#like the story keeps telling you that one works hard and fast and the other works slow and thorough

[takusan-no-ai]

He’s My Little Mouse

PAIRING: Burnice x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: Burnice and her boyfriend couldn’t be any more opposite to each other.

Belle and Wise were curious when they learned Burnice had a boyfriend. She’s as eccentric as it comes, so they had no clear idea of what he would be like. And it was so random how they learned of this fact; Burnice just blurted it out once, “I have a boyfriend by the way,” and didn’t elaborate further. Phaethon was left more confused rather than surprised.

Naturally they expected you to be more like her: party animal, pyromaniac, lucky goose, flying all over the place. That’s the only kind of guy Belle and Wise could picture being able to handle Burnice. Especially since even the Sons of Calydon have a hard time keeping up with her. And the horror stories Pulchra tells them as she seeks shelter at Random Play leave little room for the imagination.

Nothing prepared them for this however. You were…not at all like Burnice. For starters she had to drag you inside of Random Play, and then you kept hiding behind her, as if the siblings couldn’t see you; case in point you were incredibly shy. And much more withdrawn, preferring to make short and quick responses when they tried to conversed with you.

The main reason Burnice brought you over was because Phaethon needed her help with a commission. So, she saw the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: she made you fight alongside her in hopes of encouraging you to make some new friends. And you could hold your own very much. But your fighting style was so much different from hers; hiding around corners and sneaking fast kills, darting around, squeaking like a mouse at every loud noise. Phaethon took one look at you and decided…

“He’s like a male version of Corin.” Wise said.

Belle barely stifled her giggles, not wanting to be rude. “Wise! What if he hears you?” She whispered to him.

He chuckled, “But he’s like a tiny mouse. I’m surprised he can keep up with someone like Burnice.” Amongst the siblings talking through Eous was multiple ethereals. All of them charged forward only to be discombobulated by the ashes. A circular flame entrapping them.

And off to the side stood (Y/N), anxiety plain to see on his face. As the smoke cleared all the ethereals were stuck in place. Wise and Belle watched in amazement. Thats when they noticed (Y/N)’s stance.

His arms crossed, he pulled his hands done to the ground, and what was once invisible revealed to be thin strings entangling the ethereals; their bodies sliced in two as they dissolved in the hollow.

Snapping out of their trance, Wise controlled Eous towards a box. It had now been revealed thanks to the lack of enemies. “Mission complete! Good work everyone.” He congratulated them.

But Wise’s words fell on deaf ears. Sparks literally flew around the young couple. Burnice hugged him tightly. He slowly hugged her back, hiding his face in her neck. Every time she kissed his forehead (Y/N) would squeak and shiver.

“Uhh…do we need to give you too some room?” Belle asked. Loudly.

Suddenly realizing they’re not alone, (Y/N) jumped out of his girlfriend’s embrace and tried to fan away his blush. “Y-yeah. Let’s focus on getting back h-home.” He stuttered.

Burnice hummed in amusement. And as she skipped forward she held his hand, not wanting to let go. “You can act shy all you want around these guys (Y/N). But we both know how smitten you get in private—”

“BURNICE!”

- Fin

[chilope]

rating for this is how you lose the time war: meh

[sknyuz]

heavy lifting | k.m.g.

synopsis: you're struggling to get out of a bad academic slump, feeling overwhelmed by the constant pressure of grades and the inability to focus. after a few failed attempts to get motivated, you decide to do something different—start going to the gym. at first, it’s just about getting out of the house, but that all changes when mingyu, the gym’s resident greek god, notices you. no amount of reps or cardio can compare to how fast your heart races every time you cross paths, and it becomes impossible to ignore a six-foot tall kim mingyu.

pairing: mingyu x reader (ft. dino and riize wonbin + roommate!jeonghan)

genre: college au, romance, smut (18+ markers for start and end if you wanna skip), fluff, slice-of-life, slow-burn, gym buddy!mingyu

warnings: slightly awkward moments, gym-related humor, slow-burn, soft smut, heavy flirting, unprotected sex (do not do this lol), aftercare <333, making out with random ppl at a party, alcohol consumption, y/n is an absolute LOSERRRRR, profanity of course, mentions of body image (positive)

wc: ~8.5k

a/n: oh my godddd it’s finally here !! my first full fic <333 tysm for 500+ notes on the preview alone like ??? taglist is massive as well so that will be placed under the cut ^^~ shoutout to @meltinghershey, @mochisdayone, and @tigerhoshii for beta reading and dealing with my chaos lmaooo. hope u enjoy <33

masterlist

˚₊‧꒰ა taglist under the cut ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

@tigerhoshii @meltinghershey @amingo046 @drewstarkeygf @producedbyjeon @seokminfilm @mmessier31 @janeluvwonuuuu @boxsmil3 @inthetangerine @ateez-atiny380 @bunnymjr @producedbyjeon @bookandarrow @bemysolaces @ahloveisu @ninigyuuu @mochisdayone @cara-tiny @parkersroses @jeonghnie @dmstoyangyang @luxynjun @miraclekay97 @anniewings @acherry04 @adribobadri @kidultdays @kari-nne @shayminssi @tangerin3gurl @gyucheols-girl @whoisbaek15 @intrnetbbysworld @tymbarki @alien0n3arth

you’ve always been the kind of person who keeps yourself busy. your friends say you get “flustered” a lot, but you know it’s less about nerves and more about not seeing the point in stretching out conversations when you could be doing something useful. you’re good with people — you can hold small talk, swap stories, even keep up in a group chat when you need to — but it never feels as rewarding as finishing a project or getting ahead on an assignment. practical, that’s what you are. efficient with your time. so when the stress of midterms and the constant pressure to stay ahead starts to pile up, you fall into a familiar cycle of overworking without actually getting anywhere.

jeonghan, your roommate, always tells you to “take a break” when he finds you buried under a pile of textbooks, but you ignore him. while your dorm neighbor, seungkwan, who’s become your unofficial therapist, insists that maybe a change of scenery might help, but you brush it off. you don’t know what’s worse—failing or the thought of being the one who’s not keeping up with the others.

that’s when you decide to take a leap. you’re not sure if it’s just the idea of doing something different, or the fact that every other option has failed, but you sign up for the gym. you’re not sure what you’re expecting—just that you need to shake things up.

the first day is terrible. you’re awkwardly trying to figure out how machines work, watching everyone around you who seems like they know what they’re doing, while you’re stuck on a treadmill wondering if you’re supposed to be running or walking faster.

that’s when he notices you.

kim mingyu.

he’s not hard to spot—tall, broad-shouldered, a greek god in a compression shirt, with muscles you can’t even begin to fathom. you try not to stare, but your eyes can’t help it. he’s on the other side of the room, lifting weights with ease, his form flawless. you can’t even imagine having a fraction of that confidence. you turn back to your treadmill, your face flushed as you try to focus on not tripping over yourself.

but then, out of nowhere, he’s right there in front of you.

“hey, are you new here?” his voice is so casual, but your heart skips a beat at the sound of it. “first time at the gym?”

you freeze, where the fuck did he come from?

pretty hard not to spot a giant like kim mingyu walking towards you, y/n.

without thinking, you mumble, “oh shit—” and immediately stumble forward. you try to catch yourself but end up tripping over your own feet, your hands flailing to find balance.

“whoa!” mingyu’s quick reflexes kick in, and before you know it, he’s right there, steadying you with one hand on your shoulder. “you okay?” he asks, voice tinged with concern, but there’s a hint of amusement in his smile.

you gulp, heart racing. “i—yeah. i just—uh, didn’t see you coming.” you let out a pathetic laugh, heat flooding your cheeks.

mingyu chuckles, his laugh deep and warm. “i kind of figured. you look like you’re on the verge of a wipeout.”

you can’t help but give a lopsided smile, despite your embarrassment. “thanks… i guess,” you mutter, still trying to regain your composure.

“don’t worry about it,” he says with a friendly smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “you’re still alive, so that’s a win in my book.”

and just like that, mingyu’s gone, back to his workout as if he hadn’t just saved you from making a fool of yourself in front of everyone.

for the next few days, mingyu’s presence haunts the gym. you see him everywhere—lifting weights, chatting with people, giving advice, being… well, perfect. and all you can do is watch from the sidelines, still too embarrassed to approach him, but also unable to tear your eyes away.

there’s something so confident about him, so effortlessly kind, and you begin to notice the way he always looks out for people. he’s just a regular guy, right? except he’s mingyu, and somehow, he makes everything look effortless.

oooh, and those. arms.

and you? well, you’re still stumbling through the basics. and you learned pretty early on that no amount of cardio can beat your heartrate every time your gaze catches a sight of kim mingyu.

“y/n, you’re going again?” jeonghan asks, raising an eyebrow as you tie your sneakers, preparing for yet another trip to the gym.

“yeah, i—um, just need to clear my head,” you mumble, looking down at your shoes to avoid his teasing gaze.

jeonghan grins. “mhm, sure you do. so, what? you’ve got your eyes on some hunk down there?” he teases, making air quotes with his fingers, clearly referring to some “eye candy” at the gym. “someone’s been going to the gym a lot recently…”

you freeze, trying to play it cool. “what?” you ask, slightly panicking. “no, i-i’m just, you know, trying to get out of a rut with my studies. nothing else.”

jeonghan watches you carefully, then his eyes widen. “wait… there is someone, isn’t there?” he grins widely, and it suddenly hits you. “wait, y/n, don’t tell me that it’s kim mingyu? the gym’s golden boy?” he laughs, clearly amused by your flustered face.

you freeze in shock. “what? no—he’s just a guy who works out a lot! i mean, yeah, he’s nice, but it’s not like—”

jeonghan bursts out laughing. “so you do know him! oh, honey, don’t even try to act like you’re not into him. everyone knows who mingyu is. have you seen him? dude’s got the perfect physique, perfect grades, perfect car, and perfect everything. i’ve heard he’s loaded too. his dad’s some big-time olympic weightlifting official. he’s literally the walking definition of the ‘golden boy’ on campus.”

you blink, your mind struggling to keep up with the avalanche of information. “wait… the olympics? his dad?”

jeonghan nods. “yeah, exactly. i’ve heard he comes from a pretty well-off family too. so yeah, mingyu’s literally perfect. it’s no surprise that he’s in everyone’s top ten crush list.”

you feel your face heating up as the realization settles in. “oh my god…”

jeonghan chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. “don’t worry, y/n. if you want to stare at a perfect person in peace, you just gotta deal with the fact that you’re not the only one who has their eyes on him.”

you groan, burying your face in your hands. “stop teasing me,” you mumble, but there’s no denying the fact that you’re definitely starting to feel a little more… interested than you’d like to admit. but it’s just a silly gym crush. definitely.

as if he wasn't already a regular in your daydreams, you bump into him again, outside of the gym this time.

the first time is when you’re standing outside the lecture hall, waiting for class to start, fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie. your mind’s still racing from last night’s study session, and you’re so absorbed in your thoughts that you barely notice when the doors to the hall open. as you look up, though, you catch a glimpse of a familiar face.

mingyu.

he’s wearing his usual easy-going smile, his gym bag slung casually over one shoulder, walking right into the building like he owns the place. you stare at him, frozen, as your heart rate picks up. he’s in your class?

“y/n?” a voice snaps you out of your trance.

you look over to see jeonghan, who raises an eyebrow at your flushed face. “you okay?” he asks, his lips quirking into a teasing smile as he follows your line of sight.

“uh, yeah… just didn’t expect to see… him.” you try to sound casual, pointing toward mingyu, but your voice cracks slightly.

jeonghan looks over, nonchalant, as if he didn’t just see your face turn fifty shades of red. “oh. him. so, you’re saying you haven’t noticed our campus' very own golden boy in your minor classes? phys ed major, i heard.”

“he’s a…?” you blink, confused.

“yeah,” jeonghan smirks, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “mingyu. doesn’t surprise me, though. he’s always around. always looks like he’s got his life together, the body of a perfect poster boy for fitness promos in those gyms across town.”

you watch mingyu walk into the lecture hall, now knowing the one thing that had never occurred to you: he’s actually here, at the same school as you. sharing a class with you, at that.

it’s like a punch to the gut. of course he is.

and you? you’re here, stumbling through calculus with a mountain of textbooks you can never seem to get through.

but you can’t stop thinking about how easy mingyu makes everything look.

turns out… going to the gym wasn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made.

you weren’t exactly sculpting a six-pack yet, but you didn’t feel like complete shit all the time now. your brain fog was thinning, your mood was lighter, and you kinda liked walking past your reflection and noticing how your arms didn’t look so soft anymore. jeonghan had clocked it too.

“look at you,” he teased one night while you were getting ready for another house party he dragged you to. “all swole and glowy. is this a gym glow? did mingyu spot you or something?”

you rolled your eyes, fumbling with a random lock of your hair. “well… he’s definitely a looker, i do think it wouldn’t hurt to gawk at him wearing a compression shirt a few times a week.” you admitted, trying to keep your voice casual but you could already feel the heat crawling up your neck.

jeonghan gasped, immediately abandoning his lip balm to lean closer. “no way. tell me more.”

you huffed, giving in. “he’s just—okay, he’s really tall. and stupidly buff. and he always looks like he walked out of some greek mythology fanfic. and he’s nice?? like unfairly nice.”

“oh, babe. poor you. no one comes out of a gym crush on him alive.”

you both laughed it off, but the truth was… you were actually starting to enjoy the gym. not just for the obvious eye candy, but because it made you feel good. and you were slowly clawing your way out of that academic slump one sweat-soaked session at a time.

and parties helped too.

jeonghan had been on a social streak lately, dragging you to every decent gathering he caught wind of. and for once, you weren’t staying glued to the walls. you mingled, you danced, you maybe flirted a little.

like that one night with the guy named chan.

cute boy. bright smile. quick to pour you a drink and compliment your hair. he was a little too eager, but harmless. you didn’t mind giving him a peck on the cheek, his cheeks blushing a dusty pink in response.

“what year are you in?” you asked casually over the music.

“i’m a sophomore!” he beamed.

“oh,” you blinked. “you’re...”

his smile faltered a little at your sudden reluctance. jeonghan appeared at your elbow at the perfect moment, smirking. “poor kid. you just got downgraded to ‘little brother’ status.”

chan pouted but took it like a champ, even offering to get you another drink before you politely excused yourself. harmless. kinda endearing, honestly.

but the real kicker came a week later.

you were halfway through a very sad attempt at curling a dumbbell too heavy for your current strength level when someone suddenly appeared in your peripheral vision.

“oh, hey,” a boy with bright eyes and soft features said, slightly breathless like he’d jogged over. “you’re… y/n, right?”

you blinked. “um— yeah?”

“i—i’m chan.”

“nice to meet you, chan.” wait.

you stopped your reps abruptly.

he rubbed the back of his neck, looking nervous. “i, uh, think we met at that party last week?”

oh no.

the pieces clicked a little too late in your brain, but they did click. he was the cute guy who’d offered you a drink and talked you up, and you, in a half-drunk, affectionate spiral, gave him a kiss on the cheek before finding out he was way too young to be your type, jeonghan saving you as you both run away, making a break for the kitchen.

he looked so hopeful now it physically hurt.

before you could fumble out an apology or awkwardly escape, a very familiar voice called over from the other side of the room.

“yo, chan! quit slacking, get your ass over here.”

mingyu.

he was leaning against the leg press, towel draped over his shoulder again like a damn fitness magazine model. chan gave you an apologetic little smile and jogged over.

you took a moment to quietly die inside.

and then—as if fate wasn’t already laughing at you—mingyu clapped a hand on chan’s shoulder and grinned, talking loud enough for you to catch while pretending not to.

“this kid’s soft as hell, y’know that? started hitting the gym ‘cause some girl at a party broke his heart.”

you nearly choked on your water.

oh my god.

it was you. you were the girl.

mingyu didn’t know, of course. he was teasing chan like a big brother would, completely unaware that the object of the kid’s little tragedy was currently staring wide-eyed at her reflection in the nearest mirror.

you quickly turned away, pretending to be very interested in adjusting your earbuds (it wasn’t even connected to your phone).

fuck. fuckfuckfuck.

it had been a week or so since your… unfortunate run-in with chan at the gym. you’d done your best to laugh it off, though the way mingyu casually mentioned some poor kid started training because of a heartbreak at a frat party had you spiraling internally for a solid three business days. because what were the odds? your chan? apparently heartbreak over a 15 minute encounter was a hell of a pre-workout.

either way, you were ready to get back out there. another weekend, another party—fingers crossed you wouldn’t unknowingly crush some poor guy’s spirit this time and discover their glow-up arc at the campus gym. you sent up a silent prayer as you got dressed, hoping the universe would cut you some slack for once.

you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been a little more… experimental with your outfits lately. nothing wild, just a few tops cropped a little higher, jeans sitting a little lower. maybe if you showed a bit of skin, you’d start to feel as hot as you hoped you looked. besides—you’d been busting your ass at the gym. you deserved to show it off a little.

“okay, i see you!” jeonghan wolf-whistled from the other side of the room when you stepped out of your closet. “damn, baby, if i didn’t know you were one tragic gym crush away from full insanity, i’d think you were tryna pull tonight.”

“maybe i am,” you teased, smoothing your hands down your sides, a little proud of how good you felt lately. maybe it was the gym, maybe it was the new skincare routine seungkwan bullied you into, maybe it was pure spite toward every man who’d ghosted you, but you were glowing a bit, and you weren’t about to waste it.

jeonghan grabbed his keys and slung an arm over your shoulders. “alright, let’s go break hearts—consensually.”

the party was already in full swing when you got there, neon lights bleeding into every room, the bass so deep it made the walls thrum. you lost jeonghan somewhere between the kitchen and the makeshift dancefloor, though not before downing two shots together like some chaotic ritual.

an hour later you were a little tipsy, flushed from dancing, with the beginnings of a hangover clawing at the edges of your brain when you found yourself leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping on lukewarm water. you’d just successfully escaped making out with some ridiculously pretty boy named wonbin you barely knew. his hands had been nice, sure, but his cologne was giving you a headache and you had a 10 a.m. gym session you weren’t about to flake on.

“look at you,” a familiar voice teased, low and warm and way too close to your ear.

you turned your head—and there was mingyu, grinning down at you, tight black polo stretched over his chest and looking like he’d walked out of a men’s fitness ad. or maybe a sin. who could say.

“don’t tell me you’re partying too,” you half-giggled, setting your cup down. “and here i thought you were some gym purist.”

“could say the same for you,” mingyu shot back, leaning against the counter beside you. “what kind of maniac hits the gym after a night at a rager?”

you let out a laugh, the alcohol making you bolder than usual. “an insane one, apparently.”

your gaze dropped—you couldn’t help it—to the way his biceps flexed as he lifted his drink. god, you were barely sober and apparently even less subtle. before your brain could stop you, your hand reached out and squeezed his arm.

a full, proper squeeze.

and then you registered what you’d just done.

“oh my god,” you blurted, snapping your hand back like it burned. “i can’t believe i just did that. i’m so sorry—”

mingyu just barked out a laugh, reaching out to catch your wrist before you could flee the kitchen entirely. “nah, it’s cool. you like it that much, huh?”

his grin was sharp, teasing, and you were definitely too sober for this now. your pulse jumped as his fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, giving it a little squeeze back before letting go.

“i—” you started, but your brain short-circuited.

mingyu tilted his head, still smiling. “come on, i’ll walk you back. wouldn’t wanna lose our future gym freak to some frat house debauchery.”

the walk back was… quieter than you expected. not awkward, just easy. mingyu had one hand shoved into his pocket, the other loosely holding the bottle of water he’d swiped for you on the way out. the cool night air sobered you up faster than any coffee could’ve, but it didn’t stop the way your heart kept doing this stupid little jump every time your arms brushed.

you should’ve felt bad about ditching jeonghan—traitor behavior, honestly. but in your defense, he’d disappeared into a dark corner with someone you swore was a philosophy major who looked like trouble, so technically you were both abandoning each other tonight. friendship cancelled out.

“you good?” mingyu asked, glancing down at you.

you hummed. “better now. needed that fresh air.”

mingyu’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “told you. you’re almost as insane as me.”

you snorted. almost. the man had a literal six-pack under that shirt and probably ran marathons for fun. meanwhile, you nearly keeled over after fifteen minutes on the treadmill your first week.

by the time you reached your dorm building, the campus had quieted down. only the hum of street lamps and the occasional tipsy laughter echoing from other party stragglers.

you fished your keys out of your bag, hands clumsy from a mix of nerves and residual buzz. mingyu leaned against the wall by your door, watching you with that same soft amusement you hated how much you liked.

and you weren’t drunk anymore. you couldn’t blame it on that. not the flutter in your stomach. not the way your fingers twitched at your side.

you liked to believe it was the alcohol, but you knew better. because even sober, even under these shitty yellow hallway lights, mingyu looked unfairly good. and you were still a little bit of a loser inside.

you swallowed, gripping your keys too tight before blurting out, way too fast, “do you—wanna come in? or, i mean, just for a bit. like—i have snacks. and, uh. water. and… i guess my air conditioning’s nice.”

jesus christ.

your voice cracked a little at the end and you wanted to throw yourself out a window.

mingyu’s brow arched in surprise for half a second before a slow grin spread across his face. not cocky. not smug. just… warm. maybe a little endeared.

“snacks and air conditioning, huh?” he teased, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “hard to say no to that.”

your ears burned. “it’s fine if you’re tired or whatever—”

but he was already stepping forward, hand reaching to nudge the door open when you finally got the key to work.

“lead the way, gym buddy.”

and god help you, you did.

you don’t know what possessed you. maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way mingyu looked under those shitty streetlights, hair a little messy, grin too easy. either way, you were now standing in your tiny dorm, watching him take a seat on your bed like he’s been here a hundred times before.

and you? you were having a mental breakdown.

“oh my god, what am i doing,” you muttered under your breath, moving to your tiny fridge to grab two bottled waters like your life depended on it. your hands shook a little, and you cursed yourself for acting like you’d never had a boy in your room before — let alone this boy. this unfairly gorgeous, golden boy, smile-that-can-take-down-roman-empires , literal greek god of a man—kim mingyu.

“you good?” mingyu chuckled, and when you turned, he was grinning at you, legs spread lazily, leaning back on his hands like he owned the place. “you’re acting like you just smuggled me in past your strict parents or something.”

you huffed out a laugh, plopping down a water bottle next to him on the bed and keeping a very respectful distance on the opposite side. “sorry. i just—this wasn’t planned. like at all.”

mingyu shrugged, cracking open the bottle. “spur of the moment’s fun sometimes.”

you eyed him, unsure what to do with yourself, fidgeting with the label on your own bottle. “if you wanna head back to the party, you totally can. i mean, i’m tucking in for the night anyway. i promise i’m completely sober now, so no babysitting required.”

he looked at you, one brow raised, a teasing glint in his eye. “and miss out on the snacks and air conditioning you promised? no way.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled, heart doing its usual ridiculous flip when his knee brushed yours. casual. accidental. but you felt it all the same.

