#i loved this starting line i think it could have worked better as something that dean sort of goes along with

[seungfl0wer]

*𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝘿𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙒/ 𝙎𝙆𝙕*

Pairing: Hyung - Line x Reader (GN)

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Could I have made this just all one? Yes. Why didn’t I? Because I wanted something to post tomorrow on Christmas too lol. Hopefully these turned out as cute as i thought. Happy holidays to all! PS. Sorry for any mistakes!

Hyung Line | Maknae Line

-🎄

Bangchan:

Both bundled up for the cold weather as you walked into the tree farm. Chans hands interlocked with yours. This was the first Christmas you were spending living together and he wanted to make it perfect. He came up with the idea to go find the perfect tree for what he says “the perfect person.”

“How about this one?” He asks pointing at a tree.

“Chris- that’s gigantic” you said laughing making him laugh.

“Fine fine, let’s keep looking” he said smiling taking his hand from yours to wrap it around your waist.

After a few minutes of strolling you came to a medium sized tree, it had the perfect amount of leafiness. “Oh oh! This one’s perfect!” You say smiling. His heart melted at the way your eyes just lit up. You were smiling so widely looking at him with those beautiful eyes.

“Alright this one it is! I’ll go get someone you protect our new son” he said with a teasing seriousness.

When he came back with the guy he helped cut it down and took it to the car. As you got it back home he listened to you talk about decorating it. Smiling ear to ear just listening to how excited you were.

“You know, I’m happy I get to do this with you” you said smiling taking his hand that was on your lap.

His cheeks and ears started to turn red blushing at your words. He brought your hand up to kiss it “me to love, and many many years to come” he said blushing even more. His words making you blush along with him.

As you decorated you both couldn’t help the warm feeling of it all. Chan helped you up to put on the star stepping back to look at your work. “It looks perfect” you said smiling. The lights from the tree making your eyes look even more sparkly than normal.

“Not as perfect as you” he says pulling you to him. He kissed the top of your head as you smiled looking at the tree. He insisted on taking a bunch of pictures and making sure to get one or a ton of you both in-front of it.

Minho:

You weren’t completely sure if he’d be down to do it but you were hopeful. You had gotten all the stuff for it plopping down all the bags on the counter. You sat everything up before he got there. Placing all the little candies out and the boxes for the gingerbread houses. You may have went overboard but you were just excited.

When he arrived he couldn’t help but chuckle making you jump. “So this was your big plan hm?” He said with a grin.

“Yep! But if you don’t want to it’s-“ you started to say only for him to interrupt you.

“No I want to, gonna build a better house than you” he teased.

“Oh yeah? Wanna make a bet?” You say.

“Name your price loser” he teased.

“If I win you have to match PJs with me and take a picture!” You say.

“Fine and when I win you have to make those cookies for me” he says.

“Oh it’s on!” You giggle.

You both sit down at the table crafting your masterpieces. However he was getting frustrated with the house. It kept sliding “I think this was rigged” he huffed.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way his house was leaning, the one side falling off. You wanted it to be a fun time so you decided to help him. “You’re using too much if you do this” you say as you fix it making it stand perfectly.

“There” you say smiling.

“You know you shouldn’t help your opponent” he said with a chuckle.

“Well I was planning on making those cookies either way so” you still smiling as you decorated the house.

“Yeah? Guess I’ll do the PJs buuut we gotta get the cats in the picture” he said.

“Deal” you say kissing his cheek.

As you finished the houses Minho took a glob of icing smearing it on your lips. “Oops” he laughed. “Let me get that for you” he said kissing it off your lips.

“Smooth” you blushed.

“Of course, it’s me” he said before kissing you once more. “Missed a spot”

Changbin:

It had been snowing a lot the last couple of days. Changbin had come over surprising you because you thought he worked. “Hey gorgeous, get your snow stuff on” he said smiling.

“For what?” You asked confused.

“Just do it pleeease” he whined.

How could you say no to him? You got up putting all your stuff on. He smiled taking your hand as you both went outside. It was still snowing a little but he had a few things In a bag.

“Let’s make a snow couple” he said grinning ear to ear.

“Gonna be together human and snow form?” You say laughing.

“Duh” he teased back.

He helped you roll the snow up as you both got to work making cute little snow people. He had a few item to put on them like hats and scarfs. He found the perfect sticks for the arms as you made little faces in the heads.

You decorated them both stepping back to look at the snow couple you made. “They’re in love” he said smiling. “Oh wait!” He said moving their hands so they were holding “now they’re in love” he said making you giggle.

“If we stay out here any longer we’re gonna be the snow couple” you said.

“Right, let’s go inside and get some hot chocolate?” He said smiling.

He made you sit on the couch in a bunch of blankets making you both some hot chocolate. He handed you the mug snuggling up to your side. “Warm?” He asked. You nodded prompting him to put his cold hands on your stomach. You jumped at the coldness “hey! I just got warm!” You pouted.

“Yeah, now I gotta get warm” he said chuckling putting the rest of his cold body against yours.

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin found a flyer for a holiday market that was going on this weekend. He excitedly asked you if you wanted to go with him and of course you said yes.

He had cute couple outfits picked out for the both of you making the whole day even more special. You both strolled down looking at the booths. Some had holiday candles, snacks and clothes. “I’ll be right back.” He said with a grin running off to another booth.

When he came back he had that smile of ‘I did something��. He moved your coat placing a little necklace around your neck with the letter H on it. He had another in his hand with the first letter of your name on it. “Would you do the honors” he said smiling moving his hair.

God why was he so freaking cute. You placed the necklace around his neck. He brought you into a tight hug kissing you softly. He couldn’t help but smile looking at you. “I love you Angel” he said kissing your cold nose.

“And I love you hyune thank you” you said softly.

“For what?” He asked.

“The necklace silly”

“Oh right” he laughed “of course! Thought it would be cute.” He blushed. “We should take some pictures” he said pulling his phone out.

You both strolled, stopping at more booths and to take more pictures. After it all you ended up with bags full of clothes, one with a few candles and of course all the snacks. He couldn’t help it, anything that you even so much as looked at he bought.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness

Diverted-Dimension (Christmas 2024)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Why am I back here again!? Take me back to the canon!

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"Finally!" You cheered, stepping back to admire the Christmas tree in the corner of your living room.

"It looks good." Pantalone commented, looking at all the trinkets placed on the tree. "Although, I believe this gadget would look better placed there... And this bauble, yes, hmm, perhaps on the branch above rather than--"

Y'know, it always takes one person to ruin everyone else's happiness doesn't it? Especially when their name is Pantalone. You rolled your eyes, ignoring his fiddling with what you considered a complete and beautiful tree.

Let's just hope Columbina doesn't see him fiddling with her decorations. For Pantalone's sake, you pray she takes five extra minutes in the bathroom so he can have a safe getaway when he's finished with something he sees as necessary.

Anyway, you've been preparing for Christmas day tomorrow. You wanted to put up the tree earlier, not wanting to leave it this late, however being busy babysitting and making sure all the Harbingers go to work with a happy mood sure takes up a lot of time. Not only does it feel like you're playing a very dangerous version of the Sims, but more importantly, it sucks that when all of them leave you have to entertain the others that don't go to work in the first place.

"It feels like the tree is missing something." Dottore chimed in, standing back with a finger on his bottom lip.

"Please don't say that, The Regrator is already driving himself mad with his own activities." Arlecchino stated 

Ignoring those two... They're right, something seems wrong with the tree. But you used everything in the box, what could be missing --

Oh, of course! How could you forget!?

"It's missing an angel on top!" You pointed out, walking over to the Christmas box and rummaging around.

After a while of digging and loud crashing noises consisting of you throwing out whatever you thought could also be added, you found a dusty china angel missing a hand.

"Agh, this won't do." You scolded yourself. "We'll have to go with a star instead. I'll have to cut one out later."

"Cut one out? How are you going to cut a star out of the sky?" Childe asked with a bewildered expression.

"They mean they'll cut one out of paper you damn idiot." Scaramouche glared out of the corner of his eye.

"I often see the Children of the Hearth doing something similar when I pass by..." Signora thought to herself out loud, leaning on one of the arms of the sofa.

"Yes, the children love cutting out different shapes and animals. It just so happens stars are one of the easiest things to make." Arlecchino nodded in agreement.

If it's so damn easy, why don't you do it for me?? You grumbled with an angry grin. It took you a few days to learn how to cut a good looking star out of paper due to your clutzy fingers, how dare they call it 'easy' in front of you!

"Hm? Why do you look angry at me?"

"No reason." You answered her, sharply turning your head away from her tilted one. "Do I even have any paper left? Ugh, I might have to use lined paper and paint it using gold nail varnish if push comes to shove."

"Absolutely not." Sandrone interrupted you. "That sounds messy and unnecessarily more difficult than if you just bought yellow card."

"And where do you propose I get this yellow card? Out of my arse?"

"No." She looked repulsed. "The shop? I saw some in an isle."

"When and why did you go into the corner shop?" You caressed your head, sighing when hearing her solution.

"That's unimportant."

"Sure it is. Anyway, I need to start thinking about how I'm going to cook Christmas dinner--"

"Oh no you don't." Scaramouche interrupted you with a cold voice. "The last time you cooked a genuine meal that didn't include those 'instant noodles', you poisoned everyone who has an organic stomach."

"No way, the Balladeer cares enough about me to not want to see me bedridden again?" Childe gushed with a chuffed smile.

"That's not important!" You raised your voice with flushed cheeks. "How did you know that what I cooked was 'instant' noodles? I never told you that!"

"I asked a staff member in the shop down the street when I saw the exact same package for sale in one of the pasta isles."

"Oh my god, how many of you have been in that damn shop without me!?"

The room stayed silent, some looking away with a cringe whilst others looked at you with unbothered faces.

“Do I count? I’ve never left the house.” Capitano raised his hand innocently.

"Unbelievable." You cried to yourself dramatically.

"I can't believe he's still fiddling." Pulcinella sighed with judging eyes, watching the banker radically move around the tree mumbling to himself like a robot given an impossible task.

"So this is what happens when you don't give him something to do after a long period of time. Lesson learnt." Pierro sweated, coughing into a clenched fist with shut eyes.

