in back in my room as soon as I got home,” he said. “Hadn’t seen the articles, but even if I had, I know you of all people would never do somethin’ like that. I’d have to be a fucking moron to think so. I know you’d never hurt me.” He had a far away look in his eyes for a moment, and you wondered if he was imagining you and Steve together.

You reached up to cup his face. “But did you see the other part?” you asked him.

“The part about you being ready to try us again?” he asked with a smile. When you nodded he leaned in and kissed you, a quick, sweet peck. “Darlin’, why the hell do you think I rushed over here to wake you up like that? Couldn’t stand to waste another second.”

“Well, then we better make up for lost time,” you teased, reaching down to slide your hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs.”

“I like the way you think,” Bucky grinned as he rolled over until he was lying on top of you. “I hope you’re not tired, sweetheart, because I got plans to keep you up all night long.”

“You talk a big talk, Barnes,” you smirked as you stroked him, firm and slow. “I hope you can back up your words.”

The look Bucky gave you was absolutely sinful as he reached down to free himself. Pressing the head of his cock against your swollen clit, he kissed you again. “Hold on to something, doll,” he said, nipping at the skin of your pulsepoint. “Cause you’re gonna have to beg me to stop.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[daughter-lilith]

❅In Every Life❅

Halsin x Fem!Reader | Modern AU, Parallel Universes Part 1

Summary: Another day on modern Earth as you finally wind down for the late night in your quiet home. All is as it should be. All is normal as you prepare for bed. That is, until a tall, hulking man with pointed ears shows up at your doorstep claiming to be your lost love from another time and realm. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who forever changes everything you thought you knew about your life.

Explicit 18+ (In future Parts)

CW (For whole story): Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tension, Oral, P in V, Shifting, Pain, Love, Halsin is Emotional!

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: After 10...11-ish years, BG3 has finally ended my fanfic hiatus. After years of focusing on original novels, I’m honestly so excited to get back into this genre!

For anyone who prefers to read on ao3, you can click here. And for those who prefer third-person POV (what I write most), I have an alternate upload also on ao3.

Lastly, this is technically a 1–2-chapter novella that I'm breaking into about 4-5 parts so it's easier on the eyes. So, apologies in advance if there are any awkward breaks between parts.

You patted the lightweight cream over your face, gently massaging it across your cheeks and up to your forehead until it was evenly spread. Smiling at yourself, you took in your appearance one last time for the night, comfortably dressed in nothing but a fitted tank top and black underwear. You had just finished some extra late-night gaming with friends, and you sighed, remembering that you probably should’ve used that time to write instead. Maybe you should’ve used any free time to write, rather than getting lost in other simple pleasures. The third book of your romantasy series wasn’t going to finish itself, and the deadline was fast approaching. Soon, your publishers will be expecting an update.

Turning off the bathroom light and exiting, you put those thoughts aside for now. Right now, you needed sleep, not to fill your head with worry. ‘I’ll get back on track tomorrow’, you thought to yourself. Your townhome was quiet, save for the distant churning sounds of the dishwasher downstairs. Your bedroom emitted a low light from the TV, though the volume was muted. You walked barefoot across the plush carpet, toward your phone that was placed on the small table next to your bed. 3:03 a.m.: the bright numbers flashed at you. You plugged it into its charger, then laid on your queen-sized mattress.

Grabbing the remote, you shut the TV off, which left your room almost fully dark were it not for the soft, orange glow emanating from the salt lamp near the TV. Snuggling under the covers, you exhaled a breath, closed your eyes, and gradually awaited the sweet lull of sleep. A few minutes had passed maybe, you weren’t sure, your consciousness was dangling on the edge of dreams yet still linked to your waking reality. A sound filled your ears, a familiar rumble that shook you out of your near-slumber, eyes fluttering open.

Your eyes landed on the light emitting from your phone, the screen completely illuminated. You usually left your phone on vibrate just in case of anything, but it wasn’t typically a disturbance. And you didn’t normally get messages at this time, except for the occasional random notification from someone who likely lived in a later time zone. Still, as the screen darkened once again, you closed your eyes, not worrying about it. You were a decent sleeper, and once you had fully slipped under, the chance of a quick notification waking you was quite slim. But not even a minute later, another vibration of the same pattern. Your eyes flicked open again, followed by an annoyed sigh as you relented and reached for your phone.

You squinted as the brightness already felt overwhelming despite not having fallen asleep yet. 3:12 a.m. You looked over the screen, noting the blue icon of your security camera followed by the text: ‘a person detected in your front yard’. Then another notification directly beneath it: ‘a person detected at your front door’. You lifted a brow in curiosity. It wasn’t unusual for random things to trigger your camera; a neighbor walking about, even at this hour, or perhaps your neighbor’s cat who strolled the streets at the most random hours. Maybe even someone driving off. Either way, you decided you were going to snooze the alerts but not before checking first.

Unlocking your phone with the print of your thumb, you tapped the first notification. Immediately, your stomach twisted and a heaviness filled your chest. The beat of your heart rapidly accelerated, and you could hear it echoing in your head, a panicked thumping. It wasn’t your neighbor’s cat, or someone walking by, or even movement from a car… Through the camera’s night vision, a man stood directly in front of your door, his head angled down so you couldn’t see his face. He had one arm- one huge, muscular arm- leaning against the doorframe like he was dealing with an internal battle to remain standing. Or as though he had the weight of the world on his rather broad shoulders and looked to your door for comfort. His other arm rested uneasily near his side, it looked like his fingers were tapping against his leg, unable to keep still.

Those expansive shoulders flexed in his position, tensed. And he was tall, almost filling up the entire field of view were it not for the height the camera was set up at. Dark hair, maybe a dark brown, you couldn’t quite tell in this light, was half tied up in a bun, the rest of it pooling at his collarbones. But despite his massive frame, what stood out the most to you were his ears. They seemed a normal size for his head, but the top of them curved into a tall upward point. ‘Elf ears?’ you silently questioned, confusion merging with your heightening anxiety. Surely, they had to be a prosthetic or molding, they had to be, and yet they blended with the bottom part of his ears so well.

You were sitting straight up now, the uneasiness in your belly increasing. What do you do? It was rational to call the cops, you knew this, but how soon would they get there? Do you try and scare him off? Threaten him? You lived alone, but he didn’t know that.

A new wave of panic surged as you tried to remember if you had locked your door. Of course you did, you always did. But what if- what if this was the one stupid night that it slipped your mind? What if— your thoughts were halted when you noticed the stranger lifting his head.

You gasped as he stared at the door for a single moment before his eyes roved up towards the camera. He started tilting his head as he looked intently at the camera, studying it, until his head paused, almost like he knew he was being watched.

You were frozen as you took in his gaze, so intense, so focused. The front door light was on, and paired with the night vision, you could tell he had bright eyes. And those eyes seemed to steal your breath, pulling you in even through the camera. There was so much depth behind his eyes: strength, power, kindness even. But another emotion burned brighter than the rest, a sense of…desperation- if you could call it that. A hopeful desperation, maybe. But for what?