“plus,” mingyu added, leaning a little closer, voice dropping in that way that made your stomach twist up in knots. “what about our gym sesh tomorrow? together?”

you blinked. “our… what now?”

he laughed, reaching over to pluck the bottle from your hands and set it aside like you were both settling in for a long talk. “you’ve been avoiding me at the gym, you know.”

“i have not—”

“have too.”

your face warmed again. “okay, maybe a little. it’s intimidating, okay? you’re like… you.”

mingyu’s grin softened, eyes crinkling into those damn crescent moons. “i’m just a dude, y/n. and apparently, i’m now a dude who ditches parties for you.”

your head spun.

“you’re insane.” you try to brush it off.

“almost as insane as you.” he pushes further.

you laughed, the sound filling the room like something easy, and when mingyu’s hand found yours for half a second—a fleeting touch, a gentle squeeze before letting go — you didn’t even think about pulling away.

and you know what? maybe jeonghan was right. maybe you did have a type.

snack wrappers littered your coffee table, the air conditioning blasting at a level jeonghan would dramatically declare a war crime if he were here. you glanced over at mingyu, who looked far too at home on your couch, long legs stretched out, hair a little messy, that annoyingly perfect face lit by the glow of the tv screen playing some random old action movie neither of you were really watching.

“you don’t mind me staying over, do you?” mingyu asked, suddenly, tone so casual it made your brain short-circuit.

you choked on your water. “w-what? no! i mean—no, not at all! you can stay. totally. of course. i mean, obviously you’re gonna be on the couch, hahah, it’s totally fine, not weird at all.”

he raised a brow at you, clearly amused. “didn’t even ask to share the bed, y/n.”

“right! of course. couch it is.” you fumbled, standing up a little too quickly. “i’m—gonna wash up.”

you darted toward the balcony, trying not to faceplant on the way, heart hammering so stupidly hard in your chest it felt like a crime. outside, the night air was cool against your skin, and you grabbed a hanger off the clothesline — one of jeonghan’s oversized shirts and a pair of old sweatpants, thankfully dry and still carrying a faint scent of clean detergent and your roommate’s obnoxiously expensive cologne.

when you stepped back inside, mingyu was still sprawled on the couch, only now looking over his shoulder at you with a soft little grin. you cleared your throat, holding up the clothes. “these should fit. jeonghan’s taller than me, but probably not as tall as you, but he loves baggy clothes, so… y’know. good enough.”

“they’ll be perfect.” mingyu smiled, and you couldn’t believe how easy it looked on him.

you escaped to the bathroom, scrubbing your makeup off and washing up as fast as humanly possible, trying not to analyze your reflection too hard, might risk an existential crisis if you did. when you came out, hair wet and towel draped over your head, you froze.

because mingyu was already changed.

and holy shit—jeonghan’s oversized clothes looked offensively good on him. the shirt stretched just enough over his broad shoulders, the sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he gave you that soft, grateful grin like he wasn’t lowkey ruining your life.

“thanks for this, by the way.” he said, plucking a stray thread off the hem of his sleeve.

you nodded wordlessly, eyes shamelessly fixed on him now, not even bothering to pretend otherwise. your feet carried you over to grab your own water bottle, and then—because your brain was fried and you didn’t know what else to do with yourself—you dropped down cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, towel still draped over your head, grabbing the remote with one hand and surfing aimlessly through streaming services, while the other dried your hair with the towel.

mingyu leaned forward. “give me that.”

you blinked, snapping out of your momentary daze. “huh?”

“your towel,” he said, grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world. “your hair’s dripping. let me dry it.”

“you don’t have to—”

“i want to.” he smiles. that damn smile again.

and because you were a fool, you let him.

he sat on the couch, legs on either side of you, the towel over your head as his hands worked gently, drying your hair with easy, practiced motions. his fingers brushed the nape of your neck, and your heart straight-up stopped functioning properly. the domesticity of it all, the weird, too-close familiarity, it was driving you absolutely insane.

you swallowed hard, your cheeks heating up so bad you were thankful your wet hair could still pass for cold skin. and maybe it was the way his thumb lingered on your jaw, just a little too long, or the fact that his legs bracketed yours like some kind of ridiculously domestic setup—either way, you felt that invisible line between you both shift. and for the first time since this night started, you weren’t sure if you wanted to stay on the safe side of it.

“there,” mingyu murmured after a while, pulling the towel off your head with a final little tousle, his voice low and weirdly fond. “all good.”

you fiddled with the hem of your shorts, feeling way too aware of how close he was. the room felt quieter now, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the faint sound of the tv playing some car chase scene neither of you were watching.

“okay, so… um.” you cleared your throat, standing up abruptly. “you can take the bed. i’ll sleep on the couch.”

mingyu’s brows shot up. “what? no way.”

“what do you mean ‘no way’? you’re a guest.” you protested, already grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket from the closet.

“y/n, look at me.” he gestured down at himself, at the way his knees practically hit his chest sitting on your too-small couch. “i can’t even sit on that thing properly, let alone sleep. you’d be sentencing me to a night of back pain and leg cramps. i’m not making you sleep out here just for my sake.”

you scowled, stubborn. “but it’s my bed.”

“exactly. and it’s your apartment, so you deserve the comfy bed.”

“jeonghan’s room’s locked.” you grumbled, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. “he never leaves it unlocked when he’s not here. no other choice.”

mingyu leaned back against the couch, flashing you a crooked grin. “then we share.”

your brain practically bluescreened.

“w-wait, what?”

“the bed. we share. it’s big enough, isn’t it?” his grin widened. “i promise not to hog the blanket.”

you opened and closed your mouth a few times, grasping for some kind of coherent argument but coming up short because damn it, he was right. the couch barely fit him sitting down—there was no way he’d be able to sleep on it comfortably. and you weren’t about to let him throw his back out for a stupid reason like this.

“fine,” you muttered, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “but stay on your side.”

“scout’s honor.” he held up two fingers in mock solemnity.

“and don’t snore.”

“i don’t snore.”

“i’ll be the judge of that.”

you grabbed your phone charger and shuffled into your room, leaving the door open behind you. mingyu followed a beat later, still grinning like the smug menace he was. and even though every rational part of your brain screamed that this was such a bad idea, a tiny, reckless voice at the back of your head whispered that maybe, just maybe, you kind of wanted to find out what it felt like to fall asleep next to someone like him.

for the record: it was totally the alcohol talking.

probably.

maybe?

…fuck.

you told yourself it was fine.

just two pals. gym buddies. campus friends. besties.

two completely platonic people sharing a bed because of spatial logistics and the cruel, unrelenting limits of furniture design.

haha.

ha.

you were malfunctioning.

you sat on your side of the bed, clutching your phone like a lifeline as mingyu tugged the blanket over himself with an ease that should not have made your stomach flip. he lay there, eyes fluttering shut almost immediately like the world’s most peaceful golden retriever, while you stared at the ceiling, brain absolutely going to hell.

‘totally normal. nothing weird. just two amigos. chingus! bros!’

you squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to sleep, repeating the words like a desperate mantra. and for a while, it worked. you drifted off into something hazy and warm, the hum of the air conditioning and mingyu’s even breathing lulling you under.

until a shift in weight on the mattress made your eyes snap open.

and you felt it—a puff of warm breath against the curve of your neck, so close you shivered.

‘oh my god.’

you yelped, a tiny, startled squeak that made mingyu jolt awake, eyes bleary and confused.

“shit— sorry! sorry, did i—” he started, voice rough from sleep.

“no, it’s— it’s okay, i just—” you flailed for words, completely undone.

he rubbed at his eyes, blinking at you with a sheepish smile. “i tend to roll over a lot when i sleep. didn’t mean to get all up in your space.”

“it’s fine,” you mumbled, cheeks burning.

he studied you for a beat, then tilted his head, grinning softly. “you sure? i mean… you didn’t seem that mad.”

you wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out.

“it was…” you swallowed. “weirdly nice.”

his grin turned smug. “yeah?”

before you could lie or backtrack, he shifted again—leaning in until his lips brushed the same spot on your neck, the featherlight contact making your skin prickle.

“like this?” he murmured, half-asleep and reckless.

you could barely breathe. “mingyu…”

your voice cracked, hoarse and small in the dark.

he hummed against your skin, one strong arm draping lazily around your waist, pulling you back against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. you could feel the steady beat of his heart, the solid warmth of his body.

“i like this,” he whispered, barely audible.

and just like that, every single one of your loser brain cells went into cardiac arrest.

his arm around your waist felt heavy. solid. grounding in a way that made your breath hitch.

and then there was his hand—splayed across your stomach, fingertips brushing the hem of your sleep shirt, barely touching skin but leaving a trail of heat in their wake. his face was still buried against your neck, his lips pressing featherlight there, like he wasn’t fully awake, like his body was moving on instinct alone.

and god, it shouldn’t have felt this good.

you swallowed, pulse stuttering in your throat, trying not to focus on the way your thighs instinctively pressed together under the covers.

‘what the fuck is wrong with me?’

this was mingyu. your gym buddy. the guy who spotted you when you were too scared to touch the free weights. the man who chugged protein shakes like water and complained about his laundry bill.

but now he was pressed up against you in your tiny dorm bed, all warm muscle and lazy affection, and you felt… something.

something low and traitorous in your stomach, fluttering sharp and hot between your legs in a way you hadn’t expected. a dull ache, a clench of nothingness that made you shift in place without meaning to.

and of course, of course, mingyu noticed.

“hm? you okay?” he mumbled, voice still husky with sleep, his hand tightening a fraction around your waist.

you let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a whimper and hoped to god it passed for sleepy noise.

“yeah,” you whispered. “just… warm.”

“you want me to move?”

the words made your stomach drop. panic spiked sharp and bright in your chest.

“no!” too quick, too loud. you winced, immediately mortified. “i mea—it’s fine. i like it.”

his smile was lazy, smug even in half-sleep. “yeah?”

you bit your lip. “yeah.”

and then his hand slid a little lower.

not on purpose—you told yourself it wasn’t on purpose—but the way his palm brushed the dip of your hip, fingers grazing bare skin, made you feel that something again.

your breath hitched.

‘oh my god.’

your brain was a storm of sirens and red flags but your body didn’t care. it was already reacting, warmth pooling in places you didn’t dare name, and you squeezed your eyes shut, praying he couldn’t tell.

but mingyu, perceptive even in sleep, let out a low chuckle against your skin.

“you’re kinda squirmy, y/n,” he teased softly.

“shut up,” you croaked, absolutely humiliated, heat rushing to your face.

he laughed, that same warm, boyish sound that always made your chest hurt, and settled in closer.

“don’t worry,” he whispered, his lips ghosting your ear. “i don’t mind.”

you didn’t know who moved first.

maybe it was the way his fingers curled against your skin, rough pads stroking just a little too slow, a little too deliberate.

maybe it was you—traitorous, loser brain short-circuiting—turning your face toward his, catching the curve of his smile in the dark.

maybe it was the sheer tension that had been crackling between you for weeks, building in glances, brushes of hands, the weight of his gaze on you across a crowded gym floor. it had to break sometime.

and it did.

because then his lips were on yours.

soft, warm, tasting faintly of the cheap beer from earlier and the mint of your toothpaste. it was clumsy at first, a messy slide of mouths and teeth, a surprised noise catching in your throat as his hand tilted your jaw, deepening the kiss.

“fuck,” you breathed when you broke apart, and mingyu just grinned against your skin.

“you sure?” he murmured, thumb stroking under your chin, eyes searching yours in the dim light.

and you—flustered, awkward, a little tipsy but painfully sober now—nodded. “yeah. yeah, i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, one hand at the small of your back pulling you flush against him. you felt everything—the press of his chest, the solid heat of his thigh between yours, and the unmistakable, undeniable hardness against your hip.

your head spun.

‘oh my god.’

mingyu pulled back just enough to laugh, breath warm on your cheek. “now who’s feeling something?”

“shut up,” you gasped, but you were smiling, you couldn’t stop smiling, even as your face burned and your hands trembled where they clutched his t-shirt.

his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “can i—?”

“please.”

he was so gentle, like he thought you might break if he touched you wrong, murmuring your name like it was a prayer, all those muscles for show but his touch impossibly careful.

the room spun, your heartbeat louder than the air conditioner, mingyu’s breath ragged in your ear as he settled between your thighs, his hand slipping under the waistband of your shorts and—

“mingyu,” you whimpered, your voice cracking, half-laughing at yourself because holy shit this was really happening.

“i got you,” he promised, lips ghosting your jaw. “i’ll take care of you, y/n.”

and he did.

slow, achingly careful, like you were something precious—and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe you were.

then it was a tangle of hands, mouths, clothes splayed somewhere in the dark, it was messy and desperate and you should’ve known better than to underestimate him. you’d seen those muscles at the gym, felt them under your hands—but it wasn’t until now, when he hooked your thigh over his hip and pressed you down into the mattress, that you realized just how strong he really was.

and when he flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing, his palm sliding down your back in a slow, reverent stroke, your brain short-circuited.

“jesus christ,” you gasped, cheek pressed to the pillow.

“like this?” he murmured against your ear, voice low and warm.

you barely managed to nod.

he started slow, careful—his hips rolling into yours, lazy and deep, one hand laced with yours against the pillow. you felt the strain in his forearm where it bracketed your head, the soft curse in your ear at how tight you clenched around him.

then, when your hips pushed back into him, a helpless little sound catching in your throat, something in him snapped.

the next thrust was harder—not rough, but deeper, firmer, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that made your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut.

“fuck—mingyu,” you choked out, hands clawing at the sheets.

he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin. “feel so good, baby,” he rasped. “been wanting this—wanted you—”

you couldn’t answer, too busy trying not to drool into your pillow as he kept going, the thick drag of him inside you dizzying. it was too much and not enough at the same time, your body trembling and brain turning to static.

every roll of his hips made your breath hitch, the room filled with the slick, filthy sound of skin against skin, the low broken noises leaving both your mouths.

and even as his pace picked up, as your body went pliant under his and your legs shook, mingyu was still achingly gentle in how he touched you—hand smoothing your hair from your face, lips brushing the back of your shoulder.

“good girl,” he groaned, voice cracking as his rhythm faltered. “fuck—‘m close—gonna—”

his hips stuttered, a deep, desperate moan spilling from his throat as he pulled out last second, rutting his cock against the curve of your ass as he came hard, hot ropes of it painting your lower back and thighs.

your body trembled, face buried in the pillow, breath ragged and uneven as you felt the warmth of it on your skin, the heavy, shaky way he exhaled against your shoulder.

and for a moment, neither of you moved—just the soft hum of the air conditioner, the buzz of blood in your ears, and the lingering ache between your thighs.

he collapsed on top of you, catching himself just in time, his strong arms holding you close as he tugged you into his chest. you were too tired to protest, too exhausted to do anything but let him hold you, feeling the heat of his body against yours.

his arms were so strong, tanned and muscular, yet the way he held you was impossibly soft. despite everything—the hours you’d spent at the gym, the newfound strength you were building—you felt so small in his hold, a feeling you couldn’t deny you loved. it wasn’t in the sense of weakness, but in how careful he was with you, how you felt like he was holding you like you were the most fragile thing in the world. his warmth, his scent—it was all consuming in the best way.

“fuck,” he whispered, his voice raw. “you’re amazing.”

you smiled, your heart fluttering, but you didn’t have the energy to respond. all you wanted to do was lie there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek as he held you close. it was almost as if the world had stopped. just the two of you, tangled in the sheets, in each other’s arms. his hand ran over your back, a soft, soothing motion that made you want to curl further into him, to let yourself fall into the safe space he’d created.

after a few quiet minutes, you felt the bed shift as mingyu reluctantly untangled himself. you made a small sound of protest, but he just chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “hang on,” he murmured. the mattress dipped again when he returned, and then—

a wet, warm cloth brushed over your skin.

your breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping before you could stop it. the gentle, careful way he wiped you down made your whole body ache in a different way, a deep, fluttery warmth blooming in your chest.

“just cleaning you up,” he said quietly, his voice so tender it made your stomach flip. “can’t have my girl falling asleep like this.”

and you would’ve made some flirty comment if you weren’t so bone-tired. though, in your haze, your eyes flickered down and caught the cloth in his hand—wait. was that… jeonghan’s shirt? you squinted, brain foggy, but you could recognize that obnoxious band tee anywhere. a breathy, disbelieving laugh slipped from your lips.

“is that—?”

mingyu grinned, clearly unbothered, continuing to wipe you down with maddening gentleness. “it’ll go missing after tonight, hope he won’t miss it.” he lets out an airy chuckle.

you wanted to laugh with him but the tenderness with every touch and wipe over your skin made your throat feel tight, your eyes blinking back slumber, overwhelmed in the best, most ridiculous way.

when he finished, he tossed the poor shirt aside and pulled you back into his arms like he’d never let go. “don’t wanna move,” he mumbled against your hair, pressing another kiss to your forehead. his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “sleep. we’ve gotta be up for the gym later.”

you almost giggled, but let out a dreamy sigh instead—you were too tired, too content with the way he was holding you. the night had been a whirlwind of emotions and sensations, but here, in his arms, everything felt right. you nodded, not trusting your voice, but somehow, that was enough for him.

the room was silent now, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and your steady breaths. he shifted just slightly, ensuring you were tucked securely against him, and before long, you felt the weight of sleep tugging at your eyelids.

you drifted off, wrapped in his warmth, still feeling the echoes of everything that had happened. for once, you didn’t feel like that burned out student who can barely lift anything at the gym anymore. not when you had someone like mingyu holding you this tightly. you could lift the whole world with this euphoric feeling.

the next morning came too fast.

mingyu kissed you before he left, still smelling like your bodywash and the lingering trace of sweat and skin. you were half-asleep, face buried in your pillow as you felt the press of his lips against your temple, his voice a low murmur. “i’ll see you at the gym, cutie.”

then the door clicked shut, and you groaned into your sheets.

by the time you dragged yourself to the gym, your legs were jelly, your thighs aching in ways you hadn’t expected. you caught mingyu leaning against the front desk, grinning like he hadn’t just rearranged your guts a few hours ago.

“leg day?” he asked innocently, one brow arched.

you scowled. “i am so not doing leg day.”

he laughed—the kind of laugh that made you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. “c’mon, i’ll go easy on you.”

“you said that last time, you liar.”

still, you let him lead you through the warm-up, pretending you weren’t staring when his shirt lifted a little, exposing tan skin and the cut of his abs. your banter bounced back and forth, teasing, smug little grins exchanged between reps. you managed to trip over your own foot during lunges, and mingyu caught you by the waist like it was nothing, steadying you with those massive hands—the same ones that held you close last night, skin to skin. before you had the chance to get over the thought, he had already tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“careful, lightweight,” he teased.

you rolled your eyes, heart pounding way too hard for a simple gym mishap.

it was gonna be a long morning.

after the gym session, you and mingyu were a mess of sweat and sore muscles, but there was still an undeniable energy buzzing between you. you didn’t want to go home yet, not when he was looking at you like that—eyes soft, smile easy, and that unmistakable pull between the two of you that hadn’t quite worn off yet.

“smoothie?” mingyu asked, his voice almost too casual, but you could tell he was trying to keep his cool.

you blinked, still trying to catch your breath after a killer session. “uh, sure, i’m down for a smoothie.”

the smoothie place was just a block away, and soon enough you were sitting at a little outdoor table with your huge cups, the kind of smoothies that were so large you could probably share with a small army. but instead, mingyu leaned toward you, grabbing one of the oversized straws and slipping it into his mouth.

“i’m serious about the flavor,” he said with a grin, “this is the one. trust me. the secret add-on’s spinach, by the way.”

you rolled your eyes and gave him a playful look, but didn’t argue. you took a sip from the same straw, the cold tang of mango, strawberry, and pineapple flooding your senses, no weird spinach flavor in sight. it tasted like summer. and something else, too—something sweet and comfortable that made you want to stay here in this moment forever.

mingyu was looking at you again, that soft, almost shy smile on his face, and for once, you didn’t feel like you wanted to leave, even if conversations stretched for hours. you didn’t feel like the try-hard academic you push yourself to be.

no, with mingyu, you were just you—the girl he had kissed and laughed with and shared a smoothie with. there were no pretenses between you two anymore, no more awkward glances or confusing feelings. it was simple. it was easy. and that made everything feel right.

“it’s good, right?” mingyu asked, taking another sip.

you smiled at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss the night before. “yeah. you were right.”

he leaned back, looking like he was about to say something, but instead, he just chuckled softly. “this smoothie tastes like something my future partner would like.”

you raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “bold of you to assume they’d date a guy who puts spinach in his smoothies.”

mingyu laughed, eyes crinkling. “what, you don’t think so?”

you leaned back, crossing your arms with a smirk. “guess that’s something my future boyfriend will find out.”

and with that, everything seemed to click. it wasn’t just the gym, or the smoothies, or the fact that you were already falling asleep on him every night. it was this—being with him, sharing these little moments that felt so much bigger than anything you could’ve imagined.

mingyu looked at you then, his expression soft and sincere, and you realized that this—whatever this was—was real. you weren’t just friends anymore. you weren’t just gym buddies. you were something more, and that was enough for you.

as you sat there, sipping your smoothie and enjoying the warm morning sun, you couldn’t help but smile. things with mingyu were simple, but they felt so right. and right now, that was all you needed.

a/n: phew this has been such fun to write <33 and i hope it gets as much love as its preview !! tysm to carats and other multistans ^^~ if u liked reading this, drop me a follow, lets be moots !! and feel free to send in prompts of ur favorite idols to my inbox ~ i prioritize requests and they r always open !! have a nice day every1 !!!!!!!!!!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

12 / 1,147 words / for @141wh0re. happy birthday <3

nsfw, free use, rough sex, group sex ⬇

...

"Shut your bloody mouth before you broadcast our hiding place to every tango in a mile radius," Ghost snaps. He's got you bent over a crate, your nails digging into the old wood for purchase as his hips grind against yours.

"Then don't be so fucking rough," you snap, though it sounds breathy and thin even to your ears. You shift, feeling his hands squeeze your hips in irritation.

Ghost doesn't falter, but his eyes glitter at your backtalk. He claps his gloved hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds you're making. His other hand grips your thigh, forcing you onto one leg as he pushes your knee onto the top of the crate. He pulls out and slams back into you, getting back to railing you hard and fast.

“We need you on your sniper, Ghost,” Soap hisses from his spot at the far window. He’s peering down the scope of his own rifle. This building is only two stories high and small enough that any one of you could cross the room in three strides. The body heat alone is getting to you. Not to mention the way Ghost is fucking you like it'll save this mission, his pants pushed down to mid-thigh just as yours are.

"Get back to work, then, Ghost," Price tells him from the nearest window, eye leaving the scope of his rifle for a moment to take you in. "I don't need you two distracting my team."

Ghost grinds into you, a frustrated snarl muffled under his mask. You feel the muscles in his hands flex as he bites back his anger. "Fuck," he mutters. "Alright. Let's finish this."