"It's not my fault." He turned to the group with hysterical eyes, every so often one twitching. Considering his eyes are always closed, you’re impressed that his mania has managed to do the impossible. "The Decider won't let me do one of the things I'm best at, manipulating an economy. Denying me access to undermining this country's government is making me go mad!"

"What a lunatic." You ignored him, eyeing his antics as nothing more than a regular occurrence at this point.

"So, we're up for cutting a star for the tree then?" You turned back to the group.

"It's your decision and your tree, so of course." Signora shrugged.

"I'm baaaack!~" Columbina burst through the door like a canary, singing with a pep in her step.

She stopped when she saw Pantalone running around the tree, her energy from earlier vanishing as fast as a bird when hearing a gunshot.

"Erm... It's not what it looks like." He turned around slowly, feeling her menacing and dangerous energy piercing his back.

He put his hands in the air, his smile shaking in fear.

"It better not be what it looks like." Her smile contrasted his own. "Because it seems you've been touching something I specifically warned all not to touch.~"

"He's dead, he's actually dead." Childe commented on the sidelines.

"Amen."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sandrone left to go get yellow card whilst Columbina forced you to tear down the Christmas tree and start decorating it from scratch. She said it was a punishment for you also, due to letting him rearrange it despite hearing her warning. What bullshit, she just couldn't be bothered to do it again. Anyway, Capitano helped you hold the christmas tree up so you could wrap the tinsel around it without trouble. What a nice guy… even though he technically isn’t helping you with what counts most.

"I don't understand why we're cutting out stars. Can't we just use me as the angel?" Columbina giggled to herself.

"No, that would be weird." You frowned at her. "What I don't understand is why everyone is cutting stars with me. Didn't the majority of you say this is going to be boring? Do something else!"

"The 'something else' you're talking about was also boring." Scaramouche picked up his pair of scissors, tracing his finger on the sharp side.

“I’d much rather cut something up than count how many particles are in a cloud.”

“What does that even mean!?”

“Anyway,” Dottore coughed with an irritated stretching smile. “I propose we make this a competition.”

“Of all the childish suggestions–” Arlecchino was cut off.

“I agree, I agree!” Columbina nodded with a happy smile. “It can’t be too hard, maybe we should have a reward for who wins the competition?”

“Although I find the idea of a competition to be senseless, a reward does sound quite… boosting.” Pantalone thought out loud, a greedy smile on his lips.

“This is not happening.” You sighed to yourself, head planted onto the table with exasperation radiating off of your slumped form.

“But what reward could we put on offer? I’m not against competition, heck, I encourage it! But what could we all fight for which would allow us to fight at our strongest the whole time?” Childe leaned against his chair.

The Harbingers thought to themselves, the room erupting in silence with the occasional cough or sniff. All of a sudden, their heads turned and looked at you. Feeling their gazes burning into you, you looked up from the table to see them expectantly eyeing you.

“Ohhh no. No way in whatever thoughts you’re all sharing am I getting involved in this. I’m not becoming some trophy you can flaunt for the rest of the evening.” You denied them.

“But you’re the perfect solution!” Childe playfully pouted.

“Quit torturing them, Childe.” Signora scolded the young ginger. “I propose this; let whoever wins ask The Decider one question. That question can be related to anything, the future or the past.”

“Hmm, but how would we know whether The Decider wouldn’t lie to us?” Dottore suggested.

“I’m staying out of this one.” Pulcinella put his hands in the air, leaving the room. “You youngsters go have fun, I’ll sit this one out.”

“Rooster, I would suggest staying to supervi–”

“So you can go back to that dirty office you keep closing yourself in to work? No thank you, I shall handle your paperwork today. You supervise this time.” He gave the director a harsh glare, making sure to purposefully hit him with his walking stick before walking away.

“Sometimes I can’t tell whether the Rooster is secretly a teenage girl or is just simply strange…” Pierro muttered to himself. Sighing.

“How about both, mixed in with the fact that he’s a psycho with more control issues than you think.”

“Hm? You think even more than the Regrator?”

“Deffo.” You clicked your tongue. “He just hides it because he’s a champ like that.”

“Don’t change focus!” Scaramouche raised his voice. “I order you to answer me. You will tell the truth to the victor of the contest, no?”

“Hold on, didn’t we agree to ask our own questions once we deliver them to the Tsaritsa?” Childe questioned.

“That was just to get you to not hound The Decider back when we first found them.” 

“Fine.” You agreed with an eye roll, secretly crossing your fingers behind your back like a five year old. You’ll probably just make something up that sounds accurate when the winner asks their question. You’re betting that Sandrone will win this though, this kind of has something to do with her job after all.

“It’s decided then!” Columbina clapped in delight. “The Decider and The Director will be our judges. We’ll work for 10 minutes to create a star suitable to be put on the tree, then will be judged to see who has the best!”

“This is not gonna go well…” You said, trying your best to cover the shaky smile on your face. This is the best! You’ll just pick someone who won’t ask a question you don’t mind answering! Thank you Columbina for giving you this chance.

“You’re telling me!” Pulcinella shouted from the other room, sarcasm oozing like tar glooping down a slope.

“Count us down, count us down!” Columbina couldn’t contain her excitement, her body practically vibrating.

“Alright, alright… Ugh, I regret this… On your marks, get set, cut!”

“Seriously? ‘Cut’?” Pierro turned to you.

“What was I supposed to say!?”

The Harbingers sat at the table immediately started cutting, the sound of card shredding and small pieces emitting everywhere. Guess who’s going to have to clean that up? You thought with a frown, watching card pile up in the small crevasses in your carpet.

Looking around at the Harbinger’s cutting paper, you realise one was just sitting there watching the others work.

“Uhh, Capitano? Aren’t you going to begin?” You asked him.

“No.” His deep voice answered in return. “I am not going to join this display, no matter how entertaining it will be for you. Firstly, my fingers won’t fit in the holes of the scissors. And secondly, I have no question to ask you so entering just for victory would be pointless.”

“Brother, your fingers can’t be that big.” You deadpanned, letting your mind wander a bit too far with the thought.

He simply crossed his arms and continued to watch the others, ignoring you from then on. Oh well, he’s not interfering or arguing back like a child so you’ll let it happen. Besides, it looks like he quite likes watching so it’s the least you could do.

Pierro put an arm on your shoulder, getting your attention. You turned to make eye-contact and saw him hesitating in what to say to you.

“Do you need a defibrillator? You look like you’re having a seizure.”

“Who do you think is going to make the best star?” He said after, not registering your insult you said a few seconds prior.

“Wow. Did it really take you that long to think of what to say to me?”

“Quiet.” He warned you.

“Hmm… Who do I think is going to win?” You mumbled out loud, pretending to give it some thought. “Screw it, I’m not going to pretend. Sandrone’s going to make the best one because she does this kind of thing as a job.”

“Hah!” She guffawed after hearing your predictions, continuing her cutting with a content smile.

“Buuuut, that’s not what makes a star special. It isn’t just perfection, but passion and hope. I want to see how unique some people will make it… within reason of course.”

“I wasn’t expecting such an intelligent reply.” Pierro sweated. “Here I was, ready to scold you.”

“It’s like that’s all you can ever bloody think about when it comes to me.” You deadpanned.

“You give me no choice half of the time.” He sighed with a shaking head. “Your choices are often questionable and must be corrected. Would you rather have a physical punishment instead?”

Is this guy nuts?

“No… No, I would not.”

“That's what I thought.” He turned to look at the competition.

“Decider, help me out here.” Scaramouche clicked his fingers, beckoning you like an old woman would to her juvenile cat.

“Do I look like your pet?” You recoiled in disgust.

“I’ll let you leave the house to go to that dumb park you like if you help me right now.”

“I’m on my way!” You ran over to his side, peering down to see the mess of a star he’s created. It’s not bad at all, it’s actually your style - you like it a lot! What on earth could he need help for?

When you peered down to his design, you felt a cold unnatural hand grasp the side of your head and pull it closer to his face.

“Tell me how you like them.” He whispered. “Would you rather me add more detail or remove it? And don’t lie to me or I’ll kill you.”

“Pierro, The Balladeer is cheating! He’s bribing The Decider!” Sandrone pushed her chair back and stood up dramatically, pointing her scissors at the offender.

“Hey, no fair!” Childe whined. “If he gets to bribe them, let me bribe them too!”

“If anyone is to bribe the Decider, it should be me. I am the richest man in Teyvat after all.” Pantalone shrugged whilst lazily cutting.

“Correction: Ningguang is the richest in terms of all. You only count as the richest when it comes to being a man.” You pointed out. “And besides, I would never take your dirty money.”

Piero coughed loudly to quieten everyone down, all in the room turning to him like a deer in headlights. He waited until everyone stopped complaining and then spoke.

“Do continue with your cutting, you have less than a minute left.” He gestured to the timer. “And no bribery. The first to test my patience and even attempt to do so will be put under experimentation during the rest of our stay here and our return.”

“Oh, by all means, bribe away!” Dottore laughed at the Harbinger’s around him, silently cutting.

Huh? Less than a minute left? But when you last looked at the time they had at least 8 minutes left. You checked the timer once more, and found fat greasy fingerprints on buttons that weren’t there prior. You turned to the old man with an incredulous face, mouth wide open. He caught your staring, and put a finger on his lips with a small almost unnoticeable smile.

Pierro, you cheeky bastard. I love you for this.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The stars were laid out on the dining table, each Harbinger stood behind their own creations. Sadly but also un-sadly, some Harbingers were too slow and couldn’t finish their star in time. By some, you mean Pantalone and surprisingly Sandrone.

“I’m not going to hear the end of this.” Sandrone had her face buried in her hands, looking at her creation with malice. “In defence, I value time to craft perfection. Announcing a set time dampens my methods and results in mechanics such as this one. Ugh, what a waste!” She threw the craft off of the table, the star unravelling itself immediately.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course.” You sarcastically waved at her embarrassment. “And you, Pantalone? What’s your excuse?”