As he looked at you, or so it felt like, you found yourself completely captured by him. The mere sight of him seemed to slow the nervous hammering of your heart, and you took this strange moment to take in more of his features. Apart from his ever-enthralling stare, he also seemed tired, like it had been days since he last rested, like he was too stressed to even get the chance. Four, very precise scars swiped across the right side of his face, from his forehead, cutting across his brow. Whatever injured him, it luckily missed his eye, only continuing to the bottom part of his lip and chin. And on the left side, a curving pattern of tattoos swirled along his face, from the top of his forehead to his chin, and maybe even to his neck but it was difficult to tell from this angle. You couldn’t make out the color, but it was clearly darker than his complexion, dark enough to notice.

A new realization simmered in your mind as your eyes were fixed on him, despite the scarring on his face and the tired look in and around his eyes, he seemed…handsome. He was handsome. More than that even, and perhaps that’s what made it more difficult to look away. You shook your head rapidly. No, his looks didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. He was a stranger outside of your house at three o’clock in the gotdamn morning. ‘Get it together,’ you thought to yourself.

But the movement of his lips pulled you out of your analysis and self-reprimanding, and your heart battered once again as a new wave of anxiety passed through you. He was saying something. You didn’t hear him, as the sound was muted on your end. Your finger hovered over the volume symbol, trembling. Pressing it wouldn’t give your voice sound, but it would allow you to hear his. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb turned on the volume. Instantly, the distant sound of the soft wind passed through the phone. Your heart beating in your chest, you watched the stranger and waited. And it wasn’t long before his lips moved once again.

“Can you hear me?” the stranger inquired, his voice low and gentle through your phone. When he spoke, a cloud of air flowed from his mouth, a reminder of the brisk night. The sound made your stomach tickle, a new sense of nerves but not of fear.

A brief, grave sigh followed his inquiry, and it only confirmed the emotions behind his eyes. He was definitely desperate for something, perhaps even afraid?

You didn’t dare turn on the speaker to respond, your voice suddenly feeling dry as you tried to swallow any bits of saliva you could.

“Please. I mean you no harm,” the stranger spoke again. His brows curved inward, and his mouth slightly turned down. So much suffering in his warm, kind eyes; so much heaviness in his large arms and shoulders.

Your mouth parted slightly, and you found yourself standing now, rocking side-to-side on your heels. Somehow, deep in your core, as his plea rumbled through your phone, you felt the sincerity in his voice. Your intuition was always quite strong, and at this moment, all sense of fear and suspicion began to wane. The logical next step would be getting the police on the phone while keeping an eye on the stranger from one of the upstairs windows. Instead, your thumb found itself hovering over the speaker. Swallowing, you exhaled an unsteady breath and clicked the button, permitting sound from your end now.

“What do you want?” You tried to sound intimidating, but your voice came out softer than you intended, and you clenched your jaw at how vulnerable you sounded.

The stranger’s eyes widened, and his pointed ears seemed to perk up, a surprising hope filling his gaze. A quick mist of air escaped his lips as you heard him release a quick breath. He stepped back from the doorframe, standing taller, and when he spoke again, you could’ve sworn you died right then and there if you weren’t so very clearly still standing. He had spoken your name- well, almost. He used the shortened version, a nickname only your closest friends and family sometimes referred to you as. There was no way he’d know that name.

With a new resolve, you spoke again, this time your voice came out louder, more confident. “How do you know that name? Who the hell are you?”

He said your name game, softer, desperate, his brows once again curving inward. “You’re here, you’re truly here. Please, may I come in? I will explain all.”

Come in? There was no way that was happening… right? The rational part of your brain was like a blaring siren, shouting at you to do the smart thing. But you often moved through life with your heart first, your emotions, leaving your mind to sigh in relief when everything worked out. Or, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your mistakes. You couldn’t let him in, you shouldn’t.

“I will not harm you. Never,” the stranger affirmed, closing off his promise with your name. Another feeling simmered in your heart when he said your name once again, so naturally, like it had left his lips a thousand times before.

“And I should just trust you?” you retorted, your voice a harsh whisper. But your curiosity was developing by the second as you glanced at your robe lying haphazardly in the middle of your bed.

You heard him sigh, his shoulders lowering, a heavy sense of defeat fueling such a simple action. But he didn’t seem irritated or impatient. And the more he peered into the camera, at you, a pool of dread and grief burned into the wells of his bright eyes. An uncomfortable jolt shot across your stomach at the sight. You knew nothing of this man and had never seen him before, but you couldn’t swallow the sorrow that arose in your chest, nearly causing you to forget to breathe. You were always quite empathetic, but this was…unique. Bizarre.

“What does your heart tell you?” you heard him ask, the words so gentle and pure from such an incredible stature of a man.

You blinked rapidly at the question, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. Quickly, you tapped the speaker on your phone to silence yourself. A shaky exhale escaped your throat, and you could hear your heart thumping again.

You stared at the man, whose eyes seemed to glow due to the greyscale night vision. You quickly pondered his question…your heart often told you many things, some right some not so much… And yet, as you stared at this man, who stood outside your door in the middle of the night, quick trails of air consistently leaving his lips, your heart answered. Without another thought, you took two steps towards your bed and picked up your robe, swiftly throwing it over you, your arms sliding in with ease. You wrapped it snuggly around your frame, feeling warm except for the skin below your knees that was left exposed.

And now, your heart was guiding you towards the stairs, down the steps, until you were sneaking down the short corridor to your front door. Your phone was still gripped tightly in your hand, and the stranger once again muttered a gentle plea. The sound of his voice caused a prickle across your arms, a new bundle of nerves as you got closer to your door.

Your house was almost completely pitch-black, except for a few flickering lights from alarms, the thermostat, the Wi-Fi modem, and cable boxes. The steady swishing sounds from the dishwasher were the only audible company, but even it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the drumming of your heart.

Coldness hit the bottom of your feet as you left the softness of the carpet and stepped into the entryway. You stopped in front of the tall, burgundy door, the wooden frame the only thing keeping you separated from the stranger. Thankfully, you had indeed locked it, top and bottom, but even that didn’t seem like it would be enough if he chose to get in with force. Glancing at your phone screen, you noticed he diverted his attention from the camera, angling down to stare at your door. You were holding your breath again, unbeknownst to you, and swallowed harshly.

“You’re right there…” he murmured, reaching to place a hand on the door. “Please.”

Your stomach fluttered at his voice; the baritone was much clearer now that you were hearing him from not just your phone but directly outside the door. You closed your eyes, whispering a silent prayer to anyone who was listening. If any guardian angels are listening, now would be a great time to have my back.

You opened your eyes and glanced at your phone. “Just…take a few steps back.”

Immediately, he removed his hand from the door. “Of course.” The large man retreated some, walking backward down two steps.

Satisfied, as much as you could be anyway, you placed your phone down on a small stand near the door, then reached to unlock the door.

One click.

A quick exhale.

A thumping heart.

Another click.