On the other side of the cramped room, Gaz and Soap kneel at the largest window. They keep their focus, sniping marks with ruthless precision. As they do, Ghost's hips snap into you faster and harder. His teammates are focused on their task; he's focused solely on his.

"You're so tight," he growls. His hand slips away from your mouth, falling to your neck. "I've been wanting you since we--"

"Stop talking," you snap, hyperaware of the implicit warning in Price’s voice and the way Soap and Gaz are shifting in position, getting restless. You’re not sure if they’ve had enough, if they’re jealous, if they’d sooner throw you out the window than entertain another moment of this. "Get it done."

Ghost doesn't bother to argue. He pins you down with a hand between your shoulder blades as he fucks you, unceremonious and primal.

You bite your lip and try to stay quiet as Price's judgmental gaze falls over you again. Ghost flattens you even more against the crate and slams into you so hard and fast it creaks and squeaks against the floor. You cry out, writhing. His hips stutter, and then he's coming, slamming into you until you can't think. Your clit catches the rough edge of the crate. The sudden, sharp jolt is too much. An unexpected orgasm crashes over you, and you groan pathetically, clenching around Ghost.

Ghost curses. He slows down, still panting, and slowly pulls out of you. He runs a gloved hand down your back in a quick—but still noticeable—gesture of appreciation.

"Nice," Price mutters in approval. "Good work."

"She’s a good teammate, ain’t she," Ghost says. "Always wet."

You shiver, their words shooting straight to your core. You're sure you should be insulted, not flattered. But your body doesn’t seem to understand that.

Gaz nudges Soap and they glance over their shoulders at you.

“How long was that one?” Gaz asks Soap.

“I’m busy at the moment. You think I bloody timed it?” Soap snaps. 

Gaz looks amused. “Did you not?”

Soap swears under his breath, eye returning to his sniper scope. “Eleven minutes.”

Gaz scoffs. "Could do better."

“Alright, that’s enough,” Price says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Ghost, take up position.”

He disappears from behind you. You pull yourself together and get to work.

...

This mission went tits up right out of the gate. If not for your teammates’ ludicrous skill and focus under pressure, you’d be dead. No doubt. But they’ve been in far worse binds than simply being pinned down inside a rickety, moldy shack by endless enemy gunfire.

Soon enough, the chaos is over, and no more shots ring out.

“Clear,” Soap says.

“Proper job,” Price says. “Regroup.”

You’re patching up a graze on Gaz’s forearm when Price returns three minutes later, frowning.

“Bad news. No exfil for another forty-five minutes.”

“How bloody long does it take to—” Ghost cuts himself off with a rough sigh. “We should keep moving. Find somewhere safer to wait it out.”

“After we regroup here, yeah?” Gaz says.

Ghost scoffs. “Why? You in the middle of something?”

“Oh, we’re about to be,” Soap retorts.

You’re hardly paying attention, fastening two butterfly bandages to Gaz’s laceration when Soap’s arm loops around your waist and drags you backward into his lap. He makes sure to drag your core over his thigh, knowing you’re still sensitive enough to feel it even through your pants. You grit your teeth, biting back a groan. He tugs the top half of your combat uniform apart and shoves his hand inside, groping your chest roughly. You gasp, grinding down on his lap unwittingly.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl.” Soap’s breath is hot in your ear. “Real reliable.”

“We don’t have time for fun and games, Johnny,” Ghost says, sounding irritated.

“Easy for you to say. You had yours,” Gaz says. He slides closer to Soap, his eyes fixed on you.

Ghost throws a questioning look at Price. Price leans back on the crate you’d been bent over a few minutes ago. He shrugs, rolling around a fresh cigarette between his lips. “Not a bad place to sit tight. We’ve got a good view in all directions if more tangos approach. Relatively protected and exfil has a clear landing zone through those trees. We stay.”

“You heard him,” Gaz says.

“Arsewits, both of you,” Ghost mutters.

You’re staring at the cigarette in Price’s mouth, eyes half-lidded, when Gaz’s fingers take your chin and tilt your face toward him. “You don’t mind, love, do you?”

A frustrated growl rolls through Soap’s chest, but he pauses mid-squeeze to hear your answer too.

You stare at Gaz, then Ghost, then Price again. “Forty-five minutes?”

“We’ll make it work,” Soap says.

“I know.” You shift in his lap again. Your core is aching, your mind already clouded over with want. “Fine. If… if that’s what you need.”

Soap chuckles into your ear. “Away wi’ that. No pretendin’ you do this because it’s your job. You like it.”

“Fuck off,” you snap.

“Gettin’ to that.” Soap shifts you so he can get his pants and yours out of the way. He notices Gaz’s hand run down your neck enticingly, hears you sigh, and pushes Gaz’s hand away. “Wait your turn.”

Gaz scoffs. “You’ll hardly last long enough to wait on.”

“You can share,” Price tells them. Then he gives you a pointed look. “Saves time. You can rest on the bird, sweetheart.”

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 02

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4k Warnings: 18+, smut in later chapters, fuckbuddies to lovers. Mentions of cigarettes in this chapter. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

"Will you come to my game this Saturday?"

Sukuna smirks that charming smirk at you again, and his voice is so velvety that it sounds as if he is asking you to come to his bedroom instead of coming to one of his ice hockey games.

You have no idea why you seem to keep running into him lately. Maybe you never were aware of how many times your paths crossed. Or maybe fate decided to play some funny little game with you and the resident hockey star, and now you keep meeting over and over again.

You shrug helplessly and smile at him,

"I don't know. I've never been to a game. I don't even know the rules."

"That doesn't matter. You'll understand it once you watch a game. And if not, you can always ask me to teach you. So, will you come and watch me play?"

Sukuna looks expectantly at you with those pretty eyes. They are a shade of brown you have never seen on anyone else before, that rich maroon color that reminds you of red wine and autumn. Those eyes and that damn boyish grin make it hard for you to say no to Sukuna.

You laugh to cover up how nervous he makes you when he is standing so close to you. Attack is the best form of defence, so you cross your arms in front of your chest, look up at Sukuna, and ask with a raised eyebrow,

"You really want me to watch you play, huh?"

Any other guy would probably get flustered and backpedal or act indifferent. But not Sukuna. His smirk grows even wider, and he nods confidently,

"Yes. Can you even say you went to college if you never saw a hockey game?"

And then he adds with a wink,

"If you come, I will score a goal just for you."

He flashes you another cocky smirk and doesn't wait for your answer but just walks away toward the gym. You stare after him, shaking your head. He is impossible! That confidence is insane! Almost infuriating.

Maybe you should watch Sukuna's game just to see him not deliver what he promised. Sure, he is the resident starboy, but how good can he be? It's not like he is a professional hockey player. Low-key, you want to see Sukuna fuck up just so you can confirm to yourself that he is just another of those arrogant guys who are all talk and no action.

That Saturday, you watch the game. Your first hockey game since you started college. The first game of the Tigers you see. The first time you see Sukuna play.

And you must admit that the stupid title they gave him is accurate.

Sukuna really is The King of the Ice. He is the King of this whole arena!

His playstyle is fast and brutal, which doesn't come as a surprise. But even as a hockey noob, you can tell that Sukuna's mind plays just as much a part as his strength and is just as dangerous as his physical attacks. Strong, ambitious, and intelligent. It's a deadly combination that makes Sukuna unstoppable.

He skates across the ice at breakneck speed, elbowing his way through his opponents and making the rival goalie yell in fear at his teammates in a desperate attempt for them to stop the devil that is speeding towards him. But nothing the other team does seems to work against Sukuna. He is always a step ahead, sidestepping them before they can reach him as if he can predict their moves. You recall him telling you that he does all the analytics and works out the tactics, and you can see now that he didn't just brag but truly seems to know what he is doing.

No wonder the whole team is built around Sukuna. He is the most important player of the Red Tigers. The center of the first line, which to your amusement, is called The Curses because they make their opponents curse their names for being so damn strong. And Sukuna is the King of Curses, which seems a very fitting title. His brother Yuuji is on his right, and Todo is on his left, and both of them are ready to beat up everyone who dares touch their star player.

That's something that seems to happen pretty often. Sukuna keeps getting into fights, but many of them aren't initiated by the rival team. Even without knowing how ice hockey works, you can see that Sukuna provokes fights. You can see his lips move behind the face cage of his helmet while smirking devilishly at a player of the rival team, taunting him until the other guy snaps and drops his hockey stick and pushes Sukuna angrily.

At first, you flinch when you see the fight that erupts from that scene. Yuuji yells something and yanks that guy off a still-smirking Sukuna, dragging him away while Todo brutally bodychecks another rival player who comes over to join the rumble.

But both Yuuji and Todo stop immediately when Sukuna casually skates over and says something to them.

You watch incredulously as Sukuna pulls his gloves and helmet off, revealing his usually slicked-back pink hair, ruffled and out of place. He cocks his head and jerks his chin challengingly at the guy who pushed him, saying something to him, and you frown in confusion as the other guy takes off his helmet and gloves too.

What happens afterward is more of a boxing match than ice hockey. The whole arena is yelling and cheering Sukuna on, singing the team's song anytime their King lands a punch on the other player. Sukuna is a dirty fighter. You can see that. He uses any means he has to win. But he is also smart enough to only do as much as he can get away with without the referee intervening. Though it is a riddle to you, why a fight like that is even allowed in the first place.

You look at Nobara, who is sitting next to you.

"Why are they having a boxing match? Why does the referee not give them a penalty?"

Nobara shrugs,

"I don't know! That's just how hockey works, I guess!"

Right at that moment, Sukuna's fist connects with his opponent's cheek, and the other guy tumbles onto the ice. Sukuna joins him immediately, pressing him down for a moment as if to show his dominance before he lets go of him, pats his cheek tauntingly, and gets up again, smirking broadly.

You only realize now that you held your breath the whole time during the fight, letting it out now and laughing as adrenaline flows through your veins.

You didn't expect to enjoy this game so much, but it's definitely an experience you wouldn't want to miss!

The crowd is cheering loudly, celebrating their King's victory in this weird, inofficial fight that somehow is part of the actual game.

Sukuna skates back to his position, his helmet under one arm and one glove between his teeth, while he puts the other back on. He casually glides over the ice while smirking around the glove in his mouth like a beautiful devil. His eyes wander over the stands, soaking in the admiring gazes and the loud cheers coming from his fans.

And suddenly, Sukuna's gaze brushes over you.

You draw in a sharp breath at the same time as Sukuna digs the metal blades of his ice skates into the ice, coming to a sudden stop. He turns his head to scan the crowd again, and your heart jumps to your throat.

What is he doing? Is he looking for me?

Your heart is hammering in your chest when his gaze finds you again in the crowd, and his grin grows bigger, causing the glove to drop from the hold his teeth had on it, but he catches it casually with his left hand.

For a seemingly endless moment, you stare back at Sukuna, involuntarily feeling your lips lift in a matching broad grin. Your pulse flutters nervously. And then Sukuna winks at you.

Yuuji skates up to his brother and claps him on the back, and Sukuna averts his gaze from you and says something to his brother, pointing at another player, and they both skate over to him. You still look at the spot where Sukuna stood a moment ago, feeling a bit dizzy.

Nobara's voice pulls you out of your daze,

"Did he just wink at you?"

And you shrug helplessly and chuckle to hide how flustered Sukuna's wink made you,

"I don't know. Maybe he was looking at someone else."

But you know he wasn't.

The players on the ice get into position again, and the game continues. But Sukuna's line leaves the ice to sit on the bench while the other players get their turn. You hate to admit it, but you catch your gaze drifting away from the actual game and over to the bench, where Sukuna is sitting, discussing something with Yuuji and Todo.

You watch Sukuna run a hand through his ruffled pink hair, slicking it back again while he takes a sip from his water bottle, which makes his Adam's apple bop in a very enticing way.

Occasionally, Sukuna yells something at his teammates who skate past him. There's an angry fire burning in his eyes. You can see how invested he is in the game. How he watches every move meticulously, probably so he can use it later when he thinks of tactics for the next game. You can see how passionate Sukuna is about ice hockey, and if you are honest, it fills you with respect for him.

Sukuna is back on the ice a while later, just as graceful as before with smooth, fast moves and brutal bodychecks, clearing a path through the rival team's defense, skating so impossibly fast that no one can stop him.

Your fingernails dig painfully into your palms as you watch in complete fascination how Sukuna hits the puck so hard that it almost tears the net when he scores the next goal. The whole arena screams, and you are one of them. So caught up in the thrill of the highspeed game that you jump up from your seat.

On the ice, Sukuna gets buried under a pile of his teammates as they celebrate his insane goal, but once he emerges again with a fist lifted in victory into the air, his gaze instantly lands on you again. And to your shock, Sukuna is smiling. A dazzling, beautiful smile that lights up his whole face. He looks happy and proud and so damn beautiful.

You remember what he said when he asked you to come see his game. If you come to my game, I will score a goal just for you.

Well, he delivered what he promised. And what a goal it was!

Somehow, it makes you giggle like a schoolgirl, and you feel your face growing hot, even as you grin at Sukuna like an idiot. He seems to have only eyes for you, locked in this intense gaze with you while he still smiles that smile that makes your pulse flutter excitedly.

The eye contact becomes too intense for you, and you avert your gaze, too shy suddenly to keep looking at Sukuna.

The game continues, and you lean back in your seat, sipping on your water bottle to calm yourself down.

You wonder why no one ever cared to inform you how exciting ice hockey is! The Tigers are really good. Sukuna is good. No, not just good. He is fucking amazing!

It's fun to watch him play. Watching him skate across the ice like some super-human. Watching him bodycheck his opponents with ease. Watching him score goals with so much speed and precision that it leaves your mouth hanging open as you stare at him completely in awe.

The game is over much faster than you expected. Time flew by any time Sukuna was on the ice. You still have no clue about ice hockey, but you know that you had a damn good time!

On the ice, you see the Tigers high-fiving each other and giving each other back claps, congratulating each other on the win. You watch Sukuna pull off his helmet and laugh at something his coach says to him.

The team takes a victory lap around the rink, waving at the crowd in the stands. But your gaze only follows one specific player with pink hair and face tattoos.

Sukuna is chatting with his brother, reaching out to ruffle Yuuji's hair while they casually skate over the ice. His left hand stays on top of his brother's head even as Sukuna lifts the other hand and smirks up at the stands, letting the crowd celebrate him one last time.

Nobara taps your arm and points to the stairs, and you quickly grab your bag and follow her, still feeling light-headed from the euphoric atmosphere in the arena.

You walk past the plexiglass separating the stands from the ice when you see a flash of pink from the corners of your eyes.

You turn your head, and your gaze instantly lands on Sukuna. He is skating casually next to you, slow enough so he matches your walking pace. There's a smug grin on his tattooed face as he lifts his chin in greeting.

You smile back at him and yell, "Great game!" and his smirk grows even bigger before he yells back,

"Did you like the goal I scored for you?"

You trip over your own feet, making a funny little dance to catch yourself, feeling embarrassment wash over you while you think you hear Sukuna's amused laughter.

You look at him sheepishly, nodding and giving him a thumbs up,

"It was very impressive!"

Sukuna grins proudly at you, flashing his white teeth with the slightly pointy canines at you,

"Oh, everything I do is impressive, princess, I can guarantee."

And you roll your eyes and groan at his arrogance, but at the same time you can't help but snicker in amusement.

Sukuna chooses that moment to grab the front of his jersey and lift it to wipe the sweat off his tattooed face, revealing his stomach with firm abs and more tattoos.

Your eyelashes flutter, and you quickly turn your head away, feeling strangely flustered at the sight of Sukuna's naked skin with the sexy tattoos and all those hard muscles.

Luckily, Nobara grabs your arm at that moment and tells you to hurry up because she wants to meet up with Maki. You let yourself get pulled along, lifting your hand to wave at Sukuna and yell a "Bye!" in his direction, which he answers with a broad, knowing grin.

"So, could I convince you that ice hockey is the best sport?"

You're on your way to class when you see Sukuna almost at the same spot where you crashed into him two weeks ago. But this time, he doesn't wear his white team hoodie but a black sleeveless shirt, which accentuates his broad shoulders and shows off his muscular arms. His red backpack is casually slung over one shoulder, and his maroon eyes sparkle expectantly at you.

You shrug.

"I had a great time. I still know nothing about hockey, though, so I'm not sure about it being the best sport. It was a bit confusing because you practically beat each other up, but the referee didn't do anything about it."

Sukuna laughs. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and leans closer to you.

"Yeah, we have official rules and other rules. I'll explain it to you over lunch. Meet me here in four hours."

He makes it sound as if it is set in stone that the two of you will have lunch together. As if the option of you turning him down, is so crazy, that he doesn't even consider it.

You are suddenly very aware of how Sukuna is towering over you with his tall, broad hockey player figure. Imposing as hell. And his dominant personality only adds to the effect.

Maybe two weeks ago, you would have run, too intimidated by Sukuna's overpowering presence. But right now, he doesn't make you feel anxious. Instead, you catch yourself leaning even closer, looking up at him, barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch his bulging biceps with those sexy black bands tattooed on them.

Your lips lift in a smile, and you give him a nod and a soft,

"Ok, see you for lunch, Sukuna."

You quickly walk toward your classroom before you can do something embarrassing like really feeling him up or drooling on his stupid, too-tight shirt.

Sukuna is already waiting for you at the agreed spot, and he grins so smugly at you that, for a moment, you contemplate just walking past him to see that smirk wiped off his face. But you behave and stop in front of him, cocking your head and asking him if he is ready.

Walking next to Sukuna feels strange, but not exactly in a bad way. Your height difference is even more prominent when you walk side by side, and it does weird things to your stomach anytime you sneak a glance at him.

But the strangest thing about the whole situation is the way Sukuna walks through the hallways as if he owns the place, and everyone seems to play along. You notice that people step aside to let him pass. Some even lower their heads, like peasants bowing to their King. It's insane to see how much authority he holds and how much people respect or even fear him.

And now you got pulled into this whole thing, too, by walking next to the hockey star!

You can see curious glances getting thrown your way. Guys are checking you out as if you are suddenly interesting now that Sukuna has graced you with his company. And girls watch you through narrowed eyes as if they ask themselves why you are allowed to walk next to Sukuna, and they aren't.

The only thing that's missing is people snapping pictures like some paparazzi.

The thought makes your lips twitch, trying to hold back a laugh as you imagine pictures of you and Sukuna walking into the dining hall together getting posted on some shady Instagram account with a caption asking who the mysterious woman by Sukuna's side is. Spotted: The resident hockey heartthrob and an unknown girl. As if you are in an episode of Gossip Girl.

A soft grunt escapes your lips, and you sway slightly to the right, making Sukuna bump into you. He reaches around you reflexively, and you feel his large, warm hand land on your upper arm, steadying you.

"Careful, princess. Or do you have a thing for crashing into me?"

You huff at his cocky comment, muttering an apology as you shake his arm off, at the same time as he pulls it away again, before you fall into step beside Sukuna again.

The dining hall is bustling at this time, but you and Sukuna make it surprisingly quickly to the counter because several people make space in the waiting line after taking one glance at Sukuna. You aren't sure whether it's his status as the hockey star or the glare he sends their way.

You get your meal and follow Sukuna, who leads you to a part of the dining hall you have never been to. Technically, this is not a private section, but everyone knows this part of the dining hall is reserved for the athletes, so you never bothered trying to find a table here.

Sukuna gestures to a table at the far end, beside the window. It is surrounded by lush decorative plants and even has a comfy-looking bench.

"This is my table. Come on, princess."

You frown at him,

"You have your own table? Is this some hockey player thing?"

Sukuna huffs and a low laugh escapes his lips,

"No, it's a Sukuna thing."

He strides over to his table and sits down on one of the chairs, graciously leaving the comfy bench to you. You smile at him and sit down across from him, placing your tray on the table.

Your gaze lands on Sukuna's tray, and you raise an eyebrow at the huge plate in front of him, filled with cooked chicken breasts, rice, and a whole mountain of broccoli. Sukuna catches your gaze and smirks at you,

"What? I have to take care of my body. I'm an athlete."

"Yeah, sure, an athlete who only eats cooked chicken and rice but smokes cigarettes. Makes a lot of sense."

"It's all about the balance. Now stop being a brat, and let me explain things to you."

Sukuna grins teasingly at you, and you can't help but grin back while rolling your eyes playfully.

Sukuna opens his backpack to grab a pen and a surprisingly neat folder from which he pulls a blank sheet of paper. He slams it on the table next to his plate and writes Hockey rules – A guide for curious brats by Sukuna on the top, making you complain in mock annoyance.

You spend the next thirty minutes eating your lunch while watching Sukuna fill the sheet with his unexpectedly graceful handwriting as he explains the rules to you. He even draws a small rink and some funny little hockey players. You laugh softly when you see him add face tattoos to the figure in the center of the first line.

Occasionally, Sukuna looks at you, maroon eyes framed by beautiful, long black lashes, gazing at you with amusement and so much intensity that it makes you feel like you are the only person in this room.

You gulp, feeling flustered at having Sukuna's undivided attention. And it doesn't help that his cologne smells really sexy when he leans across the table to point at the small drawings on the paper, explaining in that sexy, low voice how hockey works.

He is a good teacher, even though his pretty eyes and the sexy tattoos on his arms and face are distracting as hell.

But the official hockey rules are pretty easy to understand. What's more complex are the unofficial rules that Sukuna refers to as The Code, which explains why the players can beat each other up without the referee interfering. It leads to an animated discussion during which you have a ton of incredulous questions, and Sukuna answers all of them with an amused grin on his tattooed face but with surprising patience.

As your lunch break is drawing to an end, you are pretty well informed about the official and unofficial rules of the beautiful sport called ice hockey.

"Thank you, Sukuna. Now I finally understand what you are doing on the ice."

He cocks his head, laughing softly before he smirks that sexy, teasing smirk at you,

"You mean apart from looking handsome as hell?"

You groan at his arrogant remark but laugh, too, before you shove the sheet of paper across the table again. But Sukuna shakes his head.

"No, keep it, princess. So you can look at it again in case you forget something. Who knows... there might be some surprise tests. Better be prepared!"

He winks at you, and you laugh, but you take the note from his large hand.

The two of you walk side by side towards the exit, where your ways part. You thank Sukuna once again for the hockey lesson, and he grins at you. One of his large hands lands on your head and ruffles your hair, making you exclaim loudly. You reach up and try to smooth your hair down again while Sukuna walks away with his hand lifted in a casual wave.

When you return to your dorm later that afternoon, Nobara is instantly at your side, as if she manifested out of thin air.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going on a date with Sukuna?"

"That wasn't a date! We just had lunch together because he wanted to explain the ice hockey rules to me..."

You trail off, shrugging helplessly, while a triumphant grin spreads over Nobara's face,

"What do you need the rules for? To go to all his games?"

"It wasn't a date, Nobara!"

You quickly leave for your room, but you can't help but grin from ear to ear, clutching the note with the hockey rules even tighter to your chest. You know it wasn't a date, but you must admit that spending your lunch break with Sukuna was surprisingly nice, and you think you can still feel the warmth of his large hand on your arm.