“The scissors you gave me were tampered with! I call for–”

“So I’m the problem? Okay, whatever…”

You walked down the table, looking at each star neutrally then nodding and moving onto the next. Now, you’re not an expert, but did they really think you wouldn’t notice? They all look the exact same! They all look like copied versions of Scaramouche’s design! When watching him try to bribe you, they must have thought you liked his design the best and copied him to have a fair chance. Well, they’re wrong! You’re just going to pick the person who will give you the least trouble when answering their question, jokes on them!

…That was your original plan. After looking at all the stars, you felt a new motivation when noticing one person didn’t copy and stuck to their own principles. Also they may or may not be the only person to not take this seriously and you want to mess with the others a little bit. Pierro will agree with you, he’s the type to disregard any copycats so he won’t have trouble with your choice at all.

“Okay, I’ve decided on my winner.” You announced, stepping back to view the expectant Harbingers.

“Arlecchino, you win.”

“WHAT!?”

“But why?” She asked, not looking surprised or pleased. “I could care less about an answer to a question, nor do I care about winning this childish competition.”

“That’s actually why I picked you. And because your star is an original design - sorry Scara, but uhh, you might have won if the others didn’t copy.”

“Of course.” He grumbled, glaring at the Harbingers staring at him. “One day, I’m going to murder all of you fools and sell your parts to people far worse than Dottore! I’ll get back at all of you for ruining my chances!”

“Anyway,” You tuned his violent voice out. “Yeah, you’re the winner. Pierro, what do you think?”

“...I agree.” He said in a quieter tone. “Now, I will be returning to my office to continue what’s left of my work… and review what The Rooster has already completed.”

As he was walking away, you turned back to notice the majority of Harbingers had walked away to go back to what they were doing prior, bored after realising they wouldn't be able to profit with staying around for longer.

“Do I get to ask my question now?” Arlecchino tapped her elbow impatiently with folded arms.

“So you do want the reward?”

“Despite it not being my intention when joining, I would indeed like something that was promised. Whether it be an accident or a purposeful decision.”

“Okay, fine. Ask away then.” You shrugged.

“As you must already be aware, the majority of my Children from the Hearth hail from Fontaine, the nation of justice. I won’t lie to you, I’m beginning to grow increasingly concerned with the prophecy where–”

“--where the whole nation will be flooded and all the people will be killed except the archon? Yeah, I know of it. Your point?” You finished her explanation, already having an idea of where the conversation was heading.

“Then you will understand I care deeply about the future of my children. Tell me, will I succeed in convincing the Tsaritsa to visit Fontaine to retrieve the Gnosis in place of Rosalyne?”

“Of course you’d use the question to ask about your ‘precious children’.” Scaramouche mocked. “Just how idiotic can you be?? This is your chance to ask about the future!”

You gave a harsh glare with icy eyes in his direction before sighing, a smile on your face. “Yeah.”

“Hm? You have to give a higher detailed response to that.”

“You go to Fontaine, Childe coincidentally also there for his own personal motivations which may or may not be important. The whole time you’re there, you’re investigating Furina and the prophecy. Long story short, that I WILL NOT be elaborating, the prophecy is sorted and the people are saved. This includes the children in the House of the Hearth.” You explained, pleased with the question she asked you and your own personal answer. Wow, you can even impress yourself sometimes!

“Excellent.” She sighed in relief, her face unchanging. “Thank you. But I do have to ask, is the Hydro Archon really working to prevent the flood?”

“That’s two questions. But fine,” You shrugged. “You can trust her. Everything is proceeding to the plan, although interrogation and suspicion do indeed accelerate it to completion.” You thought out loud, noticing her questioning gaze and smiling deeper.

“That’s enough serious stuff. When are we going to discuss presents? Now that the tree is up we need to put the presents under it!” 

“Uh… We’re flat-out poor. We can’t afford presents.” Childe shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to accept my love as a present instead!”

“Ew, what are you, five? Wait… Don’t come over here! Not after saying something like that!” You panicked, watching him run over to you at full speed and choosing to run away.

“Scaramouche you know how you said you’d take me to the park? I’m cashing in that favour right now!”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Perfect Moments

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: While decorating the tree with Tim, you reminisce on perfect moments until you find yourself in another.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, softie!Tim!! 0.8k+ words

“Did you purposely pick the hardest tree to decorate?” Tim complains as Christmas music fills the room.

“You picked this tree,” you remind him with a smile and a well-intentioned hip check.

“Because you liked it!”

“You mean because you love me.”

“Some days I really regret it.”

You exhale in faux hurt, then step back from the tree. “Looks good,” you decide with your hands on your hips. “Ready for ornaments?”

Tim nods. As he passes you, he kisses your temple. The song changes to “Snow Angel” before he returns, and you hum while you survey the tree, symbolizing a great year and the little life you’ve built with Tim.

“Here,” Tim says as he sets the container of ornaments on the coffee table. “I think we should start with this one."

You take his offered Hallmark ornament and smile. “I was terrified you wouldn’t like this,” you admit as you place it on the front of the tree. “Our relationship was so new, and I wanted something to remember our first Christmas, but had so many doubts about how well I knew you or how serious you were.”

“Wanna know a secret?” Tim whispers against your ear.

“Always.”

“I left it on my nightstand until March.”

“Such a softie,” you muse under your breath. “I take it back,” you add as Tim’s hands move toward your waist. “You’re a strong police officer and definitely not a big teddy bear.”

Tim rolls his eyes, still smiling, as he retrieves an ornament.

“Speaking of teddy bears,” he says. “I’m pretty sure this ornament was purchased because it reminded you of someone.”

“It’s you in ornament form and I’m sticking to that. The little flannel and the button heart? Absolutely reminds me of you.”

“Just get another ornament,” Tim deflects.

You laugh as you open a box. “Remember this guy?” you inquire as Anson Seabra sings, You’re my snow angel. Don’t let me go, angel.

“Remind me?” Tim asks.

Smiling, you know Tim remembers the Dodgers bulldog ornament. He picked it out during a shopping trip last Christmas because the dog was colored like Kojo and repping his favorite baseball team. When you got home, Tim took it out of the box to hang on the tree, then pulled you close to ask your opinion on where it should go. Kojo took Tim’s affection as an invitation to join you and walked through a tangled string of lights to join your side. Before you could stop Kojo and free him, he circled your legs and pulled you against Tim, knocking the ornament out of his hands. It should have broken, but it didn’t. You took that as a good sign.

“I might have a better one,” Tim says.

You walk to his side and smile at the hand-painted ornament. The pencil line separating the even halves is barely visible past the paint. Your impromptu home date night earlier in the year involved working together to create something beautiful without being able to see what the other person painted. The resulting ornament is one of your favorites.

“This is yours,” you comment as you pass Tim an ornament from his sister. “And this is mine.”

Your ornaments have slowly made their way in together, and it no longer feels like your decorations or Tim’s, but your shared memories and an opportunity to reminisce together for many Christmases to come.

“I’ll grab another,” Tim offers as you search for the perfect branch.

You nod and continue looking, then place the painted ornament next to the Dodgers bat ornament. Tim offers his hand, and you take the ornament from him without looking. Immediately, you know the square velvet item in your hand is not an ornament, but you don’t expect to see a ring box when you turn toward Tim to ask what it is.

Tim smiles up at you from his one-kneed position. With the song, he says, “I won’t ask for anything. No shiny toys or fancy things. ‘Cause I got everything I need with you here next to me. We’ve spent Christmas together, bad days and good days and all the mundane days in between, but they’re all special with you. I don’t want to just reminisce at Christmas, I want to make every single day a memory with you by my side. Will you marry me?”

You nod, the ornaments reflecting the Christmas lights blurring as your eyes grow teary. “Yes, Tim!” you answer.

Tim stands and pulls you into a kiss, then steps back to slide the ring on your finger.

“I actually do have another ornament for you to put up,” Tim says as you admire the perfect ring.

He passes you a silver box, and you extract the personalized ornament. It’s made to look like you, Tim, and Kojo are snowmen, and it says, She Said Yes with the year engraved beneath.

“You really thought of everything,” you muse. “Where should we put it?”

“Front and center,” Tim answers.

“Isn’t that where the mistletoe goes?” you joke, hanging the ornament in plain view.

“Who needs mistletoe?”

You don’t answer before Tim – your fiancé – pulls you into a kiss that warms you from the inside out while twinkling lights and merry music surround yet another perfect moment.

[nontacitare]

How Stolas failed Octavia

This is something I haven't seen a lot of people discussing. First off, I loved Sinsmas and actually cried during it. I loved so much about it, starting with Blitz trying to comfort Stolas by burying him in stuffed horses and ending with the epic ice battle, the Millie reveal and the final dance. But it's Octavia's song that really haunts me. It let us see her pain and how she sees events, and also hints at just how badly Stolas has screwed up. To get three things out of the way - Stolas was not wrong in divorcing Stella; Stolas was not wrong in saving Blitz' life; and while Octavia's belief that Stolas can only love one person at a time is understandable child logic, it's still not correct (though Stolas is a little bit guilty here because he could have communicated with his daughter better.) Where I think Stolas truly lost his way with his daughter is magically. His role in the Goetia is to read the future in the stars, in other words prophesy. And he also had to produce an heir to take his place if necessary. It's reasonable to assume that Octavia inherited his gifts. I believe Octavia having nightmares and expressing fears about her father disappearing throughout her childhood and adolescence weren't just foreshadowing; it was something she foresaw. And he kept dismissing her, reassuring her it would never happen and they were just childish fears. It also seems that to let Octavia have the childhood Stolas never had, he wasn't really teaching her. Child Stolas was expected to start working on his birthday (probably 10 years old or so); 17 year old Octavia had never been allowed to touch the grimoire (and Stolas even said he hadn't started teaching her yet). Yet she was able to make the grimoire work, indicating some level of internal power, even if she ended up in the wrong place, because she didn't know how it worked. Stolas was so focused on keeping his little girl happy he ignored her manifesting powers, and when she came to him with disturbing prophesies, he dismissed her rather than either checking on that himself to try to avoid it, or having a conversation with her about the fates being immutable or something along those lines that a budding guardian should know. So while Octavia's statement that Stolas lied to her is technically incorrect, it makes absolute sense why she would believe that. And that's on Stolas.