You reached for the light switch next, flicking on the warm-white glow above your head. You began turning the handle, your mind a wild array of thoughts and images of what could happen. But it was your heart in the end that silenced the panicked voices, your heart that gave you the courage to proceed.

Pulling the door back a few inches, cold air instantly prickled your cheeks, causing a shudder to shoot down your back. You leaned your head in between the small opening, instantly locking eyes with the man just a few feet from you.

Your breath hitched. Even standing two steps down did little to lessen the intimidation of his height. His eyes widened as they met with yours, a flash of relief and hope reflecting in his… what looked like hazel eyes. A gleam of silver or blue seemed to glow in the specks of his irises, perhaps from the lighting, but it was otherwise mesmerizing. You could better make out the swirling tattoo on his face, a deep red that only seemed to bring more attention to his eyes. Subconsciously, you ended up pulling the door back more, your body now half exposed to the outside.

The strange man breathed a quick sigh, much more joyful than the ones from earlier. “It’s you. It’s truly you.” A smile spread on his face, deepening the laugh lines on his cheeks. His large arms extended toward you and he took a single step forward.

Instinctively, you recoiled, and he froze, a wave of regret painting his expression.

“Forgive me,” he rushed his words, his muscled arms now hovering in surrender. “I am stricken with disbelief. But I meant what I said, that I would never harm you.”

Without the echo and semi-clarity of speaking through your phone, you could feel the sincerity in his words far more than before. The way his gaze pored into you, the shame that seemed to hover at the idea that he just frightened you, your fear began to wane. Yes, he did startle you just now, but then instantly soothed your anxiety on his words alone. You eyed him up and down, slow, taking in more of his appearance than what could be seen through the camera.

He was even larger. Bulging muscles looked like they wanted to flex in his arms, held back by a strap or belt across his biceps. Green leaves padded his shoulders, decorating the intricate garb he wore. You slightly narrowed your brow in question. He definitely looked like he could’ve just left some sort of Renaissance faire or some comic convention, but at this time of night? Maybe if it was Halloween that would explain things, except it was a few weeks into winter.

Brown armbands covered what you could only assume were thick forearms beneath, and he was wearing pants that were partially concealed by a flowing white skirt- or at least what used to be white. It looked stained, like he had once fallen in mud and he was only partially able to wash away all the evidence. Still, as your eyes returned to him, you certainly couldn’t deny the sculpted ruggedness in his face, his jawline. He wasn’t just handsome, but beautiful even, strange attire and all. And his age, you couldn’t quite measure it. When he smiled, he looked like he could’ve been late thirties. But he appeared a bit older when he frowned, maybe early forties.

“Who are you?” you questioned, feeling slightly more comfortable. You opened the door further, feeling your legs tingle, reacting to the cool air.

But he didn’t answer right away, seemingly lost as his gaze similarly roved over you. But it was slower, more deliberate, and you crossed your arms around yourself, almost self-conscious under his analyzing eye. And even though your robe covered you almost completely, you still remembered you were practically naked underneath. Could he tell that you were?

Clearing your throat, he startled, the leaves shaking over his shoulders, and locked eyes with you again.

“I am Halsin,” he said, confidence oozing in his timbre. A hearty smile followed his introduction, and your caution continued to fade and drift away.

Halsin, you thought. You shifted your mouth to the side, pondering. It didn’t ring a single bell. You had a few lovers in your past, some casual to serious. But there was no way you would’ve ever forgotten such an unfamiliar name, especially if it was attached to the absolute tower of a man before you. You looked at him once more, noting a flicker of hope in his eyes. Hope that maybe you would know something.

“Where did you come from…Halsin?” He frowned at your inquiry, visibly dispirited that his name did not connect with you. “You’re not exactly dressed for this weather,” you continued. His arms were completely exposed, and his clothing certainly did not seem well-suited for the winter. While it wasn’t below freezing, there was an evident chill in the air, a reminder that spring was still well off. You suspected that he had to be at least a little uncomfortable.

Halsin smiled at your observation, a gentle chuckle leaving his throat. “You are correct. I did not think to prepare for which season would greet me. As for where I came from… it is a realm quite far from here.” He glanced away, off to the side as he paused. When he looked back at you, there was a sense of uncertainty in his eyes. “A place called Faerûn.”

“Faerûn…” you murmured, narrowing your brows as your eyes searched his face. “I’ve never-- is that a country? An island?”

His smile remained, though laced with a touch of gloom. “A continent.”

A continent? Not one you’ve ever heard of before. A name like that wouldn’t have been hard to forget, especially if it was one of the continents of Earth. You released a soft breath, trying -and failing- to mask your budding confusion.

You heard Halsin speak, his smooth baritone drawing your attention back up his tall frame. “He warned me you may not remember…but I was hoping…” His words drifted off into the cold air. When he spoke, he wasn’t looking at you, like it was meant to be a side thought.

“Who warned you?” Your breath came out harsh as an involuntary gasp escaped you.

He bowed his head slightly, bringing one arm across his chest. “Silvanus.”

Another name unfamiliar to you. You stared at Halsin, quizzically, and it was clear to him that he understood the gnawing confusion that rattled you.

“Perhaps I can come inside to talk? I am fine with this brisk air, and I do not mind explaining all out here but…” he sighed, concern etching at the corners of his eyes, “you are trembling. And I don’t think it’s from fear, not entirely.”

As he said this, a shudder dashed up your back. You weren’t aware how long you’d been shivering, too baffled by the large man before you. Too distracted by this entire interaction. But a sudden passing wind supported Halsin’s observation of you, and you curled your toes inward, trying to shield them from the cold. The air prickled your lower legs, traveling up your thighs and your back. The robe that clutched your frame was as warm as it could be, but not warm enough to soothe you against the winter’s air.

After a light sniffle, you steeled yourself and stared at him directly. “I’ll let you in, but you have to do something for me first.”

“Anything,” he quickly responded.

“Tell me something about me that only those who know me would know. Just one thing that involves me.”

Halsin rocked back on his right foot a bit, shoulders squaring a pinch as he tilted his chin slightly. He turned his head to the side, his expression deeply focused, thinking. Meanwhile, your heart was amping up again, a fleet of nerves crackling in your gut as you awaited his answer. This was it. This was the moment that would solidify if you could completely throw even more caution to the wind and allow this strange man to enter your sanctuary, in the middle of a winter’s night, alone. Finally, Halsin’s voice filled the night air once more, a soft timbre.

“Your back,” he started, still looking away. “There is a mark there- a small streak- it begins near your lower spine, tracing further down, only stopping at,” he paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. He cleared his throat before continuing. “It’s lighter than your overall complexion, the only such mark on your body.”

You froze, your voice stunned into silence. Your lips parted, but only the warmness of your breath trailed away, forming a small, fading cloud. Halsin finally looked at you again, uneasily pressing his lips together.