HE IS SO SEXY ON THE ICE AND OFF IT, TOO 😭😭 I had so much fun imagining Sukuna playing hockey! I hope you enjoyed watching him play, too, and that you enjoyed spending your lunch break with him ❤️

Thank you so much for reading Chapter 2! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

In Chapter 3 Reader gets to learn a bit more about our hockey star, and they have a little scene that is filled with sexual tension ;)

[bonsubear]

Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark┃Mark/Invincible x Fangirl! Reader ┃#1

Hi, I haven’t written fanfiction for a hot minute so I’m terribly rusty. So, if this isn’t coherent oops. Also, if Mark is OOC just close one eye and keep reading hehe.

Inspired by @/tiramissyoucake and the anonymous asker who requested a short story of Reader hating Mark but loving Invincible!!! I like that idea very much so I’m stealing it for a moment >:)

#1, #2

WC: 1.6k

He should probably feel annoyed about the fact that this girl in his biology class seems to hate him with each fiber of her being for no reason—her eyes always hard with disdain and her mouth quick to shoot an insult whenever he did an action or said something she didn't like (which was basically anything, even breathing) but oddly enough, he didn’t.

She had transferred to his school before his powers kicked in and before his superhero alter ego, Invincible, was born. She was in a couple of his classes besides biology. On some occasion his eyes couldn’t help drifting to her, noting one or two things about her.

From what Mark could tell, she was quiet and kept to herself. You’d think that she was a hard-working student who was diligently taking notes with how she would pretend to type something important on her laptop, but he always quietly chuckled at the sight of her on some shady website reading an obscure comic.

He would quite literally watch her browse through comics with long titles and choose the most outrageous plot then shift her laptop away from the direction of other students as if people (aka him) behind her couldn’t clearly see what she was doing.

Oh, and in English class she would tuck her air pods in her ears and try to cover them with her hair—playing some sort of audio book or a YouTube video. Even though she would try and hide her reactions, Mark could tell whenever something amusing happened. The small quirk of her lips, how fast she would twirl her hair, and the slight sway of her body as she stared blanky at empty air while listening intently.

Also, you were a fan of shopping for clothes and accessories. Nearly every day he would notice a brand-new item or piece of clothing on her. It could be a new, shiny necklace that fits perfectly on her chest or a new jacket that was too neat to be old. She also shopped for cosmetics like perfume that smelled differently from the last and a new subtle shade of lipstick that was applied perfectly on her lips.

Though her spending habits didn’t go well with her checking account. Mark caught the girl pouting multiple times looking at her bank account that was a little bit too low for anyone’s liking, refreshing the screen as if the number would change.

...

Okay, maybe he took note of a little bit more than one or two things. Whatever, sue him.  

But for some unexplained reason, this girl had serious hatred toward him. The type of hatred you’d think Mark did something absolutely horrible. Like, shooting her childhood pet or punching her elderly grandmother.

He never did any of those things or anything else. However, he must've done something to piss her off at some point to declare him public enemy #1.

“I’m going to throw acid at your face and make you blind if you don’t stop staring at me.”

“Nerds are usually smart, thanks for going against the stereotype.”

“I went to Loserville and the residents told me you were the mayor.”  

“Wow, you killed that, Mark! … Next time make it yourself.”

It was insult after insult every time he interacted with her.

“Dude, why do you keep trying to talk to her? It ends the same way every time.” William deadpanned after he witnessed yet another verbal attack on Mark, you walking away without sparing a single glance back. “Don’t tell me your one of those guys who get off on that sort of thing.”

“No! No! Why would you suggest that?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?” He flatly replied, raising his brow. “That girl clearly hates your guts! Yet everyday you try to talk to her as if she didn’t tell you to kill yourself the other day.”

“Eh, more like every day.”

“See! Hates you!”

“Your right, William. I’ll stop trying to be friends with her…”

“Atta boy!”

“… soon.”

“Come on, man!”

Then, when Mark’s powers kicked in and he became Invincible—he got busy and stopped trying to talk to you. Not that he lost interest didn't want to get to know you, but so much things were happening.

His eyes still wandered to you in class, noticing that your hair looked different so that must mean you went to another shopping spree and got a new shampoo or conditioner and other things—but Mark was busy trying to be the best he could be so interactions with you stopped.

That was until he saved your life during an attack as Invincible.

Holding the civilian in his arms tightly as he landed down, small bits of debris on his shoulders as he let out a small huff, he shifted his gaze around to see if any other civilians needed his attention. “It was a good thing I caught you in time.” Mark smiled, his eyes blinking behind his goggles as he looked down at the person he was holding in his arms.

His eyes widened in shock (though you couldn’t tell because of the goggles) when he realized who he had just saved.

Holy shit, it’s you.

And fuck, why were you staring at him so cute? Your eyes that would stare at him with hatred were instead filled with adoration and admiration as your hands were basically trembling holding your phone to your chest.

“I—uh—wow—um,” His voice was caught in his throat, his breath hitching as he wasn’t used to this type of look on you. You stared at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the whole world, and Mark could feel his stomach flip flop as he averted his gaze. “Are, are you hurt?” He squeezed the words out his throat, looking back at your wide eyes that were still filled with that adoration.

“Yes! Yes! I’m perfectly fine now, Invincible! Thank you so much!” You happily yelped, suddenly wrapping your arms around his neck. You squeezed tight, practically burying your face as if he was oxygen and you were trying to fill your lungs.

The scent of your shampoo filled his nose, and he recognized that it was the same one you used on Tuesday. It smelled good.

Play it cool, play it cool.

“N-No problem, citizen!”

“You’re the best Invincible, thank you so much! Thank you!’ You pulled away from the grip you had on his neck, “I’m going to follow you home!”

“What?”

“I-I mean, I’m so indebted to you!” You squealed like a fangirl. Your cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, your whole body shaking from not the adrenaline of almost being killed but instead because of the excitement of Invincible holding you. “Ever since you made your debut as a hero, I’ve been such a huge fan of yours! And now you’re here and y-you saved me!”

… You’re a fan?

He carefully let you down on the floor, your legs catching yourself as he turned around to hide the fact that his cheeks were burning a deep shade of red. “Please, uh, evacuate! It’s not safe in this area—I have to go, s-sorry."

“Anything for you! Stay safe Invincible!”

And anything for him indeed because after that day, you were always decked out in school with some sort of Invincible merchandise attached to you. Keychains, stickers, shirts, nails themed after his suit, and more. Jesus, you even changed the wallpaper on your phone and laptop to pictures of him!

“Wow, you really like that Invincible guy.” Will whistled, pointing out the chibi Invincible phone charm that was attached to your phone case.

“Of course I do! He’s the best hero ever. The coolest guy and the most handsomest!” You whipped around, bursting in happiness at the mention of Invincible. “You would be an idiot not to like him.” You eyed Mark at the ‘idiot’ part, before turning back to Will. “I always liked him when he first appeared on the news, but oh my fucking God after he saved my life, I had to make my love for him public!”

“W-What does that mean?” Mark asked, intrigued.

“What it fucking means, dipshit. It’s obvious.” You hissed, turning to him, “What fan doesn’t have a shrine to their idol? Their one and only? Are you stupid?”

That was not obvious—wait shrine?

“I have photographs of him, official and fan made merch, posters—everything! He’s basically my husband at this point.” You swayed in your seat, your cheeks turning pink with how you were shamelessly gushing about him. You continued to ramble as Mark Grayson stared in disbelief, the girl who hates him loves him at the same time.

You love Invincible but hate Mark.

That made Mark feel… weird. There were butterflies in his stomach as he continued to stare at you and his chest felt a little heavy. He was upset, but not at you—which is odd because it should be towards you—but instead toward himself? Towards Invincible that you were so excited at the thought of his superhero alter ego instead of him.

Was he jealous... of himself?

"How much do you like him?" Mark asked quietly, tilting his head.

"I'll let him crack me open." You sighed dreamily without a second of hesitation, and Mark choked on his spit as soon as he heard that. "Also, correct yourself—I don't just like him, I love him. Now, go away and stop bothering me, loser." You turned around in your seat before he could say that Will was the one to bother you first, not him.

He continued to stare at the back of your head, dumbfounded at how you were a big Invincible fan. A big fan of him.

The urge to turn you around and tell you that he was Invincible was strong. Not because he wanted to rub it in your face that the guy you actively hate on was actually your favorite superhero but because he wanted you to stare at him with those big eyes of adoration toward Mark Grayson, not Invincible.

...

Jesus, what was wrong with him?

This is kinda bad but uh, I tried :P Goodnight I have to wake up at 6 am dfjndfnsj

[merrybloomwrites]

A Livestream Love Story

Summary: Your story with Spencer, as told in a series of livestreams.

Word Count: 3.1K

AN: I got 2 requests (request 1, request 2) that had to do with livestreams, and decided to do a story much like my "Podcast Love Story" oneshot. Hope you enjoy!

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

Rocking Out In Guitar Hero 

“Are we live?” Spencer says as the livestream officially starts broadcasting. 

“It’s live,” Brennen answers from behind the camera. 

“Wait, actually right now?” Spencer asks. 

“Yes, right now,” Brennen confirms. 

“Wow, that was too chill,” Spencer says before launching into an explanation about today's livestream. He and Courtney will be playing Guitar Hero, and they’ve managed to upload some of their favorite songs to play. 

For the next half hour, they show off their skills for all the people watching. 

You’ve been busy filming another show and happen to end early, meaning you can pop in and watch them stream for a little while. You try not to be spotted, not wanting to interrupt of course, but also not wanting anyone to see the way you swoon over Spencer. 

The crush you’ve been harboring on him since you started working at Smosh has only continued to grow. Keeping it hidden has been getting more difficult, and peaking in to watch him now is probably a bad idea. 

Because for some reason, him absolutely effortlessly shredding on Guitar Hero is way more attractive than it has any right to be. You try not to stare too much, but the way his fingers move so dexterously on the keys has you feeling some sort of way. 

Of course you can’t hide for long, and soon enough Courtney is calling you over to join them. 

“Y/N, were you a guitar hero girlie?” Spencer asks. 

“Well I played a lot as a kid but it’s been awhile. Might be rusty,” you answer.  

“Give it a go,” Spencer says. He stands, shifting and brushing up against you in the small space. Trying not to blush at the contact you sit in his now empty chair and Courtney passes you the guitar. 

You scroll through the songs, reading comments from the chat as you try to find one you want to play. 

Seeing a comment about how well Spencer is playing, you say, “I feel like people don’t know how good of a guitar player you really are.”

“You actually do play guitar,” He says, leading you to reply, “Yea but you actually play guitar too!”

Courtney smiles watching the two of you compliment each other, then gets surprised when you hand her the controller asking her to pick a song for you. 

After finally settling on “That’s What You Get” by Paramore you put it on medium, not wanting to embarrass yourself by failing on hard mode. 

You begin to play, chatting with the others as you do and you’re pleasantly surprised by how well you do. You’re especially happy when Spencer compliments you at the end. 

Though you try it head out once you’re done, but Courtney encourages you to stay for one more song. You watch as Spencer plays “Five Nights at Freddy’s”. Since it’s one of the songs they uploaded, it only has one difficulty: extreme. 

That’s no problem for Spencer, as he begins to shred on this toy guitar, barely missing any notes. You dance around, covering up how badly you want to just stare at his hands as he plays. 

Once it’s done you compliment him another time before thanking them for having you on and leaving the stream. You have a meeting starting soon, but you detour to the bathroom for a minute. You take some deep breaths, splash a little water on your face, and tell yourself to get your feelings under control. 

We Stream Resident Evil 8 For The First Time

You’re not entirely sure how you got roped into this. Well, you kind of knew, but it all happened so fast! 

You weren’t supposed to be on this livestream. It was meant to be Spencer playing with Amanda and Angela watching, just like in the recorded series. 

But Angela came down with a stomach bug, and here you are, filling in for her. You’re not a big fan of these games, the jump scares and freaky characters really creeping you out. Which of course is the reason you got picked. Because they knew you’d have big reactions which makes for good entertainment. 

So while you don’t love these games, you confirm you’re on board when Spencer checks in with you right before streaming. 

The three of you get set up, you next to Spencer with Amanda behind the two of you. Before you know it, the stream begins, and Spencer starts explaining everything to the audience. 

It’s only a minute later that he starts the game, and the first jump scare occurs. You and Amanda both yell at him to get away from the monster, and he tells you guys that it’s a cutscene and he has no control yet. 

“Oh, Y/N, you should close your eyes,” Spencer says. “You won’t like this part.” 

Choosing to trust him, you shut your eyes until he says it’s safe to open. You’d heard Amanda shout out but couldn’t tell exactly what had happened. 

“Spencer just killed a pig!” She says when you turn to her, confused. 

“I had to! I needed to get food,” he says to defend himself. 

You’re glad that he’d warned you, since seeing that play out definitely would have upset you. 

As the stream continues, you start to get more into it, asking questions and even giving out some helpful ideas. 

There are a couple parts that make you anxious, and as though he can sense this, Spencer leans his leg against yours. It’s hidden beneath the desk, ensuring no one will see, and that simple connection helps you stay relaxed. 

At one point Spencer pauses, saying that he has a headache and is suddenly not feeling well. He asks for water and you don’t hesitate to grab yours to share with him, truly worried by him suddenly acting like this. But a moment later Alex hands him a bottle of water, and Spencer sprays some of it on his hand.

You and Amanda both shout out, realizing that this was just a bit, since the character is always healing himself by spraying water on his hand.

“We were worried about you!” Amanda yells at him.

He just laughs, and you roll your eyes fondly, admitting that he did a good job at fooling the two of you. It’s nearing the end of the stream, so he unpauses and plays a little longer.

Just before you hit the three hour mark, there’s one final jumpscare. It startles you so badly that you nearly tip your chair over and fall. Amanda quickly steadies the chair while Spencer reaches out to grab your arm.

It’s clear you’re flustered when you sit back up, and you hope people will assume it’s because you nearly fell, and not because of how it felt to have Spencer’s hand on you.

After the stream is over, Spencer thanks you for filling in at the last minute. And just like that, the three hours of anxiety and elevated heart rates is worth it.

Seriously Super Stupid Sleepover: Charity Livestream 

“Welcome to the Seriously Super Stupid Sleepover!” Ian shouts as the livestream officially starts. 

“For the first time ever, we are doing a 24 hour charity stream,” Anthony says. “This is for a cause near and dear to us, and we want to start by saying we appreciate every dollar you all donate over the next day.”

“We have lots of activities planned, and various guests will be joining us, so get ready!” Ian adds.

You’re sitting in the conference room with some of your coworkers, watching the start of the stream. Since it’s going from noon on Friday until noon on Saturday, you’ve all been given a schedule of the times you’re set to appear on screen.

It’s been a big undertaking planning for this, but you know it will be worth it. Not only is it for a good cause, but there’s the added bonus of everyone getting the following Monday and Tuesday off. 

You’re not actually appearing on screen until that evening, but once you’re on, you’re there for a while. You know you should try and squeeze a nap in at some point in the afternoon, but you know that you’re likely going to be too excited to manage that.

You watch as the squad kicks off the stream with a classic TNTL, followed by George Primavera leading some of the Games crew in a new tabletop RPG. This together fills the first couple of hours, and you decide to head back to your desk to continue doing some work there. 

“Hey, Y/N, dinner’s ready in the conference room,” Kiana says, bringing you back to reality. You’d gotten lost in your writing, and it was a surprise how much time had passed. You grab something to eat, and by the time you’re done, it’s past 7pm. No time to take a nap now, since you’re due to stream in less than an hour. So of course, you make yourself a latte using the new fancy machine in the kitchen, and drink it as you get yourself ready to appear live. 

The first show you’re appearing on is Beopardy. It’s one of your favorites, since you love trivia, and it gets your energy up for the night. You get a quick break while some pre-recorded content plays, and then you’re back on for Angela’s funeral roast. Due to the number of people involved, this one takes quite a while, and by the time that session is done, it’s already 10PM, and you’ve been on screen for nearly 3 straight hours. 

You get a short break while Anthony does an interview with Mac. During that time, the rest of you change into pajamas for the overnight portion of the stream. 

Now dressed in your starry pajama pants and oversized Smosh crewneck sweatshirt, you wander into the kitchen looking for a quick snack. 

Spencer notices when you walk in, and he gives you a smile as well as a package of your favorite cookies. You thank him with a shy smile of your own, and the two of you chat for a few minutes. 

You haven’t seen him for a while. He’d been on the stream early and had a break, during which he managed to squeeze in a nap. But now he’s back, joining you, Olivia, Courtney, and Noah for some classic sleepover games. 

You start with the awkward dance party, and then do the Urban Dictionary Challenge, where one of you reads out a term from urban dictionary and the rest have to guess the definition. 

As it nears midnight, you all settle on the couches for a couple of Jackbox games. Due to the late hour, it’s no surprise that the answers you all give grow sillier and sillier. 

In the very early hours of the morning, you find yourself on the couch, Spencer on one side, Amanda on the other. There are a few other people on chairs throughout the room, and you’re all set to play Geoguesser. 

Half of your group is very clearly hopped up on caffeine, especially Angela, while the other half is starting to fade with sleepiness. You fall into the second category. It’s especially hard to stay awake since this game doesn’t need too much input from you. 

Amanda notices your eyelids getting heavy and drops a blanket in your lap. You bring your legs up on the couch, curling them under you and wrap yourself in the blanket. Within seconds you’re cozy enough to fall asleep, but you fight off the drowsiness. Luckily, you recognize the next location to pop up, and it re-energizes you for a second as you lead the others to find the right place on the map. 

But that energy doesn’t last long, and soon your eyes start to droop shut again. Not realizing what you’re doing, you shift to get comfortable, your head resting on Spencer’s shoulder. The rest of the group notices that you’re asleep, and while they make a couple jokes about it, no one tries to bother you and wake you up. 

You stay like that for the next twenty minutes as they finish playing the game. Occasionally you’ll move and snuggle closer to Spencer, and he does his best to hide the pleased smiles that your actions cause. It’s clear to anyone paying attention how soft he truly is for you.

When the segment ends another pre-recorded commercial airs, giving you all some time to exit the set. 

Spencer gently nudges you until he sees your eyes blink open. You’re confused, then embarrassed, but overall, what you feel most is tired. 

“C’mon, let’s get you to the lounge, they’ve got beds set up,” he says. Spencer then wraps his arms around you, helping you stand and guiding you to one of the free air mattresses. You’re both quiet, not wanting to wake anyone who’s already asleep. 

You lay down and Spencer tucks the blanket around you, saying a soft goodnight before finding a mattress of his own. 

A few hours later you wake up, still groggy but at least somewhat rested. Looking around you see a few people still sleeping, so you tiptoe out of the room. 

You get dressed and freshen up, knowing you’ll be appearing in the stream one more time. All cast is expected to participate for the last hour, making sure to close out the stream with a bang. 

There are a few people hanging in the conference room so you grab some breakfast and join them. You stay there for a bit, and a minute before you’re going to head back to the set, Spencer walks in. 

Suddenly, memories of the night before enter your brain, and you realize what had happened. What you’d done. 

You’d fallen asleep, on the live, with your head on Spencer’s shoulder. 

And you’re now mortified. Spencer gives you a soft smile, but you don’t have a chance to talk to him since you need to get back to the stream. 

One last commercial break airs, allowing you all to get set up. When you’re live again, everyone starts to banter, talking about the last day. You’re happy to hear that you weren’t the only one to fall asleep in front of everyone, though it seems you were the only one who used a coworker as a pillow. 

Finally, it’s time for Anthony and Ian to wrap everything up. They thank the audience for all the kind donations, and suddenly, the stream is over. 

A couple crew members who weren’t working overnight are set to drive everyone home, so that no one drives while sleep deprived. Which means you don’t get a chance to talk to Spencer before leaving, as you don’t want to hold up the other people in your car. 

Then comes the long weekend. Which is lovely and a nice, well appreciated break. But you can’t stop thinking about what happened Thursday night. You’ve already seen the moment clipped and giffed online, people clearly starting to ship the two of you. 

Even after days of thinking of what to say, you still avoid Spencer when you do get back to work. You’re embarrassed by your actions, and afraid of what he might think of you. But at the end of the day, Spencer asks you to talk, and you take a deep breath, knowing you can’t avoid this any longer.

The two of you sit in an empty office, and it’s quiet for a moment. You bite the bullet and break the silence, saying, “Sorry for passing out on you the other night.”

Spencer shifts in his seat, and you hate that you’ve clearly made him uncomfortable. But then his answer is something you never would have expected. 

“Truthfully, I didn’t mind. I uhm, it was nice. I liked that you were close to me,” he says. You notice the way he looks down as he says it, the slight pink on his cheeks that wasn’t there before. 

“Really?” you ask and he nods, his confirmation giving you the confidence to admit, “I liked it too.”

“You did?”

“I did. I mean, I know I was asleep but I’ve seen some of the gifs and it just makes me happy.”

Spencer takes a deep breath and says, “Y/N, do you want to go on a date? With me?”

You’re surprised by the question, but quickly steady yourself enough to answer, “I would like that.”

And just like that, a moment you thought would forever embarrass you has instead led to the happiest outcome. 

Teaching Y/N Fortnight

It’s been a few months since the charity livestream and the subsequent start of your and Spencer’s relationship. You haven’t exactly gone public with it, but you haven’t kept it a total secret either. Fans have started to speculate, and you guys are okay with that.

You’re just not ready to make it publicly official yet.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and you’re once again getting ready to do a livestream, this time one where Spencer will be teaching you to play Fortnight. 

He gives you a quick kiss before you both settle in for the stream, and it causes you to smile, as his shows of affection always do.

Making sure to be professional, you turn to the camera as Alex gives you the warning that the livestream is about to begin. Spencer does the intro, then gets into teaching you all of the controls and objectives of the game. 

A few minutes in, there’s a slight issue that leads to Spencer having to leave the room to fix something, while Alex sits at the computer to solve the problem on that end. 

While this is happening you’re trying to keep the viewers entertained, making jokes and telling some stories that you hope they’ll find interesting. 

“You know, I have to admit something,” you say.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Alex questions.

“I’ve played Fortnight before. Not enough to be good! But like, I kind of already know all the basic stuff.”

“So why let Spencer explain it all?” Alex asks.

“He just gets so excited to teach! It’s cute,” you explain.

And yea, you know the fans will be freaking out with that moment. And this being a livestream, you get to see those comments in real time.

Once the tech problem is solved, Spencer comes back and sees the way chat is freaking out, and asks what happened. Without hesitation, the viewers immediately tell him your admission, leading to him pretending like his pride has been ruined. 

But when he sees why you kept the secret from him, he can’t help but melt a little inside.

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

AN: Thank you for reading, and thank you to those who sent in the requests that made this happen!