[orcelito]

I always get so angry but then I play video games and I'm no longer so angry

This is a problem when it comes to wanting to leave my shit ass job

[longagoitwastuesday]

Found Gojo/Ijichi art. All is good in the world

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[nochepsicodelica]

Perv Toji thoughts in the brain 😔 Fed you guys the fluffy pieces, now i'm thinking of the little weirdo in him.

Suggestive

Perv!Toji who slips his thumb past your lips when you start drooling after falling asleep on him. He wipes the drool that seeped out of the corner of your mouth before gently pushing down on the plush of your bottom lip and easing the digit into your slightly parted lips. His eyes remain lidded as he feels your soft, wet tongue with the pad of his thumb, and when you start to stir, he coos at you, soft murmurs of, "sleepy princess" and "I got you, baby". He's got the most satisfied look on his face when you don't question why his thumb is in your mouth, too tired to even bother.

Perv!Toji who cancels his gym membership and starts working out at home, because you said you wanted to join him in his workouts. He could never say no to something like that. This is just something else you can do together, but it'll have to be an at home thing, because he can't have people ogling you the way he does when he puts you to work. He won't make you do his exact intense routine, but he does push you to the point where you break a sweat. It's a must. He slowly walks around you, observing his favorite parts of your body as you do the warm ups he instructed you to do. Jumping jacks are one of his favorite things to watch you do. He likes watching your boobs and ass bounce, and because it's not just a simple set of ten or fifteen, you end up panting, a sound that sends his blood rushing down, down, down. When you get tired, he does the parts of his routine that he exempts you from. He has you sit on his lap while he does bench presses, he does his pushups, but he wants you wrapped around him as he does them, and so on. Everything is skin to skin because he's not gonna have you just sit there and watch when you have a better purpose.

Perv!Toji who can't hold consistent eye contact with you when you go braless and your nipples are poking through your shirt. He understands, from the many times you've said it out loud, that not all bras are comfortable. The prettiest ones, some of his favorites even, are usually the least comfortable to wear. They're a courtesy to the rest of the world, but when you're walking around at home, you free your chest from those constraints and he has absolutely no complaints about it. "Free those puppies" is a recurring line of his, and when you do get the bra off, your boobs instantly attract his attention, like they're magnets to his eyes. Sometimes his intrusive thoughts win and he'll reach out and grab a handful of tit. He's definitely not shy about it, either. He knows his hands are better than any bra you own. He can hold onto your tits and never get tired, he offers great support for your back when he's behind you, and massages are included <3

Perv!Toji who has the weirdest obsession with your tummy. He's constantly rubbing and pinching the soft flesh as a form of stress relief. The area is never clear of hickeys, there always has to be at least three on that part of you because he can't be gentle when he's kissing that area. I don't know, he's just internally feral about it and sometimes those feral feelings start to trickle out. Loves when you eat a good amount of food and you get a little belly. He's constantly thinking of putting a baby in you, so when your stomach protrudes that way with a food baby, it gives him the illusion of what you would look like in the early stages of carrying his baby.

That's all for now, buh-bye <3

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[vunblr]

The Weight of Choices

Pairing: Ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex, dirty talk. A little angst.

Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.

Word Count: About 8.9k.

He was late. If Y/n didn’t know better, she’d think he was doing it on purpose. Bucky had agreed to watch their son tonight so she could go on a date, the third one since their divorce two years ago. The last couple of times, she’d managed to find a friend to babysit, but Saturday nights were always tough. So in the end, she had no choice but to come clean and ask Bucky.

She could still hear his voice from that awkward phone call, his tone edged with surprise when she’d told him she had plans.

“A date?” he repeated, the edge of disbelief hard to miss.

"Yeah," she’d replied casually, but Bucky’s silence lingered longer than usual. He hated texting, so phone calls had become their norm, even for the smallest of things.

“With who?” His attempt to sound nonchalant fell flat, the tension threading through every word.

“Chris,” she said, keeping her tone light, “You know, the music teacher at the kindergarten where I work? Blonde, easy smile... we walked past him once when he was out with his dog, Dodger.”

Bucky scoffed, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. “I knew it. I knew he had a thing for you.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Oh, please.”

“Every time I’d drop by the kindergarten, he’d just… linger. His eyes followed you the whole time like he couldn’t look away. People don’t stare like that unless they’re thinking something. And the way he’d smile, all soft and attentive, he was trying too hard to be just a ‘friendly co-worker.” His voice had dropped a notch, irritation creeping in.

“Are you serious?” she shot back, incredulous. But Bucky wasn’t done.

“How long’s this been going on?” The question came out more like an accusation.

“It’s our first date. You know I only recently started dating again,” she replied, her patience wearing thin.

He paused, clearly unsatisfied. “So what, he’s just been waiting for his chance, ready to pounce-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, James,” she interrupted, her tone firm. “You’re not entitled to know anything about my love life the moment you decided you wanted the divorce.”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. She could hear him breathing, the tension stretching between them, until finally, he sighed.

“You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I’ll take care of Benjamin on Saturday night.”

The recall of the conversation was interrupted by Ben, who wanted to show her what he did with his Legos.

Bucky had been sitting in front of the house for half an hour now. Sometimes, like tonight, he regretted what he’d done, but deep down, he knew it had been necessary. After the terrifying incident when Hydra agents attempted to kidnap their son, hoping to test if any of the serum’s powers had been passed down genetically, he realized that his past would eventually catch up with them. He had to make sure they were safe, even if it meant tearing apart everything they’d built.

He knew she wouldn’t understand if he told her the truth. If he had laid out his fears and his guilt and spiraled into a self-deprecating parade like he always did, she would have fought him and convinced him to stay. So he waited.

He knew the only way to make her believe it, was to weave in just enough truth to his argument, so, slowly he began pulling away, setting the stage for what would be his ultimate break. Late nights, distant conversations, an almost non-existent sexual life and missed moments with their son, all led to this. He needed her to see that the life they had wasn’t something he could carry anymore.

When the moment came, he didn’t hesitate. He told her he felt suffocated by their life together. That the roles of husband and father were more than he could bear after everything he had been through. She didn’t believe him at first, and he could see the determination in her eyes, the will to fight for what they had.

So, he played the card he knew would make her stop fighting him. He spoke of the years he’d spent as a puppet, how he had never truly known freedom, never had control over his life. He appreciated everything she had done for him, all the love and support she had given, but it wasn’t enough. He needed air, space to figure out who he was beyond the roles he had been forced into. He made it sound like staying with her, staying in the family they’d built, was just another form of captivity.

It crushed her. Bucky could see the moment her resistance faded. She believed him, not because she wanted to, but because he made it seem so real. So she stood there, heartbroken, but unable to argue against the logic he’d presented.

The first months after the divorce were hard on both parts. For her, that time was the hardest, filled with sleepless nights and the nagging feeling that Bucky had simply abandoned her, walked away from their life, their love, without a second thought. She wrestled with the confusion and the heartbreak, trying to piece together where things had gone wrong. For Bucky, it was a different kind of suffering. He bore the weight of his decision in silence, knowing he had walked away to protect them, but that didn’t ease the sting of loneliness or the guilt that gnawed at him.

Their lives moved on separately. They saw each other only in passing, and even that was rare. Bucky would pick up Benjamin directly from daycare once a week, dropping him off the next morning before heading back to his life, careful to avoid lingering long enough for awkward conversations. Sometimes he didn’t make it at all, missing his time with his son when missions pulled him away. Immersing himself in his work was easier than facing what he had left behind, the family he still wanted but couldn’t allow himself to have. Meanwhile, she did her best to create some normalcy for Benjamin, even as the space Bucky left behind echoed through their small home.

Even though their lives had drifted apart, Bucky never truly let go. He kept his distance, but never far enough to lose sight of them. Unbeknownst to her, he knew everything that went on in the household, the daily rhythms of their life, the way she struggled and adapted to her new normal without him. From the shadows, Bucky lurked unnoticed in the neighborhood, always keeping an eye on them. She never noticed, never had a clue that even when he was away on missions, he somehow knew when Benjamin caught a cold or when she had a rough day at work.

It was a secret vigil that gave him a twisted sense of comfort, knowing they were safe even if they no longer shared the same home. He would catch fleeting glimpses of her tucking their son into bed or hear his faint laughter playing in the yard. It was enough to remind him of what he’d lost, but not enough to bring him back to the life he believed he couldn’t have.

That was why Bucky was caught off guard when she mentioned her date with that guy, the music teacher. He never saw that coming. He had always known the man had a soft spot for her, could see it in the way he acted whenever she was around, how he lingered a little longer during pick-ups at the kindergarten, helping to manage the children even if it wasn’t his job, always with an excuse to retain her and talk. His body language was an open book. But back then, Bucky had dismissed him as harmless, barely giving him a second thought. To him, Chris had always been like a friendly Labrador: approachable, with no bite. A non-threat.

But now, that harmless Labrador had grown fangs. The guy wasn’t just hanging around the edges anymore; he was stepping in, taking her to dinner, moving into a space Bucky had once occupied. And he had no choice but to suck it up and watch it happen, watch her walk out the door with him. He could handle the distance, the brief moments of tension when they had to interact, but this? The idea of Chris sitting across from her at a candlelit table, making her laugh, holding her gaze... it twisted his guts.

And God knows what else would happen after dinner. Would Chris try to kiss her goodnight? Would she let him? Or worse, would they end up back at his place? His mind ran wild with the possibility of them taking things further, crossing a line he never wanted to imagine. Would she let him touch her in ways Bucky used to, let him see sides of her only he had known? He knew he had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the thoughts from torturing him.

Eventually, he glanced at the clock and sighed, raking a hand through his hair. There was no point in torturing himself any further, he couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer.

Reaching the front porch, Bucky hesitated for a moment. He straightened his posture adjusting his clothes, then knocked on the door. As he waited, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the tension.

When the door finally swung open, for a split second, neither of them spoke. Her eyes widened just a little, her lips parting as she took him in. It had been a long time since she’d seen him. His hair had grown back to shoulder length, a few strands falling loose across his forehead. A three-day stubble sharpened his jawline, in a way that made him look rugged and effortlessly handsome. And was he wearing that shirt? The red and black lumberjack one that used to drive her wild?