A beating heart thumped loudly. Yours or his? Of course it had to be yours. But the way he was staring at you, the slight tremble in his lips, a brief rock on his heels, he was nervous. Uncertain. Perhaps desperately hoping he was right. Visibly, he did not appear to be an easily nervous man, that he could ever seem to lack any confidence, and yet you felt his nerves even more than you saw it. And he was right- the birthmark that trailed down the end of your spine. Only a few would know of it: your parents from when you were a child, your closest friends who helped zip your outfits up on occasion, and some ex-lovers who were lucky enough to have you in a position of giving them such a view.

It wasn’t something you hid per se, but you didn’t really flaunt it either. In most, if not all pictures of you, you were either clothed or facing forward. Maybe some passerby caught a view of it at beaches or pools, but one had to be really paying attention.

“How…” you breathed, searching his eyes. “How did you know that?”

A brightness washed over his face, and his shoulder evened, standing taller. “Because I know you. And I could never forget you… my heart.”

His… heart? A flush of warmth filled your cheeks. Something in the way he said those words, the way his unwavering eyes focused on you, meant something to you. You meant something to him.

Sure, you could mark him off as some weirdo stalker, that had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. But an unpleasant tickle poked your gut at the idea, like the very thought of him being such a thing was an insult. And looking at this mountain of a man; who dressed like he came from another time, with large, perfectly pointed ears and a large scar that didn’t seem to be fake… No, he wasn’t just some stalker.

“May I?” He gestured towards the space between you and the door.

You bit the side of your bottom lip, heart thumping. Another rush of wind passed over your feet sending a more vicious chill up your legs. So, you leaned fully to the side, pulling the door back as far as it could go. Halsin seemed to release a breath of relief, before stepping up and towards you. You nearly gulped as he did, almost forgetting just how much taller he was since he was initially standing a few steps down.

He kept his gaze on you as the distance closed, and his large frame nearly filled the entire entryway. You watched him intently, neck angled up the closer he came. Instantly, the scent of pine and sandalwood filled your nose, amplified by the warmth radiating from him. How was that possible? He had been standing in the cold for some time and yet it was like the setting sun in the middle of summer had just entered your home. You almost smiled, overtaken by a sudden sense of peace and tranquility. Of strength and protection. Of the wild and the power that came with it.

Halsin continued to peer down at you, a nearly-there smile on his smooth-appearing lips. You weren’t the shortest person in the world, but you’ve never felt as dwarfed as you do now. Halsin moved by you, careful not to invade too much of your personal space, which was almost impossible in the small entryway. Finally, you broke contact with him and turned to close the door, one final breeze blowing inside as you did. You closed your eyes briefly, shooting another quick prayer before turning around and hustling past the hulking man.

You moved towards the kitchen, feeling the weight of his steps calmly following. You almost turned the main light on but hesitated; the idea of the bright light illuminating the whole room suddenly made you nervous. It was much brighter than the one by your door. This would mean facing him fully, without the presence of faint shadows to help mask any emotions. That and, you were still very much in your robe with just a tank top and your underwear beneath. Your hair wasn’t a mess per se, but not exactly presentable for a guest. Or for whatever he was. So instead, you turned the rotating switch, activating the spherical ceiling lights. A warm, dim glow gradually filled the space as you turned it halfway and stopped. Just enough light.

“Most intriguing,” you heard him say. You didn’t understand what he meant but decided not to question it. There were already too many questions, and you wanted to get to the most important ones first.

Stepping toward the island at the center, you finally turned to face Halsin again as you stopped at the side of the counter. Your kitchen was decently sized and typically didn’t have an issue with a couple of people being in it at once. But Halsin absolutely dominated this space. You noticed his eyes searching behind you, at a very particular area with a quizzical expression. Looking over your shoulder, nothing but more counter space, the sink, and the dishwasher. Was that what he was looking at?

“Oh, I can turn it off if it helps,” you said casually. Maybe it was distracting him. You leaned towards it and hit the pause button instead of canceling it entirely. Instantly, a new silence filled the room, and you were already missing the steady, rhythmic whooshing sounds of the washer. At least it drowned out the sound of your heart which now all too familiarly thumped in your ears.

Turning back to Halsin, who was already looking at you, made you fiddle with your fingers, trying not to cower beneath his gaze. This was your space he was in, your home. So you steeled yourself as best as possible, steadying your breaths, and held his gaze, waiting.

But Halsin continued to watch you, once again trapping you under the powerful pressure of his stare. You licked your lips, tense, and you could’ve sworn you heard his breath hitch.

“Halsin?”

He blinked. “Forgive me, I am just…” he exhaled, smiling, “taking you in.”

Part 2 here! Hope you enjoyed! Would you have opened the door?👀👀 & Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the final part either as a comment or in tags if you reblogged, that way you can binge it or just simply be notified when it's complete!

[jasminsstories]

How finals week with Zayne by your side would be…probably:

gn!reader x zayne / fluff; just for fun, don’t take this seriously pls

will try to support you as much as he can, since he knows best how hard studying is

“I told you to start earlier than to cram the material in the last minute. It won’t stick in your long-term memory this way” “Zayne, I don’t care if it sticks in my long-term memory as long as I pass this exam”

“Come here and eat this before continuing”

Basically drags you daily to the kitchen table where he prepared healthy meals

“But why do only I have carrots in my salad?” “Because you need Vitamin B to stay fit for your exams” “Just say you gave all of your carrots to me, because you don’t like them!”

“If you continue to drink so much coffee, I am afraid I will see you in the ER soon because of arrhythmia… and I don’t want that” “Zayne, you can’t just hide my coffee machine!!”

opens the windows regularly to help you concentrate and makes sure you stay hydrated

definitely will try to lure you out for walks to get some steps in

“Didn’t you say you wanted to see the sunset?” “I do, I really want… but I have to get this done today” “Let’s go, you need some Vitamin D” *suddenly lifts you up bridal style* “Hey, let me down!!” *acts like he doesn’t hear you*

the more time passes and the deeper the night gets with every passing minute, you can’t stop yawning and rubbing your heavy eyelids; still you try to focus them on your bright notebook screen

“Go to sleep. You have to get enough sleep to function tomorrow as well” “I can’t afford to sleep now. Sleep can wait, the deadline for my essay won’t”

tries to get you to bed through various methods

first tries to make it less obvious and wants to make you jealous through your plushies

“Then Mr. Snowman will have to cuddle with me today..” “Mhmmm”

But quickly realizes that it doesn’t work and you don’t react to it

for his second try he sneaks up to you from behind and puts his hands on your waist, pressing a lingering kiss on the shell of your ear, whispering a tempting “Come to bed with me”

you try to stay strong though and ignore his attempt with the last endurance you have

the next time he comes up to your desk for his third attempt, he finds you asleep already, your face planted on the surface of your desk

he can’t hold back a chuckle and a fond glow is in his orbs as he gazes at your face; just looks at you for some minutes

carefully picks you up and carries you to bed, trying his hardest not to wake you up; whispers a “Good night, my angel” and gives your forehead a small kiss

tucks you to bed and will lay down beside you to watch you sleep

when you wake up the next morning you begin to panic because you weren’t able to pull the all-nighter you desperately needed to finish on time

“Breathe, Love. Don’t worry. You can do it, I know it”

“I look kinda like a Panda now with my dark circles, don’t I?” “Yeah…kinda. Maybe more like a raccoon”

when you are finally done with all of your exams and your essays, he will pat your head and smile proudly; “Good job, I knew you can do it”

with a relieved sigh you press a loving kiss on his lips

and now you can finally get revenge for the times he teased you

just the brain rot i have in my finals week. i am quite literally losing my marbles right now, so i needed some zayne fluff. did i write this instead of studying…maybe. i need this man so bad. actually working on a smut atm but since its been so long since i wrote one, it’s hard for me to get into the flow right now.