[angellic4l]

custom colour - d.m

in which; gf!reader really wants to colour in derek’s tattoos, so she has to be creative in convincing him.

content: established relationship!!, PURE FLUFF, derek is gone on reader, reader technically manipulates him but she’s just a girl, brief mention of reader’s parents having a loveless relationship, one mention of them working together but you can ignore it if you want, makeup used but not on reader.

a/n: SHES BACK!! i have another derek drabble written for this week to keep you all fed and i hope to write spencer on the weekend but we’ll see how that goes. this is for @floraisunwell 🫶🏽 thank you @esote-rika for the title and thank you @darkmatilda for ideas. kisses!!

After a week’s long case in another state and seven nights in an unfamiliar bed, you and your boyfriend typically eradicate it all from memory with a ritual that’s become almost instinctual over the time you’ve been together. 

Firstly, you both have showers separately - and take however long you want - to wash everything ‘tainted’ from yourselves. Afterwards, the pair of you get into your comfiest pyjamas and order from Lou’s (your favourite chinese takeout) to make up for the lack of food consumed in recent days. Finally, it’s all followed by heading to bed for a restful and long sleep in your own bed.

That’s how tonight was supposed to go, anyway, but instead you find yourself just about to turn off the lamp when Derek simply mumbles;

“Goodnight, babygirl.”

“Oh, so we’re just friends now? Got it,” is your response before turning off the lamp on your bedside table, rolling away from him in bed, and hauling the duvet over your shoulder. 

Unfortunately for you, growing up with two sisters means that your boyfriend isn’t about to let this slide, and so he’s reaching over you and turning on the lamp just as fast as it’s gone out. He positions himself half leaning above you so that it’s impossible to get comfortable no matter how hard you may try. You don’t.

“Hold on now, what was that for?”

“Nothing, s’fine.”

“Clearly, something is bothering you,” his hand strokes your hair gently, “Talk to me, beautiful.”

With a resigned sigh, you sit yourself up in bed, him moving with you to allow the room for such a manoeuver. When thinking about how to properly express yourself, you realise it may be a tiny bit petty, however Derek is visibly tired. Much to his chagrin, you’ve just figured out a way to work this to your favour. 

“You never call me ‘babygirl’ ‘cause that’s Penny’s nickname. It’s reserved for her and only her, just like how you never call her ‘Princess’ because that’s for me. Calling me ‘babygirl’ just made me feel different.”

Realisation slowly starts to catch up with Derek and his face conveys it, albeit slower than normal because of how tired he is. The plan is falling into place. Now, other people may think this is horrible - manipulating your clearly exhausted and loving boyfriend over a small slip he made, that is. But you? Oh, you think this is genius. 

Hook.

“I can understand that. Different, how though, sugar?”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this about yourself, but you separate nicknames depending on the person and the relationship you have with them. You calling me ‘babygirl’ made me feel like a friend.”

“It wasn’t intentional, but I can see why. ‘M just still not getting what warranted your reaction to it.”

Another sigh is elicited from your lips, purely performative of course, but Derek’s none the wiser to your shenanigans. Instead of seeing right through you, he reaches for your hand and starts stroking the backs of your knuckles with his thumb in a supportive gesture. 

Line.

“Because, sometimes I wonder if you’re falling out of love with me but won’t tell me.”

Maybe a little too far, but it’s not exactly a whole lie. The thought definitely crosses your mind after hearing another story about someone being trapped in a loveless relationship - even more so when your mother drunkenly tells you about hers with your father. 

Within an instant, despite his hastened reaction time, Derek is pulling you into his chest with the hand he previously held and stroking your hair while he lets you rest against him. It’s not long before the sweet reassurances come and he’s offering ‘anything and everything’ to you. 

“Oh, sugar, I promise I never wanted you to feel that way,” a kiss to your forehead and then, “I love you, and I will always love you.”

“I love you, too. It’s fine, I guess.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better? I swear, I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

Sinker.

“M’not sure…” You tilt your head to look up at him, flutter your lashes, and follow up with, “maybe one thing?”

“Anything, princess.”

“I know I asked and you said no-”

“-We are not getting a puppy.”

“It’s not that! I think I’d feel better if you let me colour in your tattoos. Just the arm ones!”

Derek refrains from raising his forefinger and thumb to pinch his nose, swallows the sigh that’d follow it, and slowly nods instead. As tired as he is, it’s not like he has to do much in this scenario, and getting his girlfriend to stop being upset with him is the most desirable option in this situation.

Any and all ‘hurt’ disappears from your face, the petulant frown almost instantly being replaced with an excited grin as you jump up from the bed to grab what you need. Luckily, Derek is much too busy thinking about how on Earth you’ve managed to get him wrapped around your little finger to notice just how quick the change was. 

After practically running up and down the room, you return with a small makeup bag and a few brushes. Sitting cross legged, adjacent to the side of him, you begin to unpack everything you’d previously shoved in there and start placing them on your thigh. Derek spots a palette of sparkling eyeshadow, and then another, before eventually he speaks up. 

“Uh-uh, you are not putting that stuff on me.”

“You said anything and I chose this. Now be quiet and hold still for me, yeah?”

A huff escapes him, yet he resigns and holds his right arm out for you, placing his wrist on your empty leg. A sense of victory washes over you and you hum in contentment while spreading primer across the three ‘S’s that adorn his upper arm. Once the primer is evenly distributed, you go to find one of the brushes that’s seemingly fallen off of your leg and onto the mattress.

Unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend picks up a palette of eyeshadow and opens it, browsing the colour options of glittery powder. A brush now in hand, your eyes return to him, furrowing your eyebrows at his sleepy eyes moving over each square. Eventually, he turns the palette around to face you and points at a shade of red. 

“Can you use this one, princess?”

“You said no to this last week and now you’re picking custom colours?”

“Hey, it’s my arm this is going on.”

“Why, yes, sweet lover of mine, I will use ‘Love Letter’. Just for you.”

If you were any other girl in the world, Derek swears he’d be rolling his eyes at your antics, but instead he just shakes his head with a tired smile, because you’re not just any other girl in the world. You’re his girl, who somehow turned a womaniser into the most whipped man on Earth. 

Once you begin outlining the tattoo with the shade he’d requested, Derek finds the soft swipes of the brush against his skin actually somewhat soothing. Too busy with your ministrations, you aren’t all that aware of how his eyes begin to flutter until they remain permanently closed. In fact, it’s only when there’s a soft snore from him that you realise he’s finally succumbed to sleep. 

Abusing the fact he’s asleep and pliant, you take your time with outlining each line of the three ‘S’s, using slow brush strokes to carry the task out with the fine precision you’d always imagined doing this with. 

Finishing the last few details, a small yawn bubbles up your throat. After spraying his arm with your best setting spray, you take it as a sign to finally head to bed yourself, packing all of the makeup back into the bag and placing it on the nightstand. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Derek wakes up before you the next morning, as usual, because he sets his alarm an hour and forty five minutes earlier than yours so that he can use the gym. When he’s getting changed, he notices blue glitter on his arm out of the corner of his eye, which leads him to stand sideways in front of the mirror. The sight brings the memory of what you’d done last night back and he finds himself shaking his head at it once more despite the massive grin on his face. 

In the bathroom, he stares at the canvas you’d made of his arm in the cabinet mirror for a moment longer, admiring it before eventually wiping it clean from his arm and then continuing about getting ready for the gym. Before he leaves, he comes into the bedroom to kiss you goodbye - as he often does, even if you’re never awake to reciprocate it. 

“You’re some woman, getting me to agree to that. my woman, though, huh.”

With that, he plants his lip on your forehead and cheek for good measure before standing up and leaving your shared bedroom. You wonder if he noticed the smile on your face and if he knew you were definitely not asleep that time.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller. 

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as. 

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down. 

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen. 

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual. 

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space. 

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer. 

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant. 

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames. 

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal. 

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.” 

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.” 

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble. 

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead. 

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell. 

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?” 

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...” 

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.” 

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer. 

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron. 

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.” 

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job. 

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun. 

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.” 

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks. 

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around. 

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals. 

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you. 

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask. 

“Black’s fine,” he assures. 

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.” 

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?” 

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?” 

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?” 

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you. 

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.” 

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.” 

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner. 

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.” 

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.” 

He gives a gentle smile. 

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.” 

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.” 

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV. 

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly. 

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.” 

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases. 

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.” 

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.” 

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts. 

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?” 

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.” 

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders. 

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug. 

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.” 

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.” 

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you. 

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself. 

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly. 

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.” 

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.” 

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles. 

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?” 

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.” 

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?” 

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks. 

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?” 

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.” 

“Alright,” you back away and turn back. 

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter. 

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself. 

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor. 

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there. 

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him. 

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?” 

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.” 

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.” 

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?” 

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.” 

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own. 

“Do you sing?” He asks. 

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter. 

“Ah,” Steve nods. 

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.” 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says. 

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place. 

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table. 

[teapartyprincess4two]

omg can you make a chris version to the talkative fic? my english isn’t very good i apology if this doesn’t make sense!

Talkative- C. Sturniolo

pairing: Yapper!reader x Boyfriend!Chris

classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons

inspiration: request^^

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Chris with a talkative, yapper girlfriend!

Talkative- M. Sturniolo (Matt’s Version)

Talkative- N. Sturniolo (Nick’s Version)

—

☆ SFW

You love to talk and that’s something Chris has loved about you from the moment he met you. He, much like you, is extremely extroverted, but every girl he’s talked to in the past has always found him to be too much. You’re his perfect match and although he also likes to talk, he loves to listen too.

☆ Chris never gets tired of hearing you talk, “Babe tell me the story about the teddy bear again.”

☆ You retell stories in such a detailed way that he can’t help but burst into laughter even if he’s heard it before.

☆ When you talk about your friends, it’s like you’re explaining their lore in full detail each time.

☆ “No, babe, that was Savannah. I’m talking about Teala,” or “Dude, I’m telling you that’s why they fired that bitch.”

☆ He has all the characters memorized, even categorizing their lives into arcs, episodes, and seasons.

☆ “Wow Teala is in her villain arc,” and “On this weeks episode of, Who the Fuck is Getting Fired!”

☆ He loves asking you questions because you somehow know the answer to everything.

☆ You’ll be eating dinner and suddenly a random question will pop into his mind, “Y/n, what does litigate mean? I heard someone use it today, sounded fancy.”

☆ You look up at him mid bite, slightly confused but also intrigued at a new topic of conversation.

☆ “I think it has something to do with the law, I don’t know, babe. But one time I heard someone say that on one of those court shows…” you drone on for a while.

☆ Chris always Googles the answers afterwards, not because he doesn’t believe you, but because he truly thinks you’re the smartest person on this planet and you haven’t been wrong yet.

☆ You’re both equally insane, you’ll laugh like crazy people no matter where you are.

☆ You tell the best jokes too, your mind works so fast that you’re able to create comebacks and quick, witty remarks to everything he says.

☆ Sometimes you’ll join him and his brothers on grocery trips, and the both of you wander off just completely in your own world.

☆ You’re the only person who can catch Chris off guard.

☆ You’ll say something completely unexpected and outlandish, causing him to pause whatever he’s doing and stare at you in shock.

☆ “Babe! No way you just said that.”

☆ “I said it, and I’ll say it again.”

☆ When you’re with friends, you tend to talk over each other and your friends almost break their necks switching their attention between you and Chris.

☆ To other people it might seem like you’re fighting each other for the spotlight, but in reality you’re able to bounce off each other’s energy and add on to whatever the other says.

☆ He knows what it’s like to be called annoying, so if anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable for being talkative he defends you without hesitation.

☆ “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t say shit like that about her.”

☆ Every conversation you have is full of inside jokes that no one else can keep up with, and it’s literally something new every week.

☆ Although other people are confused by the jokes, you and Chris understand each other fully, almost like you speak your own made up language.

☆ You make each other laugh so hard that your cheeks and ribs will start hurting.

☆ “Chris stop! I’m gonna pee,” you wheeze, rolling over on your side as you try to catch your breath.

☆ He keeps going though, making you laugh harder by making silly faces and funny voices through his story.

☆ After long days of filming and being away from you, he’ll cuddle up next to you in bed and murmur through the drowsiness, “Talk to me baby.”

☆ You know he’s tired so you don’t talk his ear off at a high energy, you just retell your day and play with his hair, kissing his face between sentences.

☆ He loves the sound of your voice, each word as sweet as honey, instantly lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

☆ You’re very opinionated and sometimes you say something he disagrees with, instantly creating a debate between the two of you.

☆ The debates always start off innocent, just you two going back and forth with opinions and the occasional fact.

☆ It’s not until it gets personal that Chris gets upset, giving you the silent treatment until you’re begging for him to talk to you again.

☆ “Chris, I’m sorry! Just talk to me, I’m so bored without you!” He tries putting on a tough guy act, but it never lasts long so he’s forgiving you within seconds.

☆ When you’re around older people, they always comment on what a nice, kind couple you two are because you engage in conversation with everyone.

☆ “What a nice old lady,” Chris says, slinging an arm around you as you both walk away.

☆ “Such wisdom,” you chime in, both of you falling into a fit of laughter. You could never take anything serious.

☆ NSFW

☆ Chris knows not to look too into your conversations with other guys, but sometimes he can’t help but get jealous.

☆ He’ll lose you at a party and find you talking to a stranger, an excited aura surrounding you as you jump from topic to topic.

☆ When he sees the guy becoming too comfortable and touchy, he makes his way over to you and inserts himself in the conversation.

☆ Later, he’s fucking you to teach you a lesson and clamping a strong hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, “This dirty little mouth of yours got you in trouble, Princess.”

☆ Other times he just gets turned on by your voice.

☆ He wants you to talk him through the sex and guide him on what positions you want.

☆ “C’mon baby, tell me how bad you want it.”

☆ Despite you both being talkative, there’s times when you’re so fucked out you’re speechless.

☆ The only sound that fills the room is skin slapping and Chris’s animalistic grunts, followed by your whimpers and small squeaks.

☆ He relishes in it, “This dick has you speechless, huh?”

☆ All he gets in response is a whimper, as you claw at his back for support.

☆ Chris loves when you dirty talk him, using your words to say filthy things to him.

☆ It riles him up beyond belief, and if you keep it going he’s lasting at least 3 rounds.

☆ Afterwards, he loves cuddling or spooning, both of you talking for hours about your future together.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Happy birthday to me! (It was yesterday at this point)

Thank you for this request and NEVER apologize for your English/ grammar. I’m a bilingual education major and I firmly believe you don’t need to apologize for that EVER. I luv u!

Also I’m bilingual (English & Spanish) If any of yall ever want to send in a request in Spanish, go ahead bbys! LOS AMO 💋💋💋

Lastly, I’ll admit that this was harder to write than Matt’s version idky

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[baby-yongbok]

Don't Go Insane

Neighbor!Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✧Genre - Smut ✧Warnings: Unprotected piv (Wrap it up ya'll) ✧ Masterlist ✧

A/N: I have never ever written a fic in this format but it was the only was for my brain to process the idea😭This is a product of those fucking SINFUL photos that Chan took for Nylon Japan. I'm sorry if it sucks, I'm trying to get back into writing again so I might suck for a bit, sorry! Hope you enjoy! (not proofread)

You weren't expecting to actually like your new neighbor since your previous one was such a dick but when you meet Chan he's more than kind to you. 

He always greets you in the hallway, helping you bring your bags up to your place when you get home from shopping and checks in on you when he hasn't seen you for a couple of days

You find yourself going out around the same time that he would usually get home from his morning workout just so you can talk to him. He's so sweet and charming and hot. Oh so hot. 

He brings you food when he's made too much dinner to fit in his fridge which is code for he wanted an excuse to talk to you and gave you 50% of his meal just to see your face. 

You invite him in to eat the first time that he brings you food and it quickly turns into spending Sunday nights eating together and laughing at his stories. It's your favorite day of the week now. 

You drop by his place to ask if he needs anything from the store every time that you go now. He's memorized the pattern of your knock and jumps to his feet every time he hears it. 

You're in line at the store one day when a magazine catches your eye. Is that…Chan!? You grab it, looking through with wide eyes before buying it and nearly forgetting about the rest of your items. 

You don't tell him that you saw it. He never said what he did for work and yeah he's hot - Oh so hot - but you never thought that this would be his occupation and you defiantly didn't think that this is how you'd find out.

You flip through the magazine all night. Staring at his beautiful chocolate gaze and his perfectly blushed lips. How is he even real?

You may have also stared at his shirtless pics for an hour too long. No one has to know that though.

He brings over a new recipe that he tried this Sunday. Setting up your usual spot on the living room floor when his eyes land on a familiar photo on your side table. It's him. You bought his magazine? He tries to act normal about it but his red ears and blushed cheeks give him away. 

You catch on when he glances at it for a second time and you internally body slam yourself for forgetting to put it away. You both eat quietly, blushing and trying to find the right thing to say next. 

“I'm sorry about that.” You speak first and he glances up quickly, straightening himself up with a shy smile. “It's fine, I'm just embarrassed I guess.” He's shy about being hot?? Why does that make him hotter?

“Are you always the shy type?” Your question was genuine but your tone was suggestive, almost teasing. It creates a shift in his demeanor that makes you shiver. “Not always, no.”

You don't know how it happened. It's all a blur. One second he was talking to you, confident and sweet. He was telling you about the shoot for the magazine when he got to the topic of the shirtless photos. The air around you thickened and the words that started it all slid off your tongue.

“You look so good it could drive me insane.” You chuckled but his eyes darkened in response. 

“Do you want me to?” His eyes are on yours, his gaze is heavy and intense. “What?” You drop your fork, swallowing hard. “Make you go insane?”

That's how you ended up with his lips on yours. He swallowed each and every strangled moan and replaced it with one of his own. His hands explored your body, fast yet cautious. A gentleman.

He pulls you into his lap, one of his large palms gripping your ass over your leggings and the other cupping your cheek to keep you still for him. He pulls you close, chest to chest. He's been waiting to feel you since the moment he first saw you. He feels like he's dreaming and he prays that he never wakes up. 

His breathing picks up when you plant sloppy kisses along his jawline. Mind numbing groans and hisses falling from his lips. “You're gonna make me go insane, fuck.”

His lips feel like heaven against your skin. Soft and all-consuming. He leaves marks along your collar bones, sucking and flicking his tongue over the delicate skin. Your head is spinning as you take him in. This beautiful man that you've been dreaming of for months finally has his hands on you. 

You grind against him, his fingers digging into your hips as he presses up into you. The way that he looks up at you with his lip caught between his teeth is intoxicating. “You're so fucking beautiful.” He smiles at your compliment, blinking a blush away and trying to keep his composure. “Took the words right outta my mouth.”

You pull back, sitting on the shaggy rug and frantically undressing. You're desperate, antsy, absolutely insatiable and Chan isn't too far behind but you could never tell by how composed he looks. How does he have that much self control?

He moves to sit on the couch and watches you as you strip. Taking in every beautiful inch of your body while he makes himself comfortable. You look up at him as he sits, man spreading at the edge of your couch and giving you the perfect view of his aching cock straining against his jeans. 

Fucking sinful

"Crawl to me, baby. Come here." He beckons you with two fingers that you're dying to be acquainted with. The smile on his face while you follow his order is enough to make you explode already.

He leans forward, cupping your face and kissing you with such soft hunger. So much passion and desire. A promise, like his kiss is asking you to be his. You palm him softly over his jeans earning a soft moan from him. "You want it?” He leans back, resting against the back of your sofa, giving you full access to his zipper and button. “Go ahead, take it, princess."

His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he watches you free his cock and his eyes roll back when you fist it confidently. Pumping him at a deliciously slow place. You want to drag this out. You don't ever want this to end. 

He puts his hand over yours once he gets fed up with your teasing. He loves how your hand feels around him but he needs more of you. He taps his leaking cock against your lips and you allow your spit to dribble down his shaft. "Stick that tongue out. There we go, baby. That's my girl. Look at that.”

He holds your hair back as you slide his length into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. His fingers massage your scalp softly making you hum around him. He's a gentleman, a filthy one. 

He couldn’t wait to switch places with you, falling to his knees so fluidly that you couldn’t help but to groan at the sight of him. His gaze never left yours. His eyes were constantly asking for permission to continue and you eagerly granted it every time.

He ate your pussy like a fucking starved man. Lick and sucking the expanse of your cunt like he’d never see you again. Your moans encouraged him as he lapped at you, he wanted - no, needed - you to cum on his tongue. It’s all that he’s been dreaming of for the last month. 

He made you cum twice and had to hold back the urge to keep going. He’s definitely found his new favorite thing.

Nevermind, kissing you is his favorite thing. The way that you sigh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue and biting his bottom lip drives him wild. 

You’re seeing stars as soon as he slips into you. His strong arms on either side of your head as he hovers, kissing you softly as you adjust to him. “Fuck, you’re a dream come true, ya know that? I’ve dreamt of this, princess.” You can hardly reply once he fills you to the hilt but you try to anyway, moaning out as your vision blurs. “Wanted you so bad, Channie.”

That was enough to break him. He snapped his hips into you, giving you everything that you ever wanted, ever needed, from him. He fucks you deep, speeding up gradually just to hear you moan his name a little louder. He wants to be gentle with you but with a cunt that feels this amazing he can’t help but want to make you fall apart underneath him.

You always imagined being on top when you finally got to be with Chan but it looks like that’ll have to be another day. The way that his cock is splitting you open makes you feel like you might have to call out of work tomorrow. 

“Look at me, babygirl. You liked seeing my pictures, huh? Did you touch this pretty cunt while looking at them?” You nod your head with such urgency that you’re positive that you look absolutely pathetic but Chan thinks that it’s cute, he’s in love with how fucked out you look drooling under him. “All you had to do was ask for the real thing.” He rolls his hips into you and your eyes roll back right after. 

He holds both of your hands as he slows down a bit, he wants to make love to you. Wants to treat you like the precious gem that he knows that you are but your cunt keeps fucking squeezing around him. He curses under his breath as he tries to compose himself but it’s no use. He watches as he disappears inside of you, groaning when he sees just how perfectly your pussy is taking him. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby. You’re too much. Too good.” 

Much to his surprise you cave before he does, chanting his name like a prayer while he rocks into you at the perfect angle. You feel dizzy as you unravel under him, nails digging into his strong arms and your legs wrapping around his waist in a desperate attempt to feel grounded. 

The way that you look cumming on his cock drives him over the edge. He picks up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm while he’s chasing his. The overstimulation draws out your climax causing a new wave of pleasure to hit you harder than the last. “Yeah yeah yeah, oh fuck such a pretty girl cumming on my cock like that, that's it baby.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying but he doesn’t care he’s so close so so so close.

You forced your eyes open when he pulled out, you needed to watch him stroke himself over the edge and cover your stomach in his cum. You need to take in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his brows furrow while he moans for you. “Oh fuck fuck fuck.”

The giggles that you share after may be Chan’s new favorite part. He cleaned you up and wrapped his arms around you. Pressing kisses to your hair as you both talk about what just happened with smiles on your faces 

“This is a bit backwards but uh, can I take you out? Maybe next weekend?” The butterflies in your stomach go crazy as you blush into his chest, nodding happily and answering with a muffled ‘yes’ that makes Chan chuckle. “Maybe afterward I can fuck the sense back into ya, since I drove you insane tonight.”