Bucky caught her reaction and hit him like a shot of adrenaline. When he exited the bathroom that night and picked what to wear, he told himself it was just practical, something comfortable to wear while watching and playing with Ben. The cologne? Just a habit. But deep down, a part of him knew the truth: he wanted her to notice, and that split-second when her eyes widened, scanning him from head to toe, told him everything. She noticed. She definitely noticed. And something about that felt like a victory, even though he wasn’t supposed to be playing that game anymore.

He stared at her longer than necessary, his blue gaze drifting over the black dress she wore. New, he realized. It hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating her curves in a way that was impossible to ignore. The hemline? Too short for his liking. He clenched his jaw slightly, knowing full well Chris would be thrilled to see her like this.

Forcing himself to snap out of it, Bucky cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and calm, though the tension still simmered beneath the surface. “You look... good.” He meant it, but the words tasted bitter.

"Thanks," she said, her tone polite but distant, deliberately choosing not to compliment him back. She lingered for a moment, then added, “You’re late.”

Bucky flinched inwardly at the remark, though he kept his expression neutral. "Traffic," he muttered, stepping inside as she moved aside to let him in. An awkward silence settled between them, the air thick with things left unsaid.

Her fingers toyed with the edge of her dress as she cleared her throat, trying to fill the silence. “Ben is in the bathroom,” she said, her voice casual, but there was a tension beneath it. “You can wait for him in the living room.”

“Right,” Bucky replied, nodding stiffly. He walked past her and into the living room, the space feeling both familiar and foreign at the same time. He took a seat, trying to shake off the strange energy between them, but his mind kept wandering back to the fact that she was dressed for someone else.

A moment later, the doorbell rang, and she turned toward the sound, visibly relieved. She opened the door, and Bucky heard Chris’s voice, a cheerful greeting that she surely responded to with a soft, warm smile. Bucky didn’t need to see it, her tone was different with him, softer, more open.

“Hey,” Chris said, his voice bright, though there was a subtle shift when he paused. There was a beat of silence before he added, “You look amazing.”

Bucky couldn’t help it. Something pulled him from the couch, and before he knew it, he was standing in the hall, watching the interaction from a few feet away. His eyes narrowed as he observed Chris, sizing him up instinctively. Chris was taller than he remembered, clean-cut in a casual but neat button-down shirt, his easy smile faltering just a fraction when his eyes darted past her, catching sight of Bucky standing there.

Chris’s brows furrowed, but he quickly masked his reaction, giving Bucky a curt nod. “Uh, hey,” he greeted awkwardly, glancing between them.

It was her turn to narrow her eyes. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw him. Bucky stood at the edge of the hallway, staring directly at Chris, his expression unreadable. His eyes locked onto the man without blinking. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t saying anything, just staring.

Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. Really? A display of male dominance, here and now? After everything he’d put her through, the mess he’d made of their lives, he suddenly decided he had the right to act territorial? What exactly did he think he was entitled to? The nerve of it sent a wave of irritation through her, tightening her grip on her coat.

But what frustrated her even more -what really troubled her- was that a part of her didn’t mind. Beneath her annoyance, something stirred, deep and undeniable, lurking just beneath the surface. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but his presence still had a hold on her. Maybe it didn’t bother her as much as she wanted to believe. Maybe, despite everything, there was still a part of her that reacted to him, to the way he watched her, the way he used to make her feel like the center of his world.

Before those feelings could rise any further, before she could let herself dwell on what they meant, she quickly turned back to Chris. She forced a bright smile, pushing away the conflicted thoughts swirling in her mind.

“We should get going,” she said, her voice light, pretending not to notice the tension still hanging in the air. She stepped closer to Chris, signaling it was time to leave, hoping to put some distance between her and the weight of Bucky’s gaze.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky stood frozen in place for a moment, the tension that had gripped him not easing, even with their absence. The quiet of the house felt heavier now, pressing down on him. His chest tightened as he stared at the closed door, half-expecting her to walk back in. Of course, she didn’t.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he replayed the scene in his head: her standing there, beautiful and confident, and Chris… that guy was so normal, so easygoing. Exactly what she deserved. Exactly what Bucky could never be. He raked a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. What was he even doing? He had no right, he was the one who walked away. He was the one who made her believe she wasn’t enough to keep him, that he wanted out. And now, here he was, silently raging because she was moving on, exactly like he supposedly wanted.

Stupid. That was the only word he could come up with to describe how he felt. Stupid for showing up looking the way he did, stupid for thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could still affect her. But what for? His job was to protect her and their son from the shadows, not to stand in the doorway, playing the part of some jealous lover. But God, it hurt more than he expected.

He crossed the living room, his steps heavy against the floor, and slumped into the couch. The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of the TV in the background. Ben was still in the bathroom, probably playing with the liquid soap and making a mess, unaware of the tangled web of emotions his father was caught in.

The hours slipped by, though Bucky barely noticed at first. Benjamin was beyond excited to have his dad all to himself for the evening. They played, joked, and built elaborate lego fortresses, the boy’s laughter filling the house with a warmth Bucky hadn’t realized he missed so much. For a little while, he was able to shove everything else to the back of his mind. Being a dad, just a dad, felt like a relief. But every now and then, his gaze would drift to the clock on the wall. He couldn’t help it. As much as he tried to stay in the moment with his son, there was a lingering pull, a constant, nagging thought of where she was.

After he’d put Ben to bed, Bucky’s mind wandered back to the date. The image of her in that black dress haunted him, the way Chris had looked at her, the possibility of what might have happened after dinner. His thoughts spiraled, even though he knew it was none of his business anymore. He poured himself a scotch, the amber liquid swirling in his glass as he tried -and failed- to push the thoughts aside.

Eventually, the sound of the front door opening cut through the quiet. The familiar click of her shoes against the entryway tile echoed through the house, sharp and distinct. She was home.

Bucky didn’t move. He stayed where he was, seated at the old teakwood table, nursing his scotch. The only light on in the house was the dim glow above the kitchen, so she’d find him.

The sound of her footsteps grew closer, and he listened intently, his heart beating just a little faster despite his best efforts to keep calm.

She entered the kitchen, her steps a little less steady than usual, mumbling a soft “Hi” as she made her way inside. Bucky glanced up, immediately sensing that she was a little tipsy. She didn’t meet his eyes, just plopped down in the chair next to him with a tired sigh. “God, my feet are killing me,” she muttered, kicking off her heels and wincing.

For a while, the silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the fridge. She sighed absentmindedly, then reached for his glass of scotch, taking a sip without asking. He was taken aback by the casual intimacy of the gesture, but he said nothing, just watched her as she leaned back in her chair.

Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “Want me to rub your feet?” He froze. He couldn’t believe he’d said it, half-expecting her to snap at him or give him one of her sharp retorts.

But instead, she surprised him. She looked over at him, her eyes tired but soft, and then shrugged. “Yeah...” she said, her voice a little more relaxed than he expected.

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by her response. His heart thudded against his ribcage as he moved toward her, kneeling down in front of her chair. His fingers hovered hesitantly over her ankle before gently wrapping around it, lifting her foot onto his knee.

As he began to knead his thumbs into her sore muscles, the tension that had been brewing in him all night seemed to ease, just a little. Her head lolled back against the chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this, touching her again in this way, after everything. He shouldn’t, but she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to relax more as the seconds passed, letting her guard down in a way that felt dangerously familiar.

“So... how was the date?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost too casual as he broke the silence.

Her eyes fluttered open at the question, and for a moment, he thought she might brush him off or remind him that it wasn’t his business. But instead, she gave a small shrug, her tone indifferent. “It was fine.”

Bucky frowned slightly, pressing his thumbs a little harder into the arch of her foot. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration or something else pushing his hands. “Fine?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice even.

“Yeah,” she murmured, closing her eyes. Her voice was soft, almost distracted. “Just... fine.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that. He couldn’t help himself, he pressed, his tone still light but with a thread of tension beneath it. “Only... fine?”

She sighed, her eyes still closed as if trying to keep the conversation from getting deeper. “What do you want me to say, Bucky?” Her voice wasn’t sharp, but there was a subtle edge in her words. “That it was amazing? That he swept me off my feet? Some dirty little details?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled for a moment, resting against her foot as he met her gaze. He didn’t respond right away, unsure if he even wanted to hear the truth, whatever it might be. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice a little more vulnerable than he intended.

“It was just fine, nothing more, nothing less”

A silence settled between them, but he wasn’t ready to let it drop. “Are you going to see each other again outside work?” he ventured, his hands slowly moving up her shin, his touch hesitant but growing bolder. The fact that she didn’t push him away emboldened him further. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Bucky’s hands continued their slow ascent, fingers brushing over her calf and then her knee, his touch firm but careful. When she didn’t pull away, he felt his pulse quicken. The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of things unsaid.

“In a way,” she finally answered, her voice elusive, a touch distant. She shifted slightly in her chair, subtly parting her thighs as his hands wandered higher. The movement was small, but enough for him to catch it. His breath hitched, and his gaze flicked down to her legs before rising back up to her face, darkening with lust.

"Care to... elaborate?" he pressed again, his voice lower now, rougher. His fingers slid up to her inner thigh, lingering there with a possessive grip as if testing her reaction. Her legs instinctively spread wider beneath his touch, and that simple motion sent a rush of heat through him.

She shifted slightly, as if searching for the right words. "He’s... nice," she finally said, her voice a bit breathless under his touch. "He’s thoughtful, considerate, makes me laugh…” Her lips twitched in a small smile, but it quickly faded as she looked down at his hand resting on her thigh. “He’s... good.”

Bucky’s thumb paused, pressing a little harder, as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a murmur. “…And?”

She sighed, her eyes opening again to meet his intense gaze. “And… he’s not you.”

His grip on her thigh tightened involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat. He’d pushed her away, done everything he could to sever the ties between them, convinced himself it was for her protection. But now, hearing her admit that, it sent his head spinning.

“He’s not you.”

The room seemed smaller, the air heavier, as the tension between them crackled like electricity. His hand inched higher, dangerously close to where he could feel the heat radiating off her body. Every instinct in him screamed to close the distance, to take what he wanted, to forget everything that had led them to this point. But he forced himself to stop, his gaze locking onto hers, searching her face for any sign that she would tell him to stop.