[formosusiniquis]

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another. 

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow. 

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?" 

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy. 

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious. 

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.”  He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks. 

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there. 

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

[esmedelacroix]

1 day til' Christmas

spending a snowstorm with husband!miguel o'hara on christmas eve⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

2 days til' christmas ← previous part

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It was the last day of keeping your pregnancy from Miguel and you couldn't be happier; tomorrow he would open his last Christmas gift and see a positive pregnancy test. You couldn't wait to share this great news with him.

The plan was to go to the hospital that morning but you miraculously got snowed in and you hadn't vomited that morning making it crucial to take it slow when drinking and eating.

Normally on Christmas Eve, the two of you shared a bottle of red wine and finished wrapping presents for each other and family and friends.

This Christmas, you would do the same but instead of wine, you’d have eggnog. Every single holiday Miguel is reminded that you hate the idea of egg nog. “Who would ever drink egg milk? That’s weird,” you said.

“I drink said, ‘egg milk’, it's one of my holiday comfort drinks,” Miguel would respond.

“I know but—“ you’d start.

“Please don’t yuck my yum,” he joked. “You’ve never even tried it before,” he continued.

You still had never tried eggnog but now you had a feeling that you’d like it. You took a small sip and your taste buds did pirouettes. Eggnog tasted like a sweet vanilla-flavored version of milk.

“This is good!” you exclaimed.

“Told ya,” Miguel responded as he began to wrap up personalized Fender guitar picks. He always swore Hobie got on his nerves but he still cared. Enough to get him such a valuable yet thoughtful gift.

The two of you enjoyed your drinks and marveled at the gifts you got each other. It was never really a surprise on Christmas day since you always wrapped everything together. There were one or two gifts that the two of you wanted to keep a surprise including yours. "What's this?" Miguel asked as he picked up a small rectangular box that had his name on it.

"That's your gift but I want it to be a surprise," you replied.

"Hmm, interesting," he replied as he put the gift down thinking it was something like a watch or a ridiculously expensive pen like the years before.

After two hours you were finally done wrapping all the gifts. You were both famished afterward. You were heavily craving some hot chocolate and marshmallows but you didn't have any marshmallows. On top of that, the two of you couldn't leave your home because of the snowstorm.

Thankfully, out of all of the random things that Miguel knows how to do, making marshmallows was one of them. You thankfully had all the ingredients, you tried to follow along but it was way too complicated. You sat on your kitchen island and asked him questions while he skillfully made the marshmallows.

You purposefully asked the dumbest random questions and he found it hilarious. While he was letting the marshmallows sit, he let you lick the bowl like you were a child again making cookies with a loved one that let you try the dough.

The two of you had prepared dinner while waiting for the marshmallows to finish setting. Christmas Eve dinner was your favorite because it was breakfast for dinner. This year's menu was eggnog French toast with cranberry jam and cheesy omelets with spinach and tomatoes in them.

In perfect timing, right after the two of you finished eating and cleaning up after your meal, the marshmallows were done. The two of you got comfy and cuddled on the couch wrapped in blankets watching Holidate with mugs with steaming hot cocoa in hand.

The night was perfect and your heart raced with excitement of what was to come the next morning. You fell asleep halfway through the movie so Miguel carried you to your shared room.

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

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The lovers were nestled all snug in their bed

While visions of a baby shower danced in your head

Santa sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

. . .

to be continued → Christmas Special

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taglist: @aripet22@to-the-endoftheline@sad-author-san

[e-dubbc11]

OK, to make up for making you cry listening to my angsty ass song and writing such a fkn beautiful angsty ass fic for Billy, lets go full swing the other way and do a birthday prompt: ❝You did this all for me?❞/❝Of course, you deserve to have the best day.❞ for the one and only Billy Russo. Because we all know that man never had a good birthday and we are ALL ABOUT giving him one to make up for it! LOVE YOU!!!

Hello my lovely friend! You know I do not mind at all any prompt you want to send me, even if it makes me cry. I’m here for all of it but I am happy you picked something very fluffy this time around though! ♥️ I hope you like it and that I did justice to your ask, thank you again! I appreciate all of your support ♥️♥️♥️ Love you too!

A Hole in One

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: None really, fluffy bunnies and unicorns, quick mention of Billy’s abandonment

Word Count: 2.5K-ish

Summary: Billy’s never had a birthday worth celebrating so you decide to give him one

A/N: I am so sorry I haven’t finished everyone’s asks yet, I have one more pretty close to being finished after this one and then I think I have three more after that one. It’s been a very busy fall season plus I’m going on vacation tomorrow. So like I said before, I WILL finish everyone’s ask, it’s just taking longer than I thought it would. Thank you all for your patience♥️

He almost didn’t even want to tell you when his birthday was.

Any holiday or birthday was always a sore subject and you couldn’t blame him. Knowing that somewhere out there, he had a mother that had signed away all of her parental rights like he had never meant anything to her, Billy didn’t really see the point in celebrating anything having to grow up in the Ray of Hope group home.

You could see the anger in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, and hear the bitterness in his voice when he talked about it, which was also difficult to pry out of him. At first, he never wanted to talk about any of it…his mother, the group home, or war and that was ok with you.

“You let me in when you want to, Billy. It’s ok.” You had said to him.

Through clenched teeth, he finally told you the story about the raised scar on his shoulder; it was where his rotator cuff was torn. Nervously, he rolled his shoulder backwards, probably out of habit from when he had to rehabilitate his arm after it was broken in three places.

No child should have to go through what Billy did and you wanted to give him something that he’s never had…a happy birthday.

Given how reluctant he was to even tell you when his birthday was, you decided to respect that Billy didn’t want a big fanfare for his birthday. Instead, you planned something intimate just for the two of you at home. He may not like his birthday to be a big deal but Billy was a big deal to you; no one had ever made you feel the way he did…so loved, so desired, and like you were the only woman in the world.

You wanted him to feel as special as you do when he spoils you rotten.

In a very clandestine way, you’ve been asking Billy questions like what flavor cake is his favorite (of course it’s chocolate), favorite meal (hopefully it’s something you’re able to cook), and something maybe a little silly and childish that he’s always wanted to try (miniature golf).

You were very thankful Billy worked late a lot of the time. It gave you time to prepare everything you had planned for his birthday. In the early evenings leading up to his birthday, you were able to sneak in everything you needed to for a round of mini golf you wanted to set up around the penthouse, you ordered his birthday cake, and made sure his gift would be ready on time.