[hookedonhuge]

Write a story about a man so muscular, huge pecs, that makes a straight man cross over!!!

Falling For His Chest

I love being straight. It’s not just about being attracted to women, I’m very comfortable in my sexuality but I am not some fuckboy. What I love about being straight is the relationships I have with other guys, my bros. Without sexuality in the way, I can forge pure friendships with my bros. Friendships that are deep and vulnerable, yet are fun and boisterous; unafraid to be our most masculine selves.

It may come as no surprise that the gym is essentially my second home. One thing I care deeply about is growth. I have no interest in being friends with guys who aren’t interested in personal growth. My bros and I, we share a dedication to personal development, especially with our bodies. I don’t care where any guy is at with their life, what matters is the desire and the willingness to keep improving themselves every single day. That’s the difference between a guy and bro to me.

I mention all this because there is this new guy in the office. First thing I notice as he walks in is his huge manly chest that is straining against his shirt. This guy is a total bro with his big chest, big arms, big legs, big glutes; all stretching out his tight work clothes.

We hit it off immediately. We talk about the gym and what workouts we do as well as dieting. It isn’t long before I tell him to let those big pecs breathe and he unbuttons his shirt revealing his amazing chest. He starts grabbing his own pecs, so proud of his body. As he should be, he worked hard for them. After that exchange we lock in a workout together at the gym after work.

I can’t focus on my work for the rest of the day. My thoughts are filled with the image of him groping his own pecs. There was something really sensual about the way he was so focused on feeling the mass of that thick chest of his. Completely in the moment, admiring his own greatness. I can’t help but grab own large pecs under my shirt, and I feel a warmth in my crotch as I think about how big I am.

After what felt like an eternity, the work day ended and it was finally time to meet up with my co-worker at the gym. It's chest day for him and I’m happy to join him in that. I get to spot him as he bench presses like a god. I stare at his massive chest while he methodically moves the heavy weight up and down. I don’t even realise as my crotch slowly begins to obscure my view of his face.

After we both finish up, my coworker gives me a strange cocky look. “You clearly like what you see,” he says with a grin.

“Of course bro, you are a work of art!” It’s true. He is standing there glistening with a heavenly glow like some combination of super model and god.

“Go on, have a feel. I know you want to.” He takes off his gym shirt as he says this.

I don’t hesitate to reach for his chest. The friction I feel as I glide across his chest hair is at odds with his sweat which helps my hand slide over his chest even more smoothly. As I reach the end of his expansive chest, I stop to give one of his pecs a grab. I shake that beefy pec in my hand, feeling the hard strength of the muscle which also has a soft cushiony quality to it.

My whole world is zoned into his chest and I’m shaken out of it when he grabs my crotch. I had not realised the tent that had formed in my shorts during this exchange, but he had realised and took the opportunity. It feels weird to have my cock stroked through the thin fabric of my shorts by this man, but at this moment I don’t question it.

“Shall we go to my place?” I nod at his proposition.

Fast forward a little bit to where I am now, where I have the perfect view of him. His defined six pack abs are like a road which my gaze journeys up to the underside of his perfect chest. His mountainous pecs frame his gorgeous face with his hands behind his head, angling that face towards me. This also gives me a view of his large arms which have a tuft of dark pit hair peeking out underneath them beside those glorious pecs. His is mouth slightly agape and eyes twitch as he basks in the ecstasy of having his fat cock slide in and out of my throat.

The next day at work, I greet him with a passionate kiss on the lips for the whole office to see. This is my bro and I’m his bro. I am not ashamed of this despite the shock and surprise of those around me. I struggle to imagine a time without him or his chest, even though I just met him yesterday.

[smallestapplin]

Hi, if you have some free time and energy for this, could you please make a headcanon on yandere Blurr, Bumblebee, Jettwins, Sideswipe&Sunstreaker and Jazz with human!reader. At your discretion, you can choose any of them.

I send you smooches. I went with Jazz, Sunstreaker&Sideswipe, and bumblebee ^^

Authors note after I finished writing this ; I just saw you put Jettwins in here and I so could’ve not I’m blind as fuck apparently, I love them your honor.

Warnings : unhealthy behavior, stalking, manipulation, aggression, implied murder.

Minors do not interact! Adults only please.

-

-

-

Jazz

- Jazz is nothing short of calculating. He’s so friendly and charming it’s easy to overlook a lot. He’s always so much fun to hang out with, taking drives, blast music, you get to show him all your favorite secret spots, and listen to him tell you stories from Cybertron. He’s so easy to bond with, you don’t realize what’s happening.

- You don’t notice it at first, why would you when Jazz keeps your attention on him, always greeting you with a ‘there’s my sweetspark!’ And ready to take you out, just you and him. You don’t notice your other friends leaving one by one until all you have is Jazz, exactly what he wanted.

- Oh how happy he is when you come to him in search of comfort, how thrilled he is knowing he’s all you have left. Humans are similar to cybertronians this way, needing companionship and clinging to it when they have previously been denied.

- He’s so attentive and sweet, affectionate and protective, you swear you couldn’t get any luckier.

- So why is Prowl, a bot who’s been more or less rude to you, suddenly so worried about your safety? Why is Optimus trying to seperate you and jazz so often, by sending him on missions more? It doesn’t make sense to you, Jazz is their friend surely they know they can trust him, right?

- It’s not lost on Jazz what his friends and co-workers are doing, he knows good and well, but making a fuss will only confirm their suspicions. So what he made a few cons disappear, so what he knocked out Hound for getting too close, it was all for you!

- Jazz slowly isolates you, he’s all you need, he’s all you could ever want, and his smile is dangerous when he realizes how well it’s working, how he’s turning you against the other bots just for you to cling to him more.

- There is not need to force you against your will, when you come to him willingly and arms open for him. His engines purrs everytime your sweet voice calls his name. You don’t need to know how much energon is on his servos, all in the name of protecting you, and keeping you at his side.

-

-

-

Sunstreaker&Sideswipe

- it’s a miracle you count their attention in the first place with their clear wariness and distain for humans, but with time, space, and some kindness on your part you have them hook line and sinker. It’s often clear as day too, they two aren’t very subtle about their affection or protectiveness, so much so it causes problems for the autobots as the brothers fight anyone who isn’t the other for getting close to you.

- You can’t sneak away from them either, one of them is always around you and if the rare chance they are both gone, you may try and you may even get a few hours of peace, but these speedsters do not waste a moment to find you. Their engine loud from how fast they are going. You can’t leave them so easily.

- Sideswipe is more affectionate with you, often carrying you around on his shoulder, spark chamber, or in his servo. Giving you very gently head bonks, and always trying to pet you. Being gentle is hard but he does it for you. He keeps you close like this so no one can get to you, or talk to you without talking to him first.

- Sunstreaker is much more stand offish, he likes being in the same room as you, cleaning you, and taking you on drives, or making you watch him race and do crazy stunts. He’s pretty, he knows it, he wants you to find him pretty too, so why do you keep looking at him so nervously?

- Both are extremely possesive with you, you’re not allowed any bot to talk to don’t even look at another it gets them heated. Both are unstable, neither aware of what they are doing is wrong, they convinced themselves they are in the right, that this is all for you, they love you, you are their little darling, so why do you try and leave? Are they not enough for you, do you need more? What do those others bots have that they don’t?

- You never ask where that energon on their face or servos came from, at this point you’re too scared to ask. Maybe if you play along for a while you can find a way out.

-

-

Bumblebee

- Bumblebee is fine at first, hes a sweetheart to you! So much fun to hang out with, always something to do, even being bored with him is fun cause it’s with him! And he loves it too, who knew humanity had so much more too offer, then just this little section of the world? And he’s experiencing it all with you, which makes his spark soar. Oh yes, his love for you starts off so pure, so adoring, so attentive.

- He doesn’t know when it started, but slowly his mind fills with darker thoughts, his self esteem plummeting everytime you hand out with someone else, his spark breaking everytime you leave him to return home. When he sees you talking with another, he’s scared as all he can think about to offlining them, he doesn’t want to! He trusts you, he loves you, but these thoughts won’t go away, only getting worse and worse.

- He cries, apologizing cause he just loves you so much! He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stop himself from moving, from locking you away from everyone else. Bee never wanted to hurt you, he adores you so so much, he just wants to protect you! So why do you fear him? Why do you move away from him when you use to rush over to hug and kiss him? Is he not strong enough for you? Is he too weak? He’s not like the other bots sure, but he can still protect you he swears!

- Out of every bot here, Bee is probably the easiest to escape from. Your affection and cooperation makes his spark swell and helm spin, trusting you so easily, only to awake from stasis and see you’re gone.

- Make this escape count, you won’t get another chance if he catches you. With tears in his optics begging why you betrayed him. It’s okay, once he calms down he won’t blame you, you just don’t know any better, that’s it! He can teach you it’s okay. He will always love you, nothing can change that.

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 8 Other Parts

Word Count: 7.5K

You knew it was coming but it didn’t hurt any less when the list dropped. You saw the names. Scanned slowly, as if your own would appear if you blinked enough times, but it didn’t.

Not selected for this England camp.

Your phone buzzes with the group chat a stream of heart emojis and for the first time in years, you don’t have a reply, because you’re not going. Not even close.

You’re at home, sat on the corner of your bed, thumb resting on your screen like it might undo the post if you hold it long enough. You’d known something was wrong weeks ago.

Your club coach hadn’t looked at you the same since the injury. Since the press focused more on your recovery than the team after a must win game the team won. The minutes dried up, then the starts, then the glances.

You kept your head down, you trained harder, you didn’t say a word, you worked to prove every day you were recovered fit and ready to go.

But now because you weren't playing for club, you’ve been benched into invisibility.

You lock your phone. Stare ahead. Try not to let it sting more than it already does, but the spiral is already happening not fast, but deep. Your body’s healthy, but your mind was slipping, because if you’re not on the pitch… who are you?

You had no idea, and the comments of your move to Germany was career suicide were all coming back and proving themselves right.

The list isn’t haunting your inbox. It’s haunting your silence.

You think about training the way the coaches don’t speak to you unless it’s procedural. The way they praise others. The way your name never leaves their mouth, unless it’s followed by 'off the pace; or 'needs to be sharper', despite in your opinion you were doing a lot of drills better than some that were getting on the bench if not starting.

You think about your body. How it’s fine now, fully fit. Working hard. You’ve done everything right. And still nothing. The frustration sits hot in your ribs. Your jaw clenches. You want to scream. You want to cry. You do neither. You just sit. And the spiral deepens.

Am I not good enough anymore?

Did the injury change how they see me?

Or did it just make it easier for them to forget me?

You rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. They burn, the ache behind your cheekbone old bruising still echoes in your face like a shadow of that night. The night you won, and bled, and mattered.

You haven’t felt like that player since.

Your phone buzzes once. You don’t check it. Then again. And again. You still don’t look.

Because it might be Georgia. Or Beth. Or Sarina, with something generic and clinical like 'Keep working hard, we’re watching.' And you’re not sure which would hurt more, their concern, or their silence.

So you lie back on your bed. Eyes on the ceiling, and let yourself feel nothing, because that’s worse than anger and right now, it’s all you’ve got.

The buzz comes again not a notification from socials, not news, not group chat noise.

Just one name.

Alexia

You stare at the screen. It’s not a meme. Not a casual thinking of you. Not a selfie she wants to know if was ok for an Instagram dump she was doing.

It’s a message that makes your chest pull tight.

You haven’t said anything about the call-up list.

You read it once. Twice.

The simplicity of it hits harder than anything else, because she knows you would have said something, because she’s read your silence perfectly.

Then, another one, quickly after:

I’m not asking if you’re okay. I know you’re not. Do you want to talk or do you want me to distract you?

You don’t answer right away. You just stare at the messages, fingers hovering over the screen, throat tight, because it’s not pity. It’s just her. Knowing the exact right way to stand next to you when everything feels like it’s slipping.

Your reply takes a minute to type, but you send it.

I don’t know what I want. I just feel like I’m disappearing.

Her typing bubble appears almost immediately.

You’re not. I see you. Even from here.

You stare at those words. Let them sink in. Let yourself feel them and for the first time all day, the spiral pauses.

The call comes less than a minute after her last message. Your screen lights up with her name and you hesitate for half a breath then answer.

“Hola,” she says gently. “Hi.” You don’t speak right away. She fills the space, soft and steady. “I’ve booked you a flight.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ve booked you a flight,” she repeats, firmer now. “To Barcelona. Two nights, maybe three. Before I leave for camp.”

You sit up slowly on the edge of the bed, one hand against your temple. “Alexia…”

“Not taking no for an answer,” she says, cutting off your protest before it starts. “No plans. No expectations. Just you, me, and my sofa.”

You exhale, heavy. “I can’t just leave Teddy—”

“He has a ticket.”

You freeze. “What?”

“I booked him a pet fare,” she says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Cabin-approved. I looked it up.”

Your lips part, silence stretching between you. “You’re serious,” you finally murmur.

“Of course I am.”

You run a hand down your face. “You didn’t even ask—”

“You wouldn’t have said yes.”

You lean forward, forehead against your knee. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she says immediately.

The line goes quiet for a second, your heart stutters, then she adds, softer now “And I’m not letting you spiral alone.”

You wipe at your eye nothing’s fallen yet, but the pressure is building. You whisper, “When?”

“Morning. 10:15. Pack comfortable things. Teddy’s allowed a blanket and treats.”

You let out a breathless, broken laugh. “Of course you looked up dog policy.”

“You needed something to hold onto,” she replies. “So I made the space.”

You swallow hard. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Her voice breaks just a little when she says, “Maybe I’m just finally showing you what not being alone looks like.”

You nod, even though she can’t see. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

⚽️

You wake to your alarm barely slept, eyes gritty, the weight of yesterday still clinging to your ribs, but something is different.

There’s movement. A tail thumping.

Teddy’s already pacing by the door, ears alert, head cocked like he knows. Like Alexia texted him the plan.

You stretch gently, wincing just a little, and mutter, “You’re too smart.”

He just wags harder. You pack slow only what you need. Soft clothes. A hoodie that smells like your flat. His lead. His travel harness. You pause once, staring at the mirror. You decide to pack a few nice outfits just incase Alexia does an impromptu lunch again.

At the airport, everything is controlled chaos.

Teddy is beside you, full of tail wags and leash tangles, drawing smiles from half the check-in staff as he tries to lick the counter agent’s sleeve.

"He's a beautiful dog,” the woman behind the desk says with a warm smile, watching you fumble with his paperwork.

You open your mouth, then close it. Smile, soft. “Yeah. He is.”

Security is a mess, Teddy insists on sniffing everything, whines none stop when his emotional support elephant plush toy had to go through the scanner and lays dramatically on the scanner floor when asked to wait but eventually, you're through.

On the plane, he lies quietly at your feet, head on your shoes, gaze flicking up at you every few minutes like he’s checking you’re still here.

You reach down, fingers brushing his fur, the plane hums, clouds roll past the window, Teddy is the best of boys and your heart picks up, because you’re almost there and she’ll be waiting.

⚽️

You stand just inside the arrivals hall, trying not to look like you’re searching, even though you are.

You’re holding Teddy’s lead in one hand, your travel bag looped over your shoulder, hoodie pulled up slightly despite the warmth of the Spanish afternoon light filtering through the glass walls.

Teddy pants beside you calm, tail swaying, already earning smiles from strangers. You don’t notice. You’re too busy scanning faces.

Your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag, heart thudding, that soft, fragile voice inside your head asking, What if she’s not here yet? What if this was too much?.

Down the corridor, behind the sea of people, moving toward you with that familiar, grounded walk, calm, steady, head high.

No hoodie this time. No low-key disguise. Just Alexia. In soft denim, white tee, hair tied back in a low twist, sunglasses pushed up into it like she forgot they were there and the moment her eyes land on you, everything else slows.

No smile yet just her gaze, fixed. Sure. Certain.

You don’t move, because you can’t, but Teddy does.

The second he sees her, he lunges forward with the full weight of 35 kilos of devotion, dragging you a step before you catch him, breathless “Teddy!”

But Alexia laughs. Full, bright, and relieved.

She drops into a crouch as she reaches you, arms open without hesitation, Teddy barrels into her, tail thumping, nose pressing into her shoulder like she’s his, too and she takes it. All of it.

Then she looks up at you from where she kneels hair half-loose now, eyes shining and says, softly “Bon Dia.”

Your breath catches “Hi,” you whisper back.

She rises slowly, one hand steadying Teddy, the other brushing against yours as she stands.

You should say something clever. Something casual. But all you manage is “You came.”

And she just smiles. “No,” she says. “You did.”

⚽️

The trunk closes with a soft thud.

Teddy’s curled in the backseat already, head resting against the window like he owns the car. His breath fogs the glass in soft huffs. He’s content. He always is.

You slide into the passenger seat just as Alexia settles behind the wheel, adjusting her sunglasses and glancing your way.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She starts the car, shifts smoothly into gear. “Hungry?”

“A little.”

“I’ll make something.”

You glance out the window. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she says. She always says it like that simple, no weight. Just truth. The first few minutes on the road pass in easy quiet.

Barcelona blurs past the windows palm trees, red-tiled rooftops, the hum of city midday. The kind of sun you forgot existed when you’d been stuck inside so long. Her music plays through the speakers mellow, not English. Soft vocals and layered guitar. You don’t know the song, but you don’t want to ask. You just want to listen.

At a red light, she glances sideways. “You didn’t pack much.”

You shrug, eyes still on the road ahead. “Didn’t feel like I needed to.”

She nods slowly, as if that answer is good enough. Maybe it is. “I’m glad you came,” she says, finally.

You rest your head against the window, let the cool glass anchor you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

The sun shifts on your skin as the car turns, her hand stays on the wheel, yours rests in your lap and there’s nothing else to say.

Not yet, not when being here, next to her, finally feels like the most normal thing you’ve done in weeks.

The city softens as you leave the airport zone the buildings lower, the roads narrower, every other corner bursting with flowering trees and motorbikes tucked in at angles only locals understand.

Alexia slows at a small plaza. There’s a corner shop old, sun-faded signage, a line of crates outside stacked with oranges and glossy tomatoes. “I’m stopping here,” she says.

You glance sideways. “Need something?”

She eases the car to the curb, cuts the engine. “You’ll want snacks later. I’m not risking you staring at me in hunger like I’m your next meal.”

You huff a tired laugh. “No faith.”

She unclips her seatbelt but doesn’t move right away. “I’ll be two minutes. You good?”

You nod. “Teddy’ll protect me.”

Her mouth curves, amused. “He’ll sell you out for a breadstick.”

You lean your head back as she steps out. The door closes gently, and through the window, you watch her walking in that quiet, purposeful way she always does. Not hurrying, not hiding.

Inside the shop, she grabs a basket, you can see her from the car, not watching you. Just knowing you’re there.

You glance at the backseat Teddy asleep, one paw twitching like he’s chasing something in his dreams. The car smells like warm air, her cologne, a bit of dog fur.

You sink into your seat, let yourself breathe. A few minutes later, she returns. One small bag. Two bottles of something fizzy. A box of those pretzels you always get when you travel.

She gets back in, hands you the bag wordlessly. You peek in, your favourite chocolate is there too.

You look at her, “You remembered?”

She doesn’t answer, just starts the car again and says softly, “I never forgot.”

⚽️

The car crunches up the short gravel drive, your legs are stiff Teddy’s tail is already thumping, his nose pressed against the window as if he can’t wait to get out and explore.

Alexia hops out first, moving fluidly. She’s already pushing open the door as you round the car, unclipping Teddy’s harness before you even reach the door.

“Wait, wait—” you mutter, but it’s too late.

She opens the front door and Teddy is gone. A streak of gold. His paws thunder across the smooth tile, nails clicking like a percussion line as he slides around the corner and out through the wide living space, paws thundering on the tile like a small horse who’s just discovered freedom.

“Wait— Teddy—” you half-yell, already regretting unclipping his lead too early, but he’s gone.

“Jesús,” Alexia laughs, stepping in behind you. “He’s been here two minutes.”

Teddy’s zooming around through the hall, into the open-plan living room, and straight for the glass bi-folding doors Alexia’s just finished sliding open to the backyard.

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t look back. “TED—”

He launches. Golden limbs splayed. Tongue out and then SPLASH. Water erupts from the pool like he just landed a cannonball in a silent library. Your stomach drops. Face flushes hot. You blink hard, hands rising like you might somehow rewind time.

“Oh my god, I’m— Alexia, I’m so—” She just laughs. Not politely, not politely at your expense. It’s real. Full. Bright.

“¿Pero qué…?” she manages through her laughter, hand to her chest as she watches him resurface and immediately start paddling laps with the grace of a floating rug.

You’re frozen, halfway into her house, shoes still on, mouth open in mortification. “I swear he’s not usually like this. He’s— he’s never jumped in a pool before. He’s not even— he’s not allowed on furniture when we go to peoples houses he knows that, I don’t— I’m so sorry—”

Alexia holds up a hand, eyes still on Teddy, who is now trying to climb out the shallow end and failing gloriously. “You think this is the worst thing that’s happened in this house?” she says, grinning. You blink. She nods toward the soaked paw prints already tracking along the tile. “He’s fine. The pool’s fine. The floor’s waterproof. Breathe.”

You exhale shakily, rubbing a hand over your face. “He does this now?” you mumble.

“I like that he feels comfortable.”

You glance at her the way she’s still smiling, watching Teddy with something closer to fondness than frustration. “You’re… weirdly chill about this.”

She shrugs. “You came here. You brought him. He likes the pool who wouldn’t”

You shake your head. “You’re too calm. I’m panicking.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s cute.” You groan, half-turning away. She walks past you, grabbing a towel off the laundry rack near the garden door. “Come on. Let’s get your idiot son out of the pool before he drinks it dry.”

You’re still red in the face when she hands you the towel, but her hand brushes yours, steady, warm and when your eyes meet, the embarrassment softens.

Because somehow she’s not laughing at you, she’s welcoming all of it. Even the soggy, soaking, zoom-prone parts.

⚽️

She didn’t make it a thing, just started chopping. Tomatoes. A bit of fresh bread. Cheese. Olive oil. Nothing complicated but it smells like someone meant it.

You hover near the edge of the kitchen, Teddy’s passed out across the tiled floor, tongue out, legs twitching. You don’t speak for a while, neither does she. The quiet isn’t awkward.

Finally, you push your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and ask, “Did you know I wasn’t called up before I said it?”

Alexia doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

You nod slowly. “Thought so.”

“I saw the list. Checked it twice.”

“Right.”

She finishes arranging the food on two small plates, then sets them gently on the island before finally looking at you. “I waited to see if you’d tell me.”

You nod again, “I didn’t know how. Saying it out loud makes it feel real.. yanno?”

She moves around the counter and sits on one of the stools, keeping the other one beside her empty. Not pushing. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to,” she says.

You swallow. “I wasn’t picked. Not even a standby.”

“I know.”

“And I’ve been benched at club. Barely starting. I don’t think I’ve even had a full match since the injury. Not one.” She nods. “It’s like…” you exhale, leaning your hip against the counter, “I’m healthy. I’m trying. I’m still me. But nobody’s looking.”