She didn’t. Instead, she held his gaze, her breathing shallow as if waiting to see what he would do next.

Bucky’s grip tightened again. Fuck it. He leaned forward, pressing his face against her other inner thigh, his stubble grazing her skin as he inhaled her scent deeply, a growl rumbling in his chest. She tensed, feeling him nip gently at her sensitive flesh, and then a slow, deliberate lick followed, sending a shiver through her.

"Did he behave, or..." he paused, his tongue teasing the same spot before he looked up at her, his lips brushing her thigh as he continued, "...things got handsy?"

A gasp escaped her when she felt his mouth so dangerously close to where she wanted it most. Her head tilted back just slightly, her body betraying her as desire pooled in her belly. His eyes flicked up, meeting hers, their blue depths darkened with lust, and something more. His lips remained pressed against her skin, refusing to budge until he had his answer.

"You let him touch you?" His voice was a husky whisper, laced with jealousy.

She exhaled slowly, her breath shaky as the memory flickered through her mind. "Yes," she admitted, her voice low, reluctant. "But just briefly, when we ki—"

Before she could finish, Bucky’s hand shifted, moving up to cup her mound, his fingers pressing firmly against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her words died in her throat, a sharp intake of breath replacing them as his touch ignited a fire that spread through her veins. His hand was deliberate, unapologetic in the way it claimed her, the heel of his palm pressing against her pussy as if he had every right to be there.

"And then?" His question hung in the air, but she couldn’t find the words immediately.

Her lips parted as she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to feel something... but I didn’t. I just didn’t."

Her confession landed between them like a spark to dry wood, setting the tension ablaze. Bucky’s hand remained where it was, but his thumb stroked over the wet fabric, teasing her, testing her resolve as his gaze bore into hers. She had said what he needed to hear, what he craved to know, and now, there was no turning back.

Bucky’s thumb slid the fabric of her underwear aside, his fingers unhesitating as they slipped between her folds, finding her slick with need. He brushed upward, just barely grazing her clit, watching with dark, heavy-lidded eyes as she gasped at the contact. Her body arched involuntarily, but he didn’t relent, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, teasing her just enough to drive her crazy but not enough to give her what she craved.

“And…” his voice was low, rasping against the tension between them, “how long did it take you to realize you’d had enough? That it wasn’t going to work?”

His thumb circled lazily, making her hips shift forward, chasing the friction he barely offered. The question hung in the air, laced with his possessiveness, through every word. He didn’t wait for an answer, his fingers delving deeper inside her, coating themselves in her arousal before they moved back up, brushing over her clit again, this time with more pressure.

"One kiss?" His lips curled in a half-smirk as he watched her face contort with pleasure. He dipped his fingers inside her again, slow, dragging them out just as leisurely. "Two?"

She trembled, unable to form a coherent response, the sensation of his touch overwhelming her senses after so long. Her breath hitched as his fingers increased their pace, every stroke purposeful, designed to unravel her. Bucky leaned upward, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “How long, doll?” The way he said it, like a dare, made her heart race even faster.

Her head fell back, her body betraying any attempt at control as she whispered breathlessly, “One…”

A satisfied growl rumbled from him, his fingers rewarding her honesty with a firmer stroke, sending her spiraling closer to the edge.

It wasn’t fair. He had cast her aside, almost without looking back, tearing her world apart with his cold departure. And now here she was, grinding her pussy against his fingers like some desperate, needy whore, begging for more. A part of her wanted to slap him, to shove him away and scream at him for every sleepless night she spent wondering why she wasn’t enough, why he had thrown their life away so easily. She wanted to tell him how much she hated him for walking out on them.

But then, there was that traitorous side of her. The part that had never stopped hoping. The part that had always waited, held out some foolish, silent hope that he’d come back. That she’d see that flicker of warmth in his eyes again, the one that told her she was his entire world. And it wasn’t just her heart that longed for him, her body had missed him, too. She hated herself for it. For still thinking about him late at night when she touched herself, fingers slipping between her thighs as his name slipped from her lips in the darkness.

And that same traitorous side of her had ruined her date with Chris. She’d tried to be present, to laugh, to be charmed by his warm smile and thoughtful gestures. But all night, all she could think about was Bucky.

The way he’d looked at him, cold and assessing, as if he didn’t belong there, his presence filling the hallway like he still had some claim to it, to her. What was he trying to prove, anyway? That he was still the man of the house?

She hated how, even while Chris was talking, her mind drifted back to the feeling of Bucky’s fingers tracing his stupid shirt, her memory filling in the rough, familiar feel of his hands on her skin. And she knew, even if she couldn’t admit it aloud, that some part of her had wanted him to see her dressed up, to feel in some small way the longing and ache she’d carried in his absence.

And maybe that’s why she’d felt nothing when Chris had leaned in for a kiss, why his gentle smile and soft touches had felt hollow. Even his laugh, light and kind, hadn’t stirred her because it wasn't Bucky’s rough, rumbling chuckle or his stupidly confident grin. Bucky, in all his infuriating ways, still occupied every corner of her mind.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as his fingers worked her closer to the edge. She wanted to be angry, to let that rage consume her, but every time she opened her mouth to say something hurtful, to lash out at him, her body betrayed her. Every roll of her hips against his hand, every needy whimper that slipped from her throat, reminded her of just how much she had missed this.

It wasn’t fair. But she couldn’t stop.

With a light pinch on her swollen clit, the tension snapped, and she came hard on his fingers. Her mouth fell open, a moan escaping as her body convulsed, riding the wave of pleasure that coursed through her. The world blurred around her as her climax took over, her hips grinding against his hand, chasing every last second of the release.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, a mix of the overwhelming pleasure and the emotional storm swirling inside her. A few finally escaped, rolling silently down her cheeks, but before she could turn away, Bucky was there, his lips brushing them away with surprising tenderness. His breath ghosted over her skin as he whispered soft, comforting words she could barely make out, something about how beautiful she was, how good she had been for him, as if they hadn’t been tangled up in all this pain and heartache.

His touch was almost reverent as he slowly withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening from her release. Their gazes met, and he didn’t break eye contact as he brought those same fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with deliberate, agonizing slowness. He stood up in one fluid motion, effortlessly lifting her from the chair by the waist as if she weighed nothing, and in a swift, controlled movement, he placed her on top of the table, positioning himself between her legs.

Before she could even process it, his arms were around her, pulling her into a bear hug that was both tight and needy. His face buried itself in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin as he inhaled deeply, taking her in.

He held her as if letting go was not an option, his grip firm yet strangely vulnerable. The way he clung to her felt like both a claim and an apology, urgent -almost broken- like he was holding onto her not just physically, but emotionally, too.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough and low, the words vibrating against her neck. He didn’t dare look at her, not yet, because if he did, if he saw doubt or rejection in her eyes, it would break him.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Each second felt like an eternity. His breath was uneven, ragged, as he waited for her to say something, anything. Another moment passed, tension coiling tighter in his chest until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers, bracing himself for the worst. But instead of the words that would send him away, he saw her eyes flicker downward to his lips. It was brief, a split-second decision, but it was enough.

So he leaned in, cautiously at first, like he was testing the waters after years of distance. His lips brushed against hers softly, almost hesitant, as if afraid this fragile moment would break apart. But the second she responded, it was like a dam broke. His hands cradled her face, deepening the kiss with desperation. It was messy, all-consuming, there was no gentleness, no tenderness. This was not the careful, delicate dance of two people testing the waters. This was hunger, a ravenous need to reclaim what had been lost. His lips moved down to her jaw, her neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, and she moaned softly, her fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked on the sensitive skin below her ear.

His hands gripped her waist, strong and possessive, pulling her closer until her body was flush against his. The need to feel her, to claim her, was overwhelming. It was like two years of silence, longing, and frustration had ignited in an instant, everything that had been pushed down now surging forward, unstoppable.

“I’ll ask you again, babydoll. Are you sure you want this?” Bucky’s voice was thick with restraint, the tension in his muscles barely contained as he hovered over her, his breath hot against her neck. He was giving her one last chance to stop this, to pull away, even though every fiber of his being was screaming for her. But instead of words, her answer was a quiet, deliberate motion. Her hand slid between them, deftly unbuttoning his jeans, her fingers brushing against the outline of his erection.

A low growl escaped him, and his hand shot down to catch her wrist, halting her movements. His gaze met hers, dark and intense, his chest heaving with barely restrained desire. “I need you to say it,” he murmured, voice rough, on the edge of control.

“Yes,” she whispered.

That was all he needed.

Without hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, not bothering with the buttons, his muscles flexing as the fabric slid off. The moment his skin was free, he didn’t give himself time to think. His eyes locked on hers as he grabbed the neckline of her dress. With a sharp tug, the fabric tore easily under his grip, the sound of it ripping filling the air. The dress fell to her waist, exposing her bare breasts to his gaze.

“Hey! It was brand new, you know?” she protested.

“I noticed,” he replied, his fingers grazing the tattered edge of her dress. “But you didn’t buy it to wear it for me, did you?” His voice dropped, thick with jealousy as he alluded to her date with Chris. He dipped his head, his lips hovering just above her exposed skin, his breath warm against her chest. “I don’t want it on you”. He latched his lips onto her nipple, his tongue swirling with a hungry need, while his vibranium fingers pinched and teased her other breast. His breath was hot against her chest as he whispered between kisses, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this... missed you.” His words came out rough, full of longing that he couldn’t hold back any longer. “Every night... thinking about touching you again. Tasting you. Making you come over my cock.”

Her body responded, arching into him. She bit her lip, trying to stifle a moan, afraid that maybe Ben could hear her, but it slipped out anyway.

His hands moved to her thighs, gripping them firmly as he let out a low growl. “I thought about this, over and over... how you’d feel under me, how you’d sound when I made you scream my name again.” His voice was thick, hoarse, as he tugged at her dress, tearing the fabric completely until it was nothing but rags on the floor. He didn’t stop there, his thumbs slipping under the waistband of her flimsy panties. With a swift tug, the seams gave way, tearing effortlessly in his hands. He brought the soaked cloth to his nose, inhaling deeply, groaning as if the scent alone was enough to drive him insane. “God, I’ve missed this,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving hers. He flicked his tongue against the ruined cloth, savoring the taste with a low, hungry growl.