Even though you didn’t want to, you took a shortcut for Billy’s birthday dinner. Beef Wellington wasn’t exactly easy to make and because you wanted it to be perfect, you decided to take him to Harry’s Bar & Restaurant. Your search for the best beef wellington in the city had finally ended and because of limited availability, when you made the reservation, you also reserved what Billy wanted to eat.

Everything was falling into place.

After work, you picked up his cake at the Chocolate Room and set up the miniature golf course all throughout the penthouse. You were so excited to see his face later but for right now, you were supposed to meet him in the lobby and then go to dinner. Billy was a little suspicious about why you didn’t want him to come upstairs but he let it go.

“I still don’t know why you won’t let me upstairs, sweet girl. What if I wanna change?” He said with a wide smile.

You shook your head.

“You’re already wearing a nice suit for dinner, baby. Our reservation is soon plus I have a surprise upstairs that I don’t want you to see yet.” You said.

Billy humored you, “Alright, alright. So where are we off to, beautiful?”

“Our reservation is at Harry’s Bar & Restaurant.” You replied.

He flashed that perfect smile and said, “Well it’s a good thing I am wearing a suit. Financial district huh?”

You nodded.

“I hope you brought your appetite, handsome.” You said.

Billy touched his tongue to his top teeth as he stared at you from head to toe, then purred in your ear, “You look good enough to eat, my love. Is this a new dress?”

The warmth from his breath traveled down your neck as goosebumps erupted across your skin. He was making you blush as his lips gently touched your cheek and his beard pricked your skin causing you to giggle and blush even more.

“Happy Birthday, Billy.” You said with a wink.

**********

With a very satisfied look on his face, Billy waved the white napkin in the air, surrendering and saying he could not eat another bite which made you smile and very happy he enjoyed it so much.

“I’m glad you enjoyed your dinner, baby.” You said with a warm smile. “Are you ready for dessert and your other surprises?”

“Wait, they’re not comin’ out here and singin’, are they?” Asked Billy, with a look of worry on his face and his New York accent a little thicker.

You chuckled a little, knowing that he did not want to draw any attention for his birthday.

“At home, Billy. Dessert is at home.” You said.

Billy smirked, leaned in close and asked, “Is my dessert underneath your dress, sweet girl?”

You wanted to tease him a little.

“Nope! Let’s go, soldier.” You said with a sly smile and grabbing your purse. “I paid the bill while you were in the restroom.”

“Baby, you didn’t have to do that.” Billy stated.

After slipping on your coat, you walked over to him, snaked your arms around his waist and looked up at him through your long, dark lashes.

“Yes I did, Billy.” You said as your lips curled into a slight smile.

Kissing the top of your head, Billy whispered, “Thank you, my love.”

**********

Billy insisted that you had already done enough for his birthday but you weren’t even close to being finished yet.

“I’m just not used to it, y/n. I’m not the one who gets to have a happy birthday.” Billy said, his jaw tensed with anger. He still didn’t think he deserved nice things to be done for him.

As he continued to drive, you slowly reached over and delicately scratched his scalp with your fingernails, soothing him, comforting him, and reassuring him that he was a good man and he deserved the world.

“Yes you do, Billy. I will celebrate you every day to prove to you that you deserve happiness and to be loved. I love you more than anything.” You said in barely more than a whisper.

With a quick glance in your direction, you could tell that maybe he was starting to believe you by the slight smile he had on his face.

“I respected your wishes by not throwing you a big birthday party but I’m still gonna spoil you because you deserve to have a happy birthday and I love you.” You said.

“Ok, my love. I can’t wait to see what else you have planned.” Said Billy.

**********

Billy was his usual frisky self on the elevator ride to the top floor, kissing you, touching you, and thanking you over and over again for the evening he’s had so far. That perfect smile against your lips gave you butterflies as his kisses told you he loved you countless times and the way his long dexterous fingers gently wrapped around your neck made it difficult to resist him as always but you still had surprises to get to.

“Close your eyes, handsome.” You said, unlocking the door.

He gave you a look that said, “Really? You’re joking, right?”

“Humor me, baby. Please?!” You said. “It’s totally worth it, I swear.”

Billy dropped his shoulders, inhaled sharply, then exhaled before answering you.

“I’ll do it on one condition, sweet girl. I’ll close my eyes but only if I get to hold onto your butt.” He said with a slight chuckle.

Now it was your turn to give him a “look.”

“You don’t want me walking into anything now, do you?” He said, sarcastically.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, lieutenant.” You said, trying not to smile.

Billy closed his eyes and grabbed your ass with both hands as he followed close behind you. You had dimmed the lights before you left for dinner but now it was time for the big reveal so you turned the lights up so he would be able to see everything.

“No peeking!” You said, firmly.

“I’m not peeking, baby. I’m enjoying my hands on your ass too much.” Said Billy.

Your back was to him but you could just feel how big the smile was on his face as he said that.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY!!” You said with excitement.

Billy opened his eyes and he saw the little miniature golf course you set up before you left for dinner. There were small windmills, obstacles, ramps, and even little flags with numbers corresponding to each hole. You really had built a miniature golf course inside, complete with green turf and wooden borders.

Speechless, Billy carefully walked around looking at all the little details at each hole and chuckling a little at the final hole where you have to get the ball in the alligator’s mouth.

“How did you—do all this, y/n?” He asked, stunned.

You replied, “You like it? Actually, it wasn’t that hard, it sets up and breaks down pretty easily. The wood just kinda snaps into place and then all you have to do is set up the—“

He cut you off as his lips collided with yours, his hands cupped the sides of your face and you gasped against his mouth while his tongue tangled with yours. You knew this was the first time Billy has ever had anything like this done for him, it never had been easy for him to express how he felt about anything so he thanked you the way he knew how which was physical.

“You did this all for me?” He asked.

Looking up into his onyx colored eyes, you snaked your arms around his neck, and replied, “Of course, you deserve to have the best day.”

He pulled you flush to his chest and just held you in silence. Although Billy had a difficult time expressing his feelings, you knew him well enough to know that in his mind, he knew exactly what he wanted to say. His tight embrace and kisses to the top of your head was his way of saying “thank you.”

Cutting through the silence, Billy whispered, “Thank you, sweet girl.”

“You’re welcome, baby. You ready to play? I got real golf putters and everything!” You said, excitedly. “I’ll go change my shoes, I’m not playing in heels.”

There was a childlike smile that was stretched across Billy’s face for the entire time the two of you were playing. The only time his smile disappeared was when the game was over because he lost. Like Billy, you were also hypercompetitive.

He playfully glared and shook his head at you while you celebrated with maybe a hint of taunting thrown in there too.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, baby.” He said with a slight smile. “Especially in your nice dress and leopard print slippers.”

Billy always knows how to make you blush.