Her voice is soft. Steady. “I am.”

You blink down at the wood grain of the countertop. “I don’t even know why it’s hitting me this hard. I’ve had setbacks before. I’ve been dropped. It’s part of the job.”

Alexia watches you. Quiet. Hands resting lightly on the rim of her plate.

“But this time,” you continue, “it feels like I got hurt and they were… relieved. Like it was the excuse they were waiting for to justify not playing me.”

Alexia nods once. Then finally speaks, “I’ve felt that too.”

You look at her sharply, surprised.

“I know what it’s like to be the golden one until you’re not useful. Until your body doesn’t move the way they need it to. Until they stop calling. Stop asking.”

You sit slowly, not saying a word. She presses her thumb to the edge of her plate.

“But you know what matters?”

You meet her eyes. She smiles, just a little.

“That you’re still trying. That you showed up everyday anyway”

Your throat catches. You don’t speak and then, like it’s nothing at all, she nudges your plate toward you.

“Now eat something. You can spiral again after lunch.”

You huff a laugh through your nose, pick up a slice of tomato, still quiet, but steadier. Not fixed. But held.

You take a bite, not because you’re hungry, because she asked, because she listened. It tastes better than you expected. Tomato sweet. Cheese soft. Bread with a crisp edge. All so ordinary. And maybe that’s why it makes you feel like crying.

She watches you gently. Not pressing. Just present. You chew slowly, eyes down. Then, without looking at her “Did you ever think you wouldn’t come back?”

A breath, “Yes.”

You look up. She nods, no hesitation.

“After the surgery,” she says, voice steady, “I couldn’t imagine myself moving the same. Playing the same. Being the same.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, leaning into it, “What did you do with that?”

“I let it break me. Quietly.” Her voice doesn’t waver. “Then I got bored of being broken. And remembered how much i love playing football and i wasn’t about to give up on it so easily”

You blink.

She half-smiles. “So I let myself change instead.”

You sit with that. Let it land and then your voice comes low. “I’m scared it’s not a phase.” She nods. Doesn’t interrupt. “That this isn’t temporary. That the version of me I keep waiting to feel again… just isn’t coming back.”

You meet her eyes, finally and she gets it. Not with a pep talk. Not with stats or promises, just with her gaze. “Maybe you don’t need her back.”

You freeze. “What?”

She says it again, slower. “Maybe you don’t need the old version. Maybe this one now, hurting, rebuilding, here is the version who gets to decide who she becomes.”

You don’t know what to say. Not right away, but your chest eases just slightly and after a pause, you whisper, “I want to believe that.”

Alexia tilts her head, watching you with such soft certainty it burns. “I already do.” The silence after that isn’t heavy, itholds you both, then she nudges your plate again.

“Finish that. You need fuel for reinvention.”

You smirk faintly. “You sound like a self-help podcast.”

She grins. “I’m bilingual.”

And just like that the weight doesn’t vanish but it shifts.

⚽️

The sun’s slanting warm across the tiled floor when Alexia tugs her training top over her head. Hair pulled into a braid, she moves around the house with the quiet focus of someone who’s done this a thousand times but she still glances over at you twice in five minutes.

You’re leaning against the doorframe with Teddy at your feet watching curiously, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves shoved up.

“You sure you’re okay with Alba picking you up again?” she asks, slipping her watch onto her wrist.

You nod. “I liked her. She didn’t make me feel like a guest.”

Alexia looks up at that and smiles, just a little. “You’re not.” A moment later, the gate buzzer sounds. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You follow her down the short path to the front door Teddy trots beside you like he belongs here and maybe he does.

Alexia opens the door and there she is Alba, leaning against her car, sunglasses on, already waving when she sees you.

She beams when you come down the steps. “Hola! Look at you, and look at this guy,” she adds, crouching immediately to give Teddy a proper greeting, which he accepts like she’s his long-lost best friend.

Alexia watches the reunion for a second before turning back to you, “You good?” You nod, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Text me when you get there,” she says.

“I will.”

She leans in, no hesitation, and kisses you once, quick and warm, just a little longer than necessary and then she’s jogging toward her car uncharacteristically late for her own game, braid swinging, focused now.

You slide into Alba’s passenger seat, after taking Teddy back inside and giving him a treat to distract him.

As you pull away, Alba glances over, her voice light. “You’re not nervous this time.”

You shrug, watching the road ahead. “No,” you say softly. “We've done this before, I'm not nervous”

She smiles. “Good.”

The city slips past the windows in shades of soft yellow and sun-dusted stone. Warm air filters through the cracked window, Alba drives with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses still perched high, her elbow resting against the edge of the window.

Music plays low Spanish indie-pop you don’t know, but don’t mind. She glances over once you’re clear of the tighter city roads, “You’ve been quieter than last time.”

You huff a faint laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“No. Just different.”

You nod slowly, watching a couple cross a narrow street holding cones of ice cream. “I guess I feel different,” you admit.

She doesn’t respond right away. Just lets it hang for a few blocks. You like that about her the patience. Then, softly, “Alexia said you weren’t called up.”

You glance at her not sharply, but it still surprises you. “She told you?”

“She didn’t need to,” Alba says. “I’ve known her long enough to know when she’s holding someone a little closer than usual.” You look back to the window. Alba adds gently, “And I’ve seen her try to hold herself together after an injury. She wasn’t okay then, either.” You swallow. The words settle deep. “You don’t have to say anything,” she continues. “But I figured I’d say I see it too, your quite obviously sad, but if you want to off load, you can to me to”

You nod. Quiet. A bit glassy-eyed now. “Thanks,” you say after a second. “I’m not great at talking about stuff.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.” She smiles. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance over at her again, and this time, your smile breaks through. “So, what, are you the secret emotional support sibling?”

Alba grins. “God, no. That would require emotional growth.” You both laugh. “I just care about people who care about my sister.”

You sit back, letting it hold you.

Alba chuckles. “You’re going to be alright, you know.”

You nod because you know it was just a set back and you had heard and witnessed people come back from a lot worse than a coach who didn't particularly like them.

The car eases into the reserved lot, and Alba navigates the back entrance, there’s a warmth in the familiarity not VIP treatment, not arrogance, just belonging.

Alba nudges your elbow, “Come on, star guest. You’ve got a front-row view and zero excuses.”

She leads you through the short hallways, the buzz of the stadium starting to build just outside crowd noise like the sea. Distant but growing.

The players' families and friends section is fuller than last time you were here, you settle in beside Alba until she nudges you again, subtle this time, tilting her head toward the pair approaching from the left aisle.

Lucía, graceful, sharp eyes and warm smile waves gently as she walks up, her son in tow.

“Hola,” she greets, reaching for a hug Alba returns easily. Then she turns to you.

“I’m Lucía. I’ve heard… a little about you.”

There’s a playful tone in her voice. Enough to make you blush. Enough to make you laugh too. “Hopefully the good parts,” you say.

“Oh no, just the dramatic parts,” she teases.

Then Mateo maybe three, maybe four peeks around her side, wide-eyed and shy at first.

You crouch slightly, resting your hands on your knees. “Hey, bud,” you say. “I like your boots.” They’re bright green, one lace already untied.

He squints at you. “Are you the football player who’s friends with Ale?”

You blink. “Yes,” you say slowly. “That’s… exactly right.”

“Good,” he says, and without another word, plops into the empty seat beside you like he’s claimed it for himself.

Lucía sighs fondly. “I guess you’ve been approved.”

You glance sideways. Mateo’s already tugging lightly at your sleeve. “She says you have a doggy” he asks, very serious.

Your lips twitch. “I do"

He suddenly looks away and points instantly at the pitch. “Thats my mami”

You follow his finger, and there she is Irene jogging across the pitch, all ready to go. You smile, soft and full, even before you realise you’re doing it. “Yeah,” you say. “Your mami makes my job a lot harder when I've played against her”

He nods, satisfied, Lucía sits beside her son, folding her hands with a glance toward the pitch.

The anthem fades. The whistle blows, and football begins. Not chaos. Not frenzy. Just the steady rhythm of the ball and the crowd and the heat of the early evening pressing into the concrete stands.

You’ve got your legs crossed, and Mateo beside you, his feet barely reaching the edge of the seat, arms crossed dramatically. Alba returns from the small concession line, slipping past Lucía with practiced ease.

She hands you a drink first something cold and fizzy then grins and produces a tiny tub of chocolate ice cream with a plastic spoon.

You lift an eyebrow. “We said no churros.”

“This isn’t churros,” she replies, smug. “It’s Ice cream.”

Mateo’s eyes are locked on the tub before it’s even fully in your hand. “I like ice cream,” he says gravely.

You glance at Lucía just a quick, discreet check. She gives you a soft nod. “One bite won’t kill him.”

Mateo immediately shuffles closer, then closer, then just leans, his shoulder bumping gently against your thigh as you peel the lid back.

You hand him the first spoonful.

He eats it with the exaggerated focus only a child can summon, one slow blink, a moment of stillness, then immediately declares, “That’s the best one.”

You smile, keeping your voice light. “Best flavour?”

“Chocolate,” he says. “Then strawberry. Then chocolate again.”

You hum thoughtfully, scooping a small bite for yourself before offering him another. “Strong list.”

He accepts the spoon, tilting his head dramatically as he eats it like a critic.

Alba leans closer from the other side. “You’re spoiling him.”

You grin without looking away from the pitch. “You bought it.”

“And you’re letting him lean on you like a puppy.”

You glance down, Mateo is half-resting against your hip now, eyes still fixed on the game.

You look at Lucía, half-apologetic, but she just smiles soft, real. “He’s comfortable with you.”

That hits you somewhere deep, because this isn’t a press conference. It’s not a stat line or a minutes report. It’s a child, trusting you. It’s this moment, so simple, earned.

You offer him another bite, and when he takes it, he sighs like he’s lived a life already. On the field, Alexia touches the ball for the first time clean, calm, confident.

Mateo points. “Auntie Ale kicked it really far”

You nod. “Yeah,” you murmur. “She’s something else.”

⚽️

The crowd has thinned. The sun’s dipped low behind the buildings, but the air’s still warm, humming with leftover energy the kind that lingers long after the final whistle.

You’re standing by Alba’s car, chatting lazily, Mateo propped on your hip. His cheek rests against your shoulder now, but his mouth is still going, hands gesturing like a proper little pundit.

“And then she kicked it so fast,” he says, wide-eyed. “Did you see that?”

“I saw,” you say with a laugh. “She does that sometimes.”

Lucía’s beside you, sipping a bottle of water, half-listening. Alba leans back against the car, sunglasses perched on her head, watching the whole thing like it’s better than any post-match analysis.

“Will you come play at my house sometime?,” Mateo adds suddenly.

You smile at him as he went a little shy, "Mr Paredes are you asking me on a play date?"

"I have super cool toys.. I promise"

"Well when you put it like that" you smile, "I'm not here for very long, maybe next time I come to barcelona?"

"Where do you live?"

"Munich"

"Munich?" Mateo's brows furrowed testing the word

"Yeah it's in Germany" You pull your phone out and show him on a map, "We're here, and I live all... the way over here"

"Wow" Mateo looks as Lucia takes a step closer, "I asked coco on a play date.. she said not now but another time"

“That’s because you were perfect,” Lucía replies, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair.

“I think she’s perfect,” Mateo announces, looking at you with all the sincerity in the world.

You blink. “Me?”

He nods seriously.

“Oh no,” Alba says, hands on her hips, turning just in time, “Irene,” she calls, spotting her and Alexia stepping out of the players exit, bags slung over their shoulders. “Your son just asked someone on a date.”

Irene lifts a brow. “¿Perdón?”

Lucía laughs, catching Irene’s eye. “He asked Y/N over for a play date” You and Irene smile politely at each other, you were not very aware you'd barely said a word to the defender and you were holding her son being invited into her home.

You glance up at movement and there Alexia is, hair damp from her post-match shower, sleeves rolled to her elbows, boots in hand. She slows when she spots you.

You don’t miss it. That little flicker in her expression, her eyes go to Mateo, then to your arms around him, then back to your face. "Did you her that Alexia? Mateo asked Y/N on a date"

It’s subtle, the shift in her jaw, the way her eyebrows pull ever so slightly together, the bite at the inside of her cheek. Jealousy, of a child. Soft. Undeniable. Ridiculous, but real.

You almost laugh but you’re too delighted, you offer her a perfectly neutral smile. Keep one arm snug around Mateo and say absolutely nothing.

Alexia recovers quickly, switching on a pleasant nod as she looks to the group and Mateo. Irene scoops Mateo from your arms, he grumbles but goes, eventually.

Alexia gives you a brief once-over. “You good?” she asks.

You nod, lips twitching. “Perfect,” you say, because you’ve seen it now and she’s never living this down.

⚽️

The house is quiet when you step through the door. Still warm with leftover sun. Teddy stretches on the cool tile as soon as he’s woken up, immediately rolling onto his back like the day hasn’t been long enough getting belly scratches from you.

Alexia walks ahead of you, keys jingling once before she tosses them into the bowl by the door. She says nothing as she slips off her shoes, sets her boots by the mat. Still cool. Still collected, nut you’ve seen it.

You’ve absolutely seen it and now that the front door clicks shut, you turn slowly, leaning your shoulder against the wall.

“Mateo asked me on a date.”

Alexia doesn’t look up right away. Just slides her fingers through her hair, tying it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. “I heard.”

You hum, watching her carefully. “Said he had super cool toys. He promised.” A pause, still no reaction. You push just a little more “Really sweet, actually. Polite. Just adorably cute.”

Alexia lifts a brow. “He’s three.”

“He’s got good instincts.”

She meets your eyes now level, unreadable. But you see it: the way her jaw ticks, just once, the faintest narrowing of her gaze. “And are you… tempted?”

You grin. “Little bit.”

That does it, she closes the distance in two slow steps. Not urgent but purposeful. “You’re lucky I like you,” she murmurs.

You tilt your head. “I must be. I’m very popular lately.”

She narrows her eyes, eyes dropping to your mouth for a heartbeat too long, and then soft, sharp, teasing right back “Maybe I should’ve asked first.”

You hummed pressing your finger to your lips, "Maybe you should have, but I'm a one person kind of girl, so maybe next time" You blink. “Are you jealous of a three year old?”

“No.” Beat. “I’m jealous he got to lean on you like that.”

The words land like heat across your collarbone. You stare at her, caught just enough off guard to go quiet for a second.

Then, softly “You could’ve.”

Alexia shrugs one shoulder. “I was sweaty.”

You laugh, breathless. She grins. You move toward her now, not fast, not heavy, just there. Your hand brushing her waist as you pass her into the kitchen. She turns with you, following. You open the freezer, still smiling to yourself. “Ice cream?” you ask.

“You’re not seriously going to let him win.”

“I mean…” You glance over your shoulder. “He made a pretty good case.”

Alexia shakes her head, stepping close enough that her voice is practically in your ear. “I’ll make a better one.”

You blink. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

She places a hand on each side of your waist spinning you to face her “Both.”

You’re standing a little too close now, her in front of you, hands resting on the counters edge either side like she’s keeping you in place. Not trapping. Just… there. Present. Intentional.

She doesn’t step back. Instead, Alexia watches you carefully, her eyes darkening in the dim kitchen light cautious but certain. Waiting.

“You’re not usually this forward,” you tease softly, one finger brushing the hem of her T-shirt.

She holds your gaze, her voice low. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be.”

That hits you low and warm. You shift ever so slightly, a deliberate tilt of your head. “Then don’t.”

She exhales slowly, shaky, barely controlled and that’s all you need.

She moves first, hands finding your waist, gentle at first, then firmer. Your breath hitches again as she presses you slowly backward until your back meets the cool edge of the countertop. It grounds you, the contrast sharp against the warmth of her body.

Her mouth finds yours careful at first. Testing. Soft and slow, until you shift closer, your hand sliding into her hair, pulling her gently deeper. The kiss goes hotter, heavier, the weeks of careful tension breaking open in a heartbeat.

Her fingers slip beneath your hoodie, tracing carefully along your waist, respectful of the lingering tenderness but barely. She’s warm, sure, and somehow exactly what you need.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, “I’ve been thinking about doing that since the airport.”

You grin, breathless. “Not since Mateo asked me on a date?”

She groans softly, her head dropping forward onto your shoulder. “You’re really going to ruin this moment?”

“I’m improving it,” you whisper back, your thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw.

She lifts her head, eyes meeting yours with a kind of soft intensity that makes your stomach flip. “Just kiss me again.”

You smile, gentle, teasing, even as your chest tightens. “Ask nicely.”

Alexia’s eyes narrow but she’s already leaning in again, mouth brushing yours. “Please.”

And you do. Slow, deep, your body melting into hers, losing track of time, space everything except the feeling of her hands sliding along your waist, hips pressing yours into the counter.

It’s too much. And it’s perfect.

Then Teddy chooses exactly this moment to pad into the kitchen big paws clicking on the tiles, pausing to sit with an exaggerated sigh right next to you both, staring upward like he’s waiting patiently for an explanation.

Alexia breaks the kiss with a quiet laugh, leaning her forehead against yours. “He has your timing.”

You grin, lips brushing hers lightly once more. “Consider it payback”

She smiles into your mouth, stepping back just slightly, one hand still lingering at your side not daring to ask what the payback was for.

You breathe out slowly, your heartbeat eases, but the warmth lingers. Neither of you moves. Neither needs to. She hasn’t moved far just one step back, enough space to breathe but not enough to forget what just happened.

Teddy is sitting between you both now, looking from one of you to the other like he’s waiting for someone to acknowledge that he, too, is emotionally involved in all of this. You smile down at Teddy, "You're so clever Ted, you know it's time for your walk"

Alexia breaks the silence first between you both, nudging your hip lightly with hers. “Are you always this smug when you win?”

You glance over at her. “Only when I know you hated losing.”

She scoffs, but her smile betrays her. “He’s three.”

“He’s got vision.”

“He ate all your ice cream”

“And still had a better chance with me than anyone else tonight.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, steps in close again, and taps your lower lip with her thumb. “You’re getting cocky.”

You smirk. “You started it.”

She huffs a quiet laugh and presses a final kiss to your mouth slower this time. Not playful. Just certain. Her hand rests on your waist, fingers curling through your hoodie fabric. You lean into it, eyes slipping shut, letting the moment stretch.

When she finally pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours again. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Sit down.”

“I’m going to—”

“Let me walk Teddy.”

You blink. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she says simply.

You glance down. He’s still staring up at her like he’s been waiting for just one of you to go towards his lead by the door, “He likes you.”

She shrugs, smiling. “He has good taste.” You groan into her shoulder, and she laughs. “I’ll be fifteen minutes,” she says, already moving toward the lead. “Sit on the sofa. Be a good girl.”

You call after her, teasing, “You’re very bossy for someone who was just kissing me against a counter.”

She stops in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised. “You liked it.”

You grin. “That’s the problem.”

She disappears around the corner, and Teddy follows obediently tail wagging, as if the evening hadn’t just shifted something real between you.

You’re left standing in the kitchen, breath still a little unsteady, pulse still slow and deep, but you’re smiling, because she kissed you like she meant it and walked your dog.

Alexia’s steps are slow. Not lazy. Just unhurried.

The leash hangs loose in her hand, her fingers brushing the woven thread absently as Teddy trots a half-step ahead tail swaying, head occasionally turning like he’s checking she’s still following.

She rounds a corner, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, the night air clinging warm to her skin. There's a breeze now, just enough to brush loose strands of hair across her cheek. She doesn't fix it.

“Alright,” she says aloud, glancing at the dog beside her. “So... what do we think?”

Teddy huffs, not stopping.

She chuckles, gaze drifting over shuttered windows and balconies heavy with vines. “She likes simple things. But also… she’s dramatic. Low-key dramatic, if that’s a thing.”

Teddy glances up at her like everything is a thing if you say it like that.

“Something yellow?” she wonders, tilting her head. “Or maybe white.”

They keep walking. She hasn’t meant to go this far. Not really, but her feet led her here and when she glances up again, there it is.

A little flower shop.

The bell above the door rings softly as she pushes it open.

Warm air greets her earthy and full of cut stems and something citrus-sharp. Inside, the space is narrow but layered: vases on every surface, bundles of flowers waiting to be wrapped, the faint hum of a small radio playing quietly in the corner.

Teddy pauses in the doorway, looking up like he knows this isn’t exactly his kind of place.

Alexia glances down at him. “Behave.”

The florist an older woman with silver-streaked hair in a loose bun and hands stained green at the fingertips smiles from behind the counter.

“Still open?” Alexia asks softly, motioning toward the door.

“For you? Sure,” the woman replies with a wink. “But I’ll be closing soon.”

Alexia offers a soft smile, nods her thanks, then moves slowly through the small space eyes flicking over blooms without touching them. Her fingers brush her own wrist, thumb running circles like she’s thinking too much and trying not to.

Teddy follows, nose twitching near a bucket of baby’s breath before deciding it’s not edible and sitting with a huff.

“Looking for something special?” the woman asks from behind the counter.

Alexia doesn’t answer right away.

She stops in front of a low wooden shelf lined with single stems in narrow glass jars. Her gaze lands on a cluster of pale butter-yellow ranunculus, soft and round like layered silk.

She nods slowly to herself.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “But not loud. Something… kind.”

The florist doesn’t ask more questions. She just starts pulling blooms together with quiet expertise.

Ranunculus. Small sprigs of waxflower. A few pieces of soft eucalyptus, pale green and curling at the edges. A single white freesia tucked into the middle simple, elegant, unassuming.

Alexia watches it come together, arms crossed lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching up just once.

“She’s been having a hard time,” she offers quietly.

The florist ties the stems gently, like the arrangement’s not just for decoration like it’s a message.

“She’s lucky to have someone who notices.”

Alexia doesn’t answer. She just nods, as the bouquet is wrapped in brown paper and tied with a loose ribbon, she glances down at Teddy. He thumps his tail exactly once.

“You’re making me look good,” she tells him.

He yawns dramatically, the florist hands the bouquet over with a smile that doesn’t pry.

“Here,” she says. “Take care of her.”

Alexia takes it carefully, fingers closing around the paper. “I’m trying.”

[mandoalorian]

happily ever after [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: President!Bucky Barnes x First Lady!Reader

Synopsis: After everything you've been through, you and Bucky find solace in a new, peaceful chapter of your lives. You adopt a cat, begin building a future together, and find joy in simple moments. In the quiet of the White House, you both reflect on your journey and the love you've rediscovered.

Word Count: 5500

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, employee x employer, somnophilia, m recieving oral, f recieving oral, 69, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic!Bucky... the big finale.

Authors's note: I don't normally do these author notes, but I really just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read and supported this series. This was my first ever Bucky series, and my second Bucky story I'd ever written point blank. It was born out of love, born out of people asking for a "part 2" and a "part 3" of my Congressman!Bucky one shots and because of you it's turned into a full, 20 chapter story. Writing this has been one of my favourite experiences in my four years of owning this blog. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

The epilogue will be posted later this week.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, stirring you from a deep, dreamless sleep. At first, you thought it was the warmth of Bucky’s body pressed against you that woke you—his arm still slung over your waist, his breath steady against your neck. But then you felt it: a slow, deliberate heat between your legs, a sensation that jolted you awake with a gasp.