Without warning, he tossed the panties aside. His hands moved quickly, unbuttoning what remained of his jeans and kicking off his shoes before sliding the denim and underwear down in one fluid motion. They hit the floor with a soft thud as he stepped toward her. “Tell me how much you missed me,” he demanded softly.

She stared at him, drinking him in. He looked leaner, his body sculpted in sharp lines of muscle. He’d lost weight, surely by going mission after mission mixed with his poor eating habits. He was never good at taking care of himself. She almost missed the small paunch he used to have these last years, the one he hated, but she’d loved to bite. There was something comforting about that softness, but now he was the embodiment of raw strength.

Her gaze drifted lower, lingering on the sight of his cock, standing at full attention. She swallowed. Apparently, her memories failed to measure up to reality. He was big, sure, she’d always known that, but this big? Her core tightened with need, clenching in raw anticipation.

"I missed you,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, laced with longing as her eyes lifted to meet his. “So much… you have no idea. God, you’ve ruined me.”

Her words shattered whatever restraint he had left. He’d imagined, countless times, that if this moment ever came, he’d take his time, savor her, and make it last. But now, faced with her beneath him, so close and so ready, patience was a luxury he no longer possessed.

Without a second thought, he gripped her thighs and spread her wide on the table, lining himself up as he dragged the head of his cock along her entrance, coating himself in her slick heat. In a swift, desperate thrust, he drove into her, hard and deep, filling her completely as a ragged groan escaped his lips.

She cried out, her body responding immediately, arching into him as he slammed into her again. His hands gripped her hips with bruising force, and his own moved in a relentless rhythm, every thrust driving him deeper. He couldn’t stop. Her moans spurred him on, her words circling in his head like a drug.

“Ruined you, huh?” His breath was ragged as he pulled almost all the way out, teasing her with the loss, before slamming back in. “Let me remind you how much.” With a raw hunger that had been bottled up far too long, Bucky's thrusts became brutal, each one driving her back along the table, her nails scraping against the wood as he took her over and over. The grip on her hips was iron-hard, pinning her down so she could do nothing but take everything he gave her. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “Think anyone else could ever do this?” he murmured, his voice dark and rough, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. His lips ghosted along her jaw, and he pushed her to answer, knowing the effect he was having on her. “Tell me,” he demanded softly “Could anyone else make you feel like this?” He wanted her to say it, to make her admit that no one else would ever satisfy her the way he could.

She whimpered, clutching at his shoulders as he pounded into her, her nails digging into his skin as he pushed her higher and higher. “No… no one else.” Her words were broken, barely audible over her moans, but it was all he needed to hear.

“That’s right” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he breathed, each word laced with raw possession as he thrust deeper. “Only me,” he rasped. “Only I get to make you feel this way.”

He growled, one hand leaving her hip to slide between them, his fingers pressing down on her clit in quick, merciless circles. “This is mine,” he hissed, metal fingers working just enough to bring her close before pulling away, only to return just as she thought she couldn’t take any more.

She cried out, her body writhing beneath him as he drove her to the edge. His pace never faltered, his hips grinding against hers with a relentless rhythm, and his grip on her only tightened as she arched off the table, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice thick with lust and something darker, something possessive. His hands slid down the back of her thighs, pushing her legs up against her torso as he plunged deeper, she could barely breathe every time he bottomed out. The way he hit her, the pressure at her cervix, sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain coursing through her, each one making her mewl helplessly. Her thighs shook against his chest, her hands desperately clutching at his forearms, fingers digging into his skin.

He leaned in closer again, his face inches from hers, his lips brushing her ears as he growled, “Tell me you’re mine.”

"I’m yours… fuck, Bucky!" she complied, her voice breaking between her panting breaths.

"Again," he ordered, his hips slamming into hers, the table creaking under the force of his movements. He could feel her walls clenching around him, so tight, so wet, he almost lost control then and there.

“I’m yours,” she whimpered again, her voice shaky, breathless.

“Chris will be so disappointed to hear that” he growled. “Let’s make sure you stay ruined, just in case.” He was relentless now, fucking her hard, deep, his body pressing hers further into the table as he pushed her thighs harder against her body giving him even better access, hitting that sensitive spot that left her gasping, his grip and the relentless pace leaving no room for anything but the sensation of him filling her completely, over and over.

She whimpered in response, too overwhelmed to speak, her entire body tensing as the pleasure became almost unbearable. His thumb moved between them again pressing against her clit, rubbing circles that sent sparks of heat shooting through her. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as her orgasm built rapidly, her body teetering on the edge.

“Milk my cock.” he ordered, his voice harsh, primal. His words pushed her over the edge and then she was gone, her body shivering violently as she clenched around him, her thighs tightening around him as her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer. The sound of his name fell from her lips, half-whisper, half-cry as the climax gripped her, intense and all-consuming, leaving her a trembling, breathless mess.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled through gritted teeth, his hips snapping into hers with bruising force. “And then some more,” he rasped, his voice thick with raw need. “You won’t even be able to keep it all in, babydoll.”

With a final thrust, Bucky’s head fell back, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he reached his climax. His body trembled, muscles tensing as he spilled himself inside her, a heated wave of release filling her completely. He held her there, his cock kept pulsing until his release overflowed, warm and thick, beginning to trickle down, pooling beneath them.

Still buried inside her, Bucky loosened his grip on her thighs, hands sliding down to cradle her waist as he leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against her shoulder. He nuzzled into the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent, grounding himself as the heat of their union slowly ebbed, replaced by a quiet intimacy that neither of them seemed prepared for.

After a moment, he gently eased himself away, untangling their bodies but letting his hands linger at her hips, as though afraid to lose the connection. He took a step back, his gaze dropping for a moment before lifting to meet hers, hoping she’d break the silence but she didn’t look at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

Bucky’s chest tightened, a familiar pang surfacing as he watched her withdraw inward, her mind elsewhere despite the intimacy they’d just shared. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, tentative. “So… what now, Bucky?”

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I don’t… I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I know I shouldn’t have done this. Not after…” He hesitated, but the truth slipped out anyway. “Not after what I put you through.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding her expression, old wounds resurfacing. “Then why did you put me through this, Bucky?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with pain. “You said you couldn’t do this. That you needed space, that we were holding you back.” Her words hung heavy in the air, each one a quiet accusation tinged with vulnerability. “And now, you’re here, acting like…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…acting like you never left.”

He hesitated, knowing this was his chance to finally tell her the truth or let her keep believing the lie he’d used to protect them. He rubbed a hand over his face, then lowered it, meeting her gaze with raw honesty. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I left because I was afraid that my past... everything I tried to bury might come back to hurt you. Hurt him.” His voice softened. “I thought if you believed I didn’t want this life, it would keep you safe.”

He glanced down, his hand twitching at his side before he looked up again, his voice hushed but resolute. "But… I want to come back,” he admitted, the words raw, like they’d been buried deep for too long. “To the house. To you, and Benjamin.”

A chill lingered in the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself, gaze flicking over their scattered clothes still strewn across the kitchen floor. She looked away, her shoulders tense as she rubbed her temples. "So, what’s changed, Bucky? The risks are still there, the same threats, the same fears..."

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver, his hand reaching out as though to touch her, but he stopped short, fingers brushing the edge of the table instead. "What’s different is me. I’ve had time to face what I couldn’t before. Stepping aside didn’t keep you safer; it just kept me away. I don’t want Ben growing up with a dad who keeps him and his mom at arm’s length. Almost a stranger.” His voice softened, the vulnerability seeping through. “Being apart from you doesn’t make things better. I miss you, doll. I miss us.”

“You can’t just leave and come back like nothing happened, Bucky.” Her voice was softer this time, almost breaking. “I wanted you here… every day, every night. Not just for me, but for Benjamin.” Her voice trembled with raw vulnerability.

He took a step closer, his hand hovering near hers, unsure if she’d pull away. “I know, and I hate that I ever thought leaving was the answer.” His tone was low, his gaze steady on her.

She looked down, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, emotions tightening her expression. “If you come back, I need to know you’re here to stay,” she whispered, the words more for herself than for him. “Because I don’t think I can go through this again… and I won’t let him either.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her hands gripping the table harder as if to keep herself grounded.

Her words shattered the last remnants of his restraint. Without another thought, Bucky dropped to his knees in front of her, the hard tile digging into him as he pressed his forehead against her thigh. She sucked in a breath, her hand instinctively moving to his hair, fingers trembling as they brushed against him. He could feel her hesitation, the walls she’d built so carefully to guard herself from the ache he’d left behind.

“Say yes,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with the vulnerability he could no longer hide. “Say yes, doll. I know I don’t deserve it.” His hands gripped her hips, anchoring him as if she were the only thing keeping him steady. “But I swear,” His voice cracked, raw and pleading. “I swear, I’ll never walk away again. Not from you, not from Benjamin.”

She looked down, a mix of shock and pain written on her face as she saw him there, broken, open, begging her for something she’d once offered so freely. Her hand gently settled on his cheek, and he leaned into the warmth of her touch, feeling the softness of her fingers against the rough stubble of his jaw. The ache in her eyes nearly undid him, but he stayed there, his forehead still pressed to her thigh, his breath heavy, waiting.

Her eyes searched his, and slowly, her resolve began to waver, the smallest flicker of trust finding its way back into her gaze. "Then prove it," she whispered, barely trusting herself as her hand lingered against his cheek, the warmth of her palm seeping into him. "Show me you’re here to stay."

After her words hung in the air, a fragile silence between them, Bucky’s gaze dropped. He swallowed, his hand reaching for something inside the scattered clothes on the floor.

From his back pocket, he drew out a small, well-worn leather charm, a little star-shaped pendant, its edges smoothened from years of handling. She recognized it immediately. It was something she’d passed on to him when he left for his first mission after they married, a symbol she hoped would keep him safe. She thought it had been lost long ago, like so many pieces of them.