**********

As you sat at the breakfast bar, enjoying his birthday cake, Billy couldn’t stop smiling or staring at you as he tried to push your fork out of the way to get more chocolate cake and after opening them, he immediately had to try on his new personalized sterling silver cufflinks. His initials, WR, were engraved on one and the other said “The One I Love.”

“What is it, Billy?” You asked before eating a fork full of cake.

Billy didn’t say anything at first. He rolled his shoulder, looked down at his cufflinks then over at the mini golf course before returning his gaze to you. Those endless brown eyes that looked like two pools of dark chocolate never failed to find yours even in a crowd of people and the flash of his perfect smile that always made you weak in the knees, made your heart swell and your stomach flutter.

He pondered for a minute before responding, like he really thought long and hard about what exactly he wanted to say.

“I think it’s safe to say that you, my love, have made up for every horrible birthday I’ve ever had, for every one of them that I had to spend alone, for all the ones I had while I was overseas, and for all the ones where I made a wish that never came true. Thank you...for everything.” Said Billy, softly.

Even as a young child, no one had ever celebrated him and if they did, he couldn’t remember it. No one had ever made him feel special or loved and he didn’t think he deserved it anyway.

A dull ache in your chest persisted imagining Billy as a little boy, growing up thinking that he was the reason his mother left, that he was bad, or that anyone would ever love him.

Tears welled up in your eyes and quickly spilled over leaving tracks down your cheeks. That was one of the very few times Billy had opened up like that, made himself vulnerable, and reiterated that he has always been more than just a handsome face to you…he was everything and so much more.

With a hitch in your voice, you replied, “You’re welcome, Billy. I love you.”

You placed the fork on the counter and crashed into his chest. His arms wrapped around your body and you felt his warm hands dance up and down your back. Instantly, you felt relaxed as his body was a warm cradle for yours and his words of gratitude were undeniably, music to your ears but the smile on his face was all the thanks you needed or wanted.

Billy tilted your chin up so he could look into your eyes and leaned down until his lips met yours. He tasted like the bittersweet chocolate from his birthday cake. His tongue parted your lips and tangled with yours for a deeper kiss as you tightly clung to him and a tiny whimper escaped your mouth.

“I love you too, baby.” Said Billy, glancing at the large clock on the wall. “It’s after midnight, sweet girl; my birthday’s over.”

The ache between your thighs had been building all night, especially after his frisky behavior in the elevator and his kisses always hit your right in your core.

Biting down on your lower lip and rubbing the hem of your dress, you replied with a sly smile, “Not quite yet, baby. You still have one more present to unwrap.”

He took another bite of cake before he licked his bottom lip and replied, “Your dress isn’t the only thing that’s new, is it my love.”

You replied with a wink, “Well…you’ll have to take it off and find out, lieutenant.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @vaguekayla @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf @sweetserendipity65

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[honeybeefae]

Cassian and Nesta head cannon that Nesta has to check in their closet and under their bed and leave a candle lit every night because Cassian is afraid that Bryaxis has turned up in the night court and is there to terrorize him.

AKSFALKSDJFASDJFASDF i love this

Nesta sighs as she finally collapses into their bed, the cool sheets a welcome respite from the heat and hard work of the day. Azriel and Cass had kept her and her friends on their toes while training, keen on making sure they were prepared for anything.

She's certain that tomorrow she'll have to ask for some balm for her legs but for right now, the only thing she cares about is sleep.

The moon is high in the sky, night air billowing the curtains, and just as Nesta feels herself drifting, she hears something. Or, someone.

"Nes?" Cassian whispers, his voice meek.

"Really, Cassian? What is it?" She knows what he wants and what she forgot to do, but after getting so comfortable, she can't help but snap at him.

"You forgot to check for-" Cassian doesn't dare finish the sentence, afraid that even speaking the name of the monster would bring her forth.

Tense silence fills the air before Nesta dramatically throws back the covers and all but stomps over to their closet, opening the door with a scowl.

Nothing.

Next, she heads to Cassian's side of the bed, making sure to give him a look as she falls to her hands and knees to look under the bed.

Nothing.

"I can't believe you, a grown Illyrian man, Commander of the Night Court Army, is scared of little old-"

"Don't say her name!" Cassian interrupts, making a cutting motion over his throat wildly. "Can you just light the candle? Please?"

She stands and looks him over, smiling at just how childish he looks with the covers drawn up to his chin and his eyes wide with fear. He looks like someone just read him a scary bedtime story. However, she knows there are things she still fears that some may find childish. Fears that would make her want to hide under the covers (if her pride would ever allow her to do that.)

So, instead of further mocking him, she changes her smile to something softer and nods. Within seconds, the candle is lit, and the flame is dancing to its own music, banishing whatever might be lurking in the shadows.

Cassian gives her a relieved smile, and she bends down and kisses him, patting his cheek, before pulling away and going back to her side of the bed. He is quick to pull her into his warmth, cocooning her and burying his face into her hair and neck.

"Night, Nes." He murmurs.

"Goodnight, Cass." She whispers back, falling into the most restful sleep she's had in awhile.

[forever-rogue]

Hi! If you still write for Nurse Steve, could you possibly do one where she’s in Labor but she doesn’t tell Steve because she doesn’t want to worry him. And then she has complications and someone finally lets him know and he drops everything and runs to her.

AN | Oh? It’s finally time for these to have their first baby? Okay 🥺 I did take some liberty with this, but I hope y’all enjoy! This can be read as a companion piece to the below but also as a stand alone!

Warnings | Mild Language, Labor/Delivery 

Pairing | Nurse!Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Steve, Main, Nurse Steve

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You grew more impatient and antsy with every passing day. Every day since you’d been off for the last two weeks had left you wondering when the day would finally come. Your due date was just a few days away and you really just wanted all of this to be over (the whole being almost nine months pregnant thing did that to you) and to finally meet your daughter. 

There wasn’t much you could do at this point, especially around the house or out in public, so you were basically just waiting. This kid was taking her sweet time to make an appearance. Nesting had already happened and by now you were sure that everything was in place as it needed to be. Steve was still working, at your insistence, although he was more than prepared to stay home with you so you didn’t completely lose your mind. 

And, you know, in the event that you finally went into labor. But you assured him that he would be the first to know, and if it happened while he was working, someone could easily fetch him. Instead you busied yourself with baking and cooking, making plenty of treats to keep your sweet tooth satisfied and stocking up on some meals that could easily be unfrozen on nights neither of you were prepared to cook with a newborn.

Now it was all one long waiting game. 

But maybe…it wouldn’t be too much longer after all.

“Oh,” you felt a sharp pain ripple through your belly and abdomen as you clutched the counter for a bit of support. The sensation felt odd and you definitely did not like it. But you also decided not to worry about it, trying to convince yourself that it was just a one time thing. After all, you were almost there in your pregnancy and lots of things could be happening. Yeah, looking back on it, you were definitely a fool.