“Bucky?” Your voice was a sleepy rasp, eyes fluttering open as you shifted, only to find his head buried between your thighs, his tongue already working you with a lazy, relentless rhythm. The sight alone sent a shiver through you—his dark hair tousled, eyes half-lidded with focus and desire as he looked up at you.

“Morning, doll,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice making you arch. He didn’t stop, his tongue curling inside you, rough and precise, like he’d been planning this all night. “Couldn’t wait—had to taste you again.”

“Oh God,” you whimpered, hands flying to his hair, tugging as your hips bucked against him. “You—fuck—you’re insane.”

He chuckled, the sound muffled as he gripped your thighs, pulling you closer, his fingers digging in just enough to leave marks. “Insane for you,” he said, pulling back just long enough to speak, his lips glistening. “Woke up hard as hell, thinking about you. Figured I’d wake you up right.”

“You’re doing—shit—more than that,” you managed, voice breaking as he dove back in, his tongue plunging deeper, rougher now, like he was starving for you. “Bucky, please—”

“Please what?” he teased, voice dark and playful as he nipped at your inner thigh, then soothed it with a slow lick. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged, desperate, your head tipping back against the pillow as he obeyed, his mouth relentless, driving you higher. “Just—keep going—love you—”

“Love you too,” he growled, the words half-lost against you as he doubled down, one hand sliding up to pin your hips, the other slipping beneath you to lift you closer. “Taste so fucking good—could do this all day.”

You were unraveling fast, the combination of his tongue and that rough, possessive grip pushing you to the edge. “Bucky—I’m—” Your words dissolved into a moan, fingers tightening in his hair as you shattered, trembling beneath him.

He didn’t let up until you were spent, finally pulling back with a smug, lovesick grin, kissing his way up your stomach to your lips. “Good morning,” he said again, voice husky as he settled over you, brushing a soft kiss to your mouth.

You laughed, breathless and dazed, pulling him down to cuddle against your chest. “You’re a menace,” you muttered, still tingling, your arms wrapping around him. “Best wake-up ever, though.”

“Glad you think so,” he murmured, kissing your jaw as he shifted to settle beside you, one arm draped lazily over your waist. “Now, how about breakfast? Or round two?”

You smirked, a mischievous spark igniting as you propped yourself up on an elbow, meeting his gaze. “I could eat,” you said, voice low and suggestive, letting the words hang between you.

Bucky’s eyes darkened, catching your meaning instantly. “Oh, you’re trouble,” he growled, a grin tugging at his lips as he sat up, pulling you with him. “C’mere, doll—let’s make it mutual.”

Before you could respond, he maneuvered you both, his strength effortless as he flipped onto his back and tugged you over him, positioning you just right. Your knees settled on either side of his head, his hands gripping your hips with that rough, possessive edge you loved, while you hovered above him, facing down his body. The sight of him—hard and ready again—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Like this?” he asked, voice husky as he pulled you down closer, his breath hot against you. “Gonna take care of you while you take care of me.”

“Perfect,” you breathed, already leaning forward, your hands bracing against his thighs as you kissed along his stomach, teasing your way lower. “Love you like this—greedy and mine.”

“Love you too,” he groaned, his words cutting off as you took him in, slow and deliberate, mirroring the way he’d started your morning. His hips jerked slightly, a rough curse escaping him as his tongue found you again, diving in with that same relentless focus. “Fuck, doll—you’re gonna kill me.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him shudder beneath you, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulled you down harder against his mouth. “Keep talking,” you managed, pulling back with a pop, just enough to speak, your voice shaky with the pleasure he was giving you. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Like—like you’re everything,” he panted, voice muffled but raw as he worked you with rough, hungry licks. “So good—too good—don’t stop.”

“Never,” you promised, diving back in, your rhythm matching his, fast and desperate now. The room filled with the sounds of your shared need—his low groans, your gasps, the creak of the bed beneath you. His hands roamed, one sliding up your back to press you closer, the other digging into your thigh, urging you on.

“You taste so damn sweet,” he growled against you, the words sending a jolt through your core. “Could live down here—fuck, I love you.”

“Love you,” you echoed, breathless, your nails digging into his skin as you felt the tension coil tight again. “Bucky—I’m close—”

“Me too,” he rasped, his tongue plunging deeper, rougher, driving you toward the edge. “Come with me, doll—let go.”

That was all it took. You unraveled together, your cries mingling with his groans as you both hit that peak, trembling and clinging to each other in the messy, perfect chaos of it. When it was over, you collapsed forward, still straddling him, your cheek resting against his thigh as his hands softened, stroking your skin gently.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, voice wrecked but warm as he helped you shift, pulling you up to lie beside him. He wrapped you in his arms, both of you sweaty and spent, his lips brushing your forehead. “You’re insatiable.”

“Says the guy who started it,” you teased, cuddling into his chest, your breathing slowing as you traced lazy patterns on his skin. “But yeah—breakfast can wait.”

He chuckled, holding you tighter. “Damn right it can. Rest up, sweetheart—we’ve got all morning.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as you and Bucky stepped out of the car, hands intertwined, the air crisp with spring promise. The adoption shelter—a cozy brick building with a sign reading “Paws & Hearts”—sat just outside D.C., its windows decorated with paw prints. You’d been talking about getting a pet for weeks, and after this morning’s intensity, the idea of bringing home a furry companion felt like the perfect next step.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asked, squeezing your hand as you approached the door. His voice was warm, teasing, but there was a flicker of excitement in his steel-blue eyes. “Once we go in, no turning back—I know you’ll fall for the first fuzzy thing you see.”

You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder. “Says the guy who’s been googling ‘best cat toys’ all morning. Don’t act like this wasn’t your idea, Barnes.”

He chuckled, holding the door open for you. “Guilty.”

Inside, the shelter smelled faintly of cat litter and pine cleaner, the hum of soft meows filling the air. A cheerful volunteer greeted you, handing over a clipboard of forms, but your attention was already drifting to the rows of cages lining the walls. Bucky trailed behind, his hand resting on the small of your back, peering over your shoulder as you scanned the cats—tabby, black, ginger—all blinking up at you with varying degrees of curiosity.

Then you saw her. A small white cat with piercing blue eyes, perched regally in her cage, her fluffy fur pristine despite the shelter setting. The tag on the door read “Alpine—Female, 2 yrs, Quiet but Affectionate.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, tugging his sleeve. “Look at her. She’s perfect.”

He leaned closer, studying the cat with a grin. “White fur, blue eyes? She’s practically my twin,” he joked, then softened as Alpine stretched a paw toward the bars, sniffing at you both. “Yeah, she’s got that ‘I’m in charge’ vibe. Think she’d fit in with us?”

You nodded, already smitten, reaching to let her bat at your fingers through the bars. “She’s coming home with us. I can feel it—she’s our girl.”

The volunteer approached, smiling as she unlocked the cage. “Alpine’s a sweetheart once she warms up. Want to hold her?”

“Absolutely,” you said, and Bucky stepped back to let you take the lead, watching with quiet amusement as the cat was placed in your arms. Alpine nestled against you instantly, purring like a tiny motor, her soft fur brushing your cheek.

“Look at you two,” Bucky murmured, reaching out to scratch behind Alpine’s ears, his voice low and fond. “Already a team. House full of girls. Guess I’m outnumbered now.”

You laughed, shifting so he could get closer. “Come on, tough guy—hold her. She’s yours too.”

He hesitated for half a second—President James Buchanan Barnes, all muscle and authority, suddenly unsure with a fluffy cat—then took her carefully, cradling her against his chest. Alpine blinked up at him, then bumped her head under his chin, marking him as hers. “Well, damn,” he said, a grin breaking through. “She’s got me hooked already. What do you say, doll? She’s the one?”

“Definitely,” you replied, leaning into his side as you watched them bond. “Alpine Barnes—sounds right, doesn’t it?”

“Perfect,” he agreed, his free hand finding yours again as he looked at the volunteer. “We’ll take her. Whatever paperwork you need, let’s get it done.”

An hour later, you were back in the car—Alpine in a new carrier on your lap, a bag of supplies in the backseat, and Bucky behind the wheel, glancing over with a mix of pride and contentment. “First family addition,” he said, voice soft as he started the engine. “Think she’ll like the White House?”

“She’ll rule it,” you teased, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Just like her dad.”

He laughed, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles. “Damn right. Let’s get her home, sweetheart—she’s got a big day ahead, meeting her new kingdom.”

As you drove off, Alpine meowed softly from her carrier, and you couldn’t help but feel like your little family had just gotten a whole lot fuller.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The White House buzzed with quiet chaos, but a new energy had filled the air—a soft, furry kind. You had knelt on the plush rug in the private residence, watching Alpine, the fluffy white cat you and Bucky had adopted, take her first tentative steps around her new home. Her blue eyes had darted from the towering bookshelves to the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, her tiny paws sinking into the rug like she’d been testing the waters of a grand adventure.

“She’s got that ‘I own this place’ vibe already,” you had said, glancing up at Bucky, who’d leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his navy suit slightly rumpled from the day so far. His ocean coloured eyes had softened as he’d watched Alpine sniff a velvet ottoman.

“Runs in the family,” he’d teased, his Brooklyn drawl slipping through. He’d pushed off the doorframe and crouched beside you, reaching out to scratch Alpine’s chin. She’d leaned into his touch, purring like a tiny motor. “You good here for a bit? I’m thinking she deserves some top-shelf gear. Toys, treats, the works.”

You’d smiled, warmed by how seriously he’d taken this. “I’ve got her. Go spoil our girl.” You’d nudged his shoulder, and he’d caught your hand, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before standing.

“Be back soon, doll.” He’d grabbed his phone, already dialing as he’d headed out. “Sam, you free? Need your expertise on something.”

You’d shaken your head, amused, and turned back to Alpine, who’d started batting at a stray thread on the rug. “Alright, missy, let’s get you settled.”

Bucky slid into the passenger seat of Sam’s sleek black SUV, the Secret Service tailing them at a discreet distance. Not that either of the men needed the security. The pet store had been a short drive from D.C.’s chaos, tucked in a strip mall with a neon sign. Sam had grinned as they’d stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling.

“Man, you’re really going all out for this cat,” Sam had said, eyeing the aisles stuffed with feathered toys, glittery collars, and bags of organic treats. “What’s next, a diamond-encrusted litter box?”

Bucky had snorted, grabbing a basket. “Alpine’s got standards. Can’t have her thinking we’re cheap.” He’d tossed in a plush mouse toy, then a laser pointer, his movements deliberate but distracted, like his mind had been somewhere else.

Sam had noticed, because of course he had. He’d leaned against a display of cat beds, arms crossed. 

“Alright, what’s up? You didn’t drag me here just to debate chicken versus salmon treats.”

Bucky had hesitated, his metal fingers tapping the basket’s edge. He’d glanced around—nobody but a clerk restocking kibble in the next aisle—and lowered his voice. “I’m gonna propose to her.”

Sam’s eyebrows had shot up, but his grin had been instant, wide and genuine. “Bucky Barnes, you old romantic. ‘Bout time. You got a plan?”

Bucky had rubbed the back of his neck, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “Not yet. Just know I want it to be right. She deserves... everything. We talked a little about it last night, and we’re on the same page. But I didn’t wanna do it without a ring,” He’d picked up a catnip toy, turning it over in his hands like it’d been a stand-in for his thoughts. “Been carrying this weight, you know? President or not, I’m just a guy who wants to make her happy. Forever.”

Sam had clapped a hand on his shoulder, his voice softening. “She’s already happy, man. You see how she looks at you? Like you hung the moon. You don’t gotta stress this.”

Bucky had exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Still want a ring that’ll make her cry—in a good way.” He’d paused, then added, “You in? After this, I mean. Help me pick something out?”

Sam had laughed, steering him toward the treat aisle. “Oh, I’m in. Gotta make sure you don’t pick some gaudy thing that screams ‘1940s mob boss.’”

“Watch it,” Bucky had muttered, but he’d been grinning now, piling more toys into the basket—a scratching post, a fluffy bed, and a bag of treats labeled “Gourmet Tuna Delight.” His phone had buzzed with a text from you: a photo of Alpine curled up on your lap, captioned, She’s claimed me. 

His heart had done that soft flip it always did when you’d been involved.

“Alright, Romeo,” Sam had said, grabbing a feather wand and waving it dramatically. “Let’s wrap this up and go find a jeweler. Alpine’s got her haul, and you’ve got a future fiancée to surprise.”

Bucky had nodded, his nerves settling into something steadier, brighter. He’d had you, Alpine, and a plan forming—one that ended with a ring and a promise he’d been ready to make since the day he’d met you.

The pet store bags had rattled in the backseat of Sam’s SUV, stuffed with Alpine’s new treasures, as they’d driven deeper into D.C.’s quieter streets. The jewelry store Bucky had chosen—after a quick, discreet call to a trusted aide—had been a small, elegant shop tucked between a bookstore and a café. Its sign, “Elliot & Sons Fine Jewelers,” had glowed softly in gold lettering, and the windows had sparkled with displays of diamonds and sapphires that caught the late afternoon light.

Bucky had paused outside, his breath hitching as he’d adjusted the collar of his jacket. The Secret Service had lingered at a respectful distance, blending into the foot traffic. “This is it,” he’d said, more to himself than Sam, his voice tight with something between nerves and determination.

Sam had clapped him on the back, steering him toward the door. “Relax, man. You’ve faced down worse than a jewelry counter. Let’s find something that’ll make her say yes before you even pop the question.”

Inside, the shop had smelled faintly of polished wood and lavender, its glass cases gleaming under soft lighting. 

The doorman’s jaw dropped when the pair entered. “Holy shit, it’s Captain America and—“ Bucky felt his heart hammer against his chest. How was this sentence going to end? The Winter Soldier? “—It’s the president!” The man beamed. Bucky immediately relaxed and offered the doorman a smile, raising his finger to his lip in a ‘shushing’ gesture.

A grey-haired jeweler, Mr. Elliot himself, had greeted them with a warm nod, sensing Bucky’s purpose without needing a briefing. “Looking for something special?” he’d asked, his eyes crinkling as he’d gestured to a tray of rings.

Bucky had nodded, his metal hand flexing at his side. “An engagement ring. For someone who... means everything.” His words had faltered, but the weight behind them had filled the room.

Sam had grinned, leaning casually against a case. “She’s got style, this one. Likes things classic but not flashy. Am I right?”

Bucky had shot him a look, half-grateful, half-annoyed. “Yeah. Simple, elegant. Something that feels like her.” He’d scanned the trays, his heart thudding as he’d tried to picture the ring on your finger. A round diamond had caught his eye, set in a delicate gold band with tiny engraved details, but he’d hesitated, glancing at Sam. “What do you think?”

Sam had tilted his head, studying it. “Solid choice. Timeless, not over the top. But keep looking—make sure it’s the one.” He’d nudged Bucky’s shoulder. “You’ll know it when you see it. Trust me.”

Bucky had exhaled, moving to another case. The jeweler had pulled out a few more options—a pear-shaped stone, a vintage-inspired band with filigree—but none had felt quite right. Then, tucked in the corner of a velvet tray, he’d spotted it: a cushion-cut diamond, sparkling softly, set in a platinum band with two smaller stones framing it like quiet companions. It had been understated yet breathtaking, like the way you’d smiled at him over coffee back at the safehouse or the way you laughed at his corny jokes back when he was still just a shameless, flirtatious Congressman.

“That’s it,” Bucky had said, his voice steady for the first time since they’d walked in. He’d leaned closer, picturing it on your hand, imagining the moment he’d slide it onto your finger. His chest had tightened, not with doubt but with certainty.

Mr. Elliot had smiled, lifting the ring carefully. “Beautiful choice. The center stone’s flawless, and the side stones symbolize unity. Size?”

Bucky had rattled off your ring size without hesitation—he’d memorized it ages ago, just in case. Sam had raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You’ve been planning this for a while, huh?”

“Longer than you’d believe,” Bucky had muttered, a flush creeping up his neck. He’d turned to the jeweler. “Can you have it ready soon? Like, really soon?”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Mr. Elliot had said smoothly, no hint of surprise at Bucky’s title. “We’ll polish and box it by tomorrow.”

As the jeweler had stepped away to process the order, Sam had crossed his arms, grinning like he’d just won a bet. “Gotta say, I didn’t think you’d pick something that perfect on the first try.”

Bucky had chuckled, but his eyes had stayed on the ring, now being nestled into a black velvet box. “She makes it easy. Always has.” He’d paused, then added quieter, “Thanks, Sam. For being here. Means a lot.”

Sam had waved him off, but his expression had softened. “Anytime, man. Just make sure I’m invited to the wedding—and not stuck on cat-sitting duty with Alpine.”

Bucky had smirked, pocketing the receipt as they’d headed for the door, the Secret Service falling into step behind them. The weight of the moment had settled over him—not heavy, but warm, like a promise he’d finally given himself permission to keep. He’d had the ring, the plan, and you waiting back home, probably curled up with Alpine on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the future had felt like something he could hold onto.

The D.C. skyline had faded into a soft purple dusk as the SUV had pulled up to the White House, the pet store bags still rustling in the back. His heart had felt lighter than it had in weeks, the velvet box from the jeweler tucked safely in a hidden compartment of his briefcase. The Secret Service had escorted him inside, but he’d waved them off at the residence’s entrance, eager for the quiet of home—and you.

He’d stepped into the private living quarters, the familiar scent of cedar and your favorite candle wrapping around him like a hug. The room had been bathed in the golden glow of a single lamp, and there you’d been, curled up on the couch with Alpine sprawled across your lap. The cat’s fluffy white fur had glowed against your sweater, her paws twitching in a dream as you’d absently stroked her back, a book open but unread in your hand.

Bucky had paused in the doorway, his breath catching at the sight. No matter how many times he’d come home to you, it had always hit him the same way—like he’d stumbled into a life he didn’t quite deserve but would fight to keep.

“Hey, doll,” he’d said softly, setting the bags down by the coffee table. His voice had stirred you, and you’d looked up, your smile instant and warm.

“Hey, you.” You’d tilted your head, eyeing the bags. “Did you buy out the entire store?”

He’d chuckled, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over a chair. “Had to make sure Alpine’s got options. Can’t have her getting bored on us.” He’d crouched by the couch, reaching out to scratch Alpine’s ear. Her eyes had cracked open, and she’d stretched lazily, letting out a tiny yawn that showed her pink tongue.

You’d laughed, shifting to make room as Bucky had settled beside you, the couch dipping under his weight. “She’s already claimed half the furniture. Look at this.” You’d pointed to a faint claw mark on the throw pillow, but your tone had been more amused than annoyed.

Bucky had grinned, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “Guess we’re officially cat parents now. No going back.” His lips had brushed your temple, and you’d leaned into him, your warmth grounding him after the day’s whirlwind.

Alpine had stirred then, apparently deciding the moment needed her input. She’d clambered off your lap and onto Bucky’s, her paws kneading his thigh like she’d been marking her territory. He laughed—a low, genuine sound—and scooped her up, holding her against his chest. “Alright, princess, what’s this? You jealous already?”

You’d watched them, your eyes sparkling with something soft and unspoken. “She’s got good taste. Can’t blame her for wanting you all to herself.”

Bucky had met your gaze, his heart doing that familiar flip. “She’s gonna have to share,” he’d murmured, his voice carrying a quiet promise he hadn’t quite let himself voice yet. The ring’s weight had lingered in his mind, not heavy but electric, like a secret he couldn’t wait to share.

You’d reached over, scratching Alpine’s chin as she’d purred in Bucky’s arms. “Think we’re doing okay so far? With her, I mean?”

Bucky had looked at you, then at Alpine, her blue eyes half-closed in contentment. “Yeah,” he’d said, his voice steady. “We’re doing great.”

He’d meant more than the cat—meant the life you’d built, the way you’d made even the White House feel like a home. He’d wanted to say it then, to spill everything about the ring and the future he’d seen so clearly at the jeweler’s, but he’d held back, savouring the moment’s quiet perfection.

Instead, he’d leaned over, kissing you softly, Alpine still nestled between you like she’d approved of the whole scene. The cat had let out a tiny chirp, and you’d both laughed, breaking the kiss to shower her with attention—scritches and coos and promises of treats from the bags Bucky had yet to unpack.

As the night had settled in, with Alpine eventually hopping down to chase a stray sock, Bucky had kept you tucked against his side, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. He’d felt whole, like every piece of him—soldier, president, man—had finally found its place. The ring could wait for its moment, but right then, with you and Alpine filling the room with warmth, he’d had everything he’d ever needed.

When morning had dawned crisp and golden, the White House bathed in October light that poured through the residence’s tall windows. Bucky had been up before you, a rare occurrence, slipping out of bed to pace the Lincoln Bedroom with the velvet ring box in his pocket. His nerves had hummed—not with doubt, but with the weight of what he’d planned to say, the life he’d wanted to promise you. Alpine had trailed him, batting at his shoelaces, oblivious to the gravity of the day.

You’d stirred later, finding him in the kitchen, already dressed in a soft sweater and jeans, a far cry from his usual suits. He’d handed you coffee, his smile warm but tinged with something deeper, like he’d been holding onto a secret too big to keep. “Wanna take a walk?” he’d asked, his voice casual but his eyes searching.

You’d nodded, intrigued by the quiet intensity in him, and soon you’d both been strolling through the South Lawn, Alpine’s leash clipped to her tiny collar as she’d pranced ahead, chasing leaves. The Secret Service had kept their distance, giving you the illusion of privacy, though Bucky’s hand in yours had felt like the only anchor in the world.

He’d led you to a quiet corner of the Rose Garden, where the blooms had still clung to their last days of color. A wooden bench had sat beneath an old magnolia tree, its branches heavy with memory. Bucky had stopped there, his grip on your hand tightening as he’d turned to face you. Alpine had flopped onto the grass, rolling onto her back like she’d sensed the moment needed her charm.

“Doll,” Bucky had started, his voice low, rough with emotion. He’d taken a breath, his blue eyes locking onto yours, and you’d felt the air shift, like the world had tilted just for you two. “I’ve been thinking about us. About everything we’ve been through.”

You’d tilted your head, your heart picking up speed, but you’d stayed quiet, letting him unravel whatever had been winding tight inside him.

“It started in Brooklyn,” he’d said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You were hauling boxes up those rickety stairs, swearing under your breath, and I couldn’t help myself—I had to carry one for you. Didn’t know then you’d end up carrying so much more for me.” His thumb had brushed over your knuckles, grounding himself. “You were just a stranger, but something in me knew. Even then.”

You’d smiled, remembering that day—the way his easy kindness had caught you off guard, the spark of his laugh when you’d thought he was a bodybuilder. “I thought you were just a guy with too much time on his hands,” you’d teased softly, but your voice had trembled, sensing where this was going.

Bucky