He held it out to her, and the look on his face was raw, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen since the early days. “I never stopped carrying this,” he murmured, his voice rough and thick. “Even when I tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing by staying away. I couldn’t let go of you…of us. I kept it close, hoping… hoping someday I could come back and give it back to you. I know it doesn’t make up for the time I lost, but…” His voice faltered, the sincerity there unmistakable.

She stared at the pendant, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out, fingers grazing the familiar leather. All the memories it held, the late-night goodbyes, the whispered promises, the hope she’d once tied to it, all of it rushed back, filling the space between them.

She looked down at him, seeing in his eyes the weight of the years, the regrets, but also the glimmer of the man she’d fallen in love with.

Taking a shaky breath, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “This… this was supposed to keep you safe, Bucky. Keep us safe.”

“And it did,” he replied softly, his hand covering hers over the charm. “It kept you here.” He paused, his voice barely a murmur. “And maybe now… it can bring me back home.”

The last of her defenses wavered, and she felt herself letting go of the anger, the hurt, all the pieces that had kept them apart. “Maybe… maybe it was always meant to guide you back here,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his with a warmth he hadn’t seen in years. “So if you’re really here to stay… then welcome home, Bucky.”

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[honey-on-your-tongue]

heyyy I was wondering if you could do pornstar! Logan x pornstar! reader, where they're doing a scene together and Logan's being a little more gentle with her and cooing at her and calling her sweet things because she's so blissed out by him fucking her so good. (the reader hasn't been fucked that good in a while) and it ends with them going out or becoming fwb idk.

this is prob the most explicit I've requested so I totally understand if you don't wanna do it, also feel free to take your time thxx

Omg I LOVED this idea!!! I was so inspired ughhh I want this man so baaaad

You have the perfect performance. Perfectly practiced moans, perfectly practiced expressions. You've got it all down, from the curl of your toes to the elegant arch of your back and the tilt of your head against the pillows.

You expect this new shoot to go the same. The usual age-gap thing, you innocent-looking vixen all-too-willing to let an older man fuck you.

You've never filmed with Logan before, but you've seen him around. And you've seen some of his videos.

At least he's hot and well endowed, you think as the sex scene comes up. The makeup artist fixes your makeup some and then you're sent to lie on the bed.

You can feel Logan's eyes on you as you position yourself on the bed. You glance over at him and he gives you a small grin, as if he knows something you don't.

At first, you're expecting the usual. Men that just fuck you like you're a toy and not caring for your pleasure.

But the moment Logan's hands are on you, you can tell it's going to be different.

His fingers trace your body like he's exploring precious, untouched terrain. Like he sees you.

The way he touches you and the way he looks at you like you're some precious thing has you plenty worked up.

His hand moves between your thighs, his breathing heavy. His fingers spread your folds and he groans, leaning down to lick at your entrance.

You shudder, a small gasp leaving you. You're shocked, amazed, exhilarated. Something about this is different—something about him is different.

You actually enjoy yourself. You don't have to fake anything. Every moan that leaves your lips is coerced by him and his talented tongue and fingers.

By the time the scene moves on to the actual sex, you're soaked and ready for him. And more than that, you're eager.

Logan holds your gaze as he slips his hard cock into you slowly. You gasp, he grunts.

“Fuck. So tight,” he says lowly as he starts thrusting.

He gives slow, long, deep strokes that almost feel like torture. He lets you feel every fucking inch of him with each thrust.

It feels so good that you almost forget about the cameras and the microphones and the crew that's recording and watching.

It feels so good that you allow yourself to get lost in the moment and you just feel it all.

You're moaning, hands grabbing onto his shoulders with a fierce grip as you try your best to remember the script. But no, you're too out of it. So Logan takes over.

“Yeah, baby, I know.” He chuckles as he grabs your leg and wraps it around his waist so he can fuck you deeper. “I know you like my cock in you, you ain't gotta say it.”

You whine, nails digging into his skin. “Fuck!” you squeal, words barely understandable through the mewls of ecstasy you let out.

“Such a good girl, hm? So obedient f’r me.”

You gasp, body trembling.

He smirks. “Can you say my name f’r me, darling? Hm?”

You mumble incoherently, remembering your lines from somewhere deep in your mind. You just can't say them. Literally. He's fucking you dumb.

“C'mon, baby, you can do better than that,” Logan taunts, kissing your neck. “Do better.”

You whimper, gasping, struggling to say the simple word you know he's wanting to hear.

He grabs your leg and moves it from around his waist to rest on his shoulder. He stops fucking you and lets you catch your breath. “Say it, bub.”

You meet his gaze through half-lidded eyes and say, “Daddy.” You're surprised at how hoarse your voice is. How long has he been fucking you for? It feels like it'll never be enough.

“Atta girl.” He grins, his cock twitching in you when he takes in the expression on your face. He starts fucking you again, harder and deeper this time, with more intention.

You're gasping, moaning, blubbering. And Logan fucks you harder.

You can feel that tight coil in your womb as the pleasure grows and spreads and threatens to take you over.

One of Logan's enormous hands comes down on top of your womb and he presses down. “I'm right in here. Can you feel me? Can you feel my cock so deep in this pretty cunt of yours?”

And that's it. That's all it takes for you to come on his cock. Your mind goes blank and you see stars.

Fuck the elegant arch of your back and the carefully practiced curl of your toes. Fuck the expressions you're supposed to make. You lose it. Your orgasm is messy and needy and intense and raw, and you love it.

By the time you come back to, Logan's already pulled out and come on your thighs, as per the script. He's already put on his robe and is drinking some water.

You sit up, body sore and exhausted, and the assistants are quick to help you into your robe and hand you some water.

You're still trying to get your bearings when Logan walks over to you. He smiles down at you as you sit on the edge of the bed and he holds out a piece of paper.

You take it. It has his number on it.

“’f you ever want a proper fuck again, bub, just call me up.”

---

Blog masterlist

[soulprompts]

CARING FOR THE SICK PROMPTS.

i found this list and kinda fed into it each time i got the flu or a migraine, and u know what, it's just me revealing just how much i love the caring threads and the soft threads and the fondly exasperated "let me help you" threads! use at your pleasure, DO NOT ADD TO THE LIST NOR EDIT IT! i will be changing it accordingly!

" i found you passed out in the kitchen. you wanna stop working yourself so hard? or do i need to keep hitting the gym to carry you to bed every day? "

" you're burning up. "

" your neighbour called me and said you could use a nurse. looks like they were right, too. "

" you were told to take it easy, so... yeah. this is kinda on you. "

" you took a sick day. you NEVER take a sick day. so yeah, i got worried, and i figured i'd come over and keep an eye on you. "

" you texted me a long and incoherent text that held about 90% of the emoji list and about four different languages. figured it wouldn't hurt to drop by and see how you were doing. "

" how long have you been sick for? and don't lie. "

" you look like hell. "

" i brought you some soup; let me heat some up for you? "

" okay. it's time you went to the hospital. "

" hey… hello there, sleeping beauty. you gave me a bit of a scare yesterday. how are you feeling? "

" i swear, if you even think of getting out of that bed… "

" you know when i said to call if it's an emergency? a fever is most DEFINITELY considered an emergency! "

" if you think you're going to work like this, you better think again. "

" don't worry. my family swears by this remedy; just let it work its magic and you'll feel good as new in no time. "

" I don't care about getting sick. i'm not leaving you until you're back to full health. "

" you didn't stop to think that this might happen when you're burning the candle at both ends? "

" yeah, I can play the role of nurse AND say "I told you so" at the same time, actually. "

" you better drink every last drop of this tea, no matter how disgusting it is. "

" i told my boss it was an emergency so they've given me a full week to look after you. "

" quit being so stubborn and get into BED! "

" what part of doctor's orders hasn't sunk in yet? bed rest! for the WEEK! "

" right, where do you keep your saucepans? i'm going to make you my famous noodle soup. it's a cure-all, i'm telling you! "

" hey, unless you're going to the bathroom or the sofa, I don't want to see you out of that bed. got it? "

" when are you gonna start letting people look after you, huh? "

" i know, i know, i turned off all the lights once i figured you had the migraine. you want some tea? water? "

" don't be mad, but i saw your fridge, and... it frightened me. so i've taken you back to my place, and i'm gonna get deliveroo to bring some groceries to your place tomorrow. okay? "

" i know your appetite is a little off, so i ordered in a whole tonne of options. just try a little bit of something, please? for me? "

" i've brought half a pharmacy, enough movies and boardgames to last us a decade, and every single snack i could fit into the basket at the grocery store. so sit your butt down, eat your soup, and try and make the most of your bed rest for the next week, will you? "

ACTION PROMPTS ( SEND THE FULL LINE! and feel free to reverse if u wish! ):

[ TOUCH ]: sender gently rests a hand against the receiver's forehead to check their temperature.

[ DAMP ]: sender presses a cool cloth against the receiver's face, neck and forehead to try and lower their fever.

[ BLANKET ]: sender wraps another blanket around the receiver to try and stop them from shivering.

[ SPOON ]: sender gently coaxes spoons of soup into the receiver's mouth to build up their strength after an illness.

[ CARRY ]: sender, finding the receiver weakened/unconscious on the floor, immediately lifts them up and carries them back to bed.

[ AROUND ]: sender keeps a protective arm around the receiver to help them walk without the risk of stumbling or collapsing.

[ STAY ]: sender decides to stay by the receiver's bedside after learning that they're sick.

[ HAIR ]: sender smooths back the receiver's hair in a soothing gesture to try and help them go back to sleep.

[ TILT ]: sender tips a bottle of water up for the receiver to sip from.

[ HUM ]: sender hums/sings to soothe a sick receiver back to sleep.

[ BACK ]: sender gently rubs the receiver's back, either to soothe them or warm them while they're unwell.

[ SHARE ]: sender climbs into the receiver's sickbed with them, wrapping their arms around them to offer warmth and comfort.

[ SHOWER ]: sender, learning the receiver has a high fever, takes a cold shower with them in order to lower their temperature.

[ WAKEN ]: the receiver wakes up in bed, having been found unconscious by the sender and carried into the bed from the floor.

[ QUARANTINE ]: the sender and receiver, both being sick, decide to quarantine together and spend the recovery period with each other.

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."