After the initial pain had passed you went about your day, doing some laundry and making sure everything in the house was stocked up with what you'd need for at least several weeks. You’d done enough research, talked to enough mothers to know that you wouldn’t want to have to think about this for a while after having your baby. Unfortunately, the pains came again, but fortunately they were few and far between at this point. Nothing to worry about yet…

You finished up the last few things in the bathroom, when you felt the pain again, followed by what felt like a weird trickling feeling down your leg. 

You looked down and noticed the wet spot on your leggings and let out a long sigh. You knew that you hadn’t just wet yourself so that could logically only mean one thing, “shit.”

This was what you had been waiting for…and yet you felt so incredibly unprepared for this moment. You weren’t ready to go into labor and have your baby girl just yet…you needed some time, just a little more…but unfortunately that was not how life worked.

“Camila,” you rubbed your belly gently as if talking to her would get her to stay inside just a little bit longer. You tried to hold back your tears, but it was an overwhelming moment and you were experiencing approximately a hundred emotions at once, “can you wait just a little bit longer? Daddy’s at work and I-I don’t want to bother him. Just maybe until tonight, okay? O-or tomorrow morning.”

It was stupid, you knew, to try and push this off as long as you could but there was no reason to panic. You reminded yourself that you weren't going to do anything until the contractions came every couple of minutes and lasted for at least a minute or more. That’s when you’d go to the hospital. It would all be fine…everything would be just fine. That was the mantra you kept repeating to yourself anyway.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time Steve came home that night, things had…progressed. You tried to play it off as much as you could, deciding you would tell him over dinner. You wanted him to have a chance to change and relax for a little before springing it on him. You were able to keep it together for a bit, until you felt the pain coming again and held onto the fridge handle so tightly he was surprised it didn’t break.

“Sweetheart,” he looked at you with wide, nervous eyes as you tried to smile through the pain. That was easier said than done; there was nothing but a grimace on your face, “what’s wrong? Are you - did you - contractions?”

“Mhmm,” you closed your eyes and tried to breathe through it, “‘s fine, Stevie.”

“How long have you been having them?” he tried to slowly pull your hand away so you could hold his, and wrapped the other around your waist, “angel. Can you tell me what’s been going on?”

“Earlier,” you confessed and he let out a long breath. Alright, well, that might not have been the best thing, but you were going to be okay. He would make sure of that, “started earlier and then my water broke.”

“Your water broke!?”

“Yeah,” you gave him a sheepish expression in a vain attempt to calm him down. You should have known better than that, “they’ve been far apart enough and it’s just now getting worse.”

“You’ve been having them for hours though and your water broke,” he sat down on the couch, running a hand anxiously through his dark hair, “why didn’t you call me? Sweetheart, I love how strong and independent you are, but I really wish you would have called. I would have come home already and you could have been at the hospital by now.”

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” tears glistened in your eyes, not at him or anything but the entirety of the situation. He crouched down so he was on your level and tenderly brushed them away, “didn’t want to bug you at work.”

“Honey,” his tone adopted a soft, fond tone. Ahh, yes, of course his sweet, clumsy girl didn’t want to bother him, “this would not have bugged me at all. You are the most important thing to me, and you are never a bother.”

“‘m sorry,” you blubbered, “I wanted her to come and now I wish she’d slow down. I’m scared. I’m not ready for her to be here, I’m not ready to be a mom! I can’t do this, Stevie.”

“Sweetheart,” he cooed softly, stroking your cheek, tenderly turning your face up to his, “it’s okay to be scared and nervous; that’s normal. I’m so nervous too, I’m scared to be a dad. But I know we’ll be okay - we won’t be perfect and we’ll fuck up sometimes, but that’s just part of life. We’re going to be okay, angel. This is just the last big thing we have to get through before we get to meet our daughter. And I know you’re going to get through this, you’re so strong and resilient, but it’s okay to be scared.”

“Will you stay with me?” you looked at him with the softest eyes and he chuckled fondly, “please?”

“You don’t have to ask,” he pressed soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks before stopping at your lips, “I’ll be right by your side the entire time.”

“Can I hold your hand?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you promise it’ll be okay?” your lip trembled with effort as you tried to keep from completely crying.

“Pinky,” he held out his pinky finger to you, which caused a sniffy laugh to bubble up as you wrapped your finger around his, “just think - soon we’ll get to meet our sweet Camila.”

“I hope she looks like you,” you blurted out as he just laughed softly, “you’re so pretty.”

“Flatterer,” he teased, “I hope she looks like you; or both of us. Either way, we’re gonna have a very cute kid.”

You inhaled before slowly letting it all out, “okay. I-I think I’m ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you pouted, causing him to kiss it away until you were smiling again.

“I’m going to go and get your hospital bag and then we’ll go to the hospital,” he explained as you nodded, “I’ll be right there with you.”

“Okay,” you squeezed his hand tightly, “let’s do this then.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It felt unreal being at the hospital, hooked up to a bunch of monitors and listening to your baby’s heartbeat. The initial nerves were still there, but there was also the pain that came with labor that pretty much overshadowed that. Steve, luckily, had kept to his word and was at your side the entire, letting you hold his hand, even when he was pretty sure you were going to break it. But it didn’t matter; he would do anything for you. 

He was also impressed in a weird way with how well you’d been able to handle your contractions throughout the day. By the time you were at the hospital and all settled in, it wasn’t long before you were ready to start pushing. And, despite your initial hesitancy and wanting to hold off on having a baby for a little while longer, you were more than happy to get going. 

And then, after all the worries, fears, and tears, it all ended with a crying, but healthy, baby girl. It all felt like it happened so fast; from pushing and having her, to getting to hold her for the first, to watching Steve sit next to you with the small bundle in his arms. It felt like the most perfect site in the entire world; he was looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world. He knew what love was; he’d know what it felt like to fall in love with you. But this was like he was falling in love all over again. 

“I wish I had a camera,” you whispered softly, catching his attention as he looked up at you with a giant smile on his face. He scooted his chair as close as he could to your bed, making it so you could see her too, “she’s already got you wrapped around her finger.”

“Yeah,” he cooed softly at the sleeping baby, “she does. But so do you. I can’t believe we have a baby - we made her.”

“We did,” you held out your hand and ever so lightly brushed your knuckle over her cheek, “is it weird to already be so in love with her? It feels like we’ve always had her, always loved her.”

“It’s not weird at all,” he promised, leaning over to kiss you softly, “this is the second and a half best day of my life.”

“Steve,” you kept your laugh softly as you stroked his cheek, “what were the first two?”

“Meeting you and marrying you,” his eyes lit up happily, “besides - she wouldn’t have been possible without it.”

“It always comes down to the broken ankle,” you snorted in amusement, “but it’s like you always say, we would have met some other way; we were meant to be.”

“We were,” he beamed at you before looking back at his newborn daughter, “thank you for this. All of it.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” you insisted, stifling a yawn, “just remember that when it’s three in the morning and you’re on diaper duty.”

“I’ll complain but I’ll do it with love,” he promised, “I love you so much, my clumsy, stubborn, strong girl.”

“I love you,” you blinked away your tears, “both of you.”

“Yes,” he agreed gently, “we already love you so much, Cami girl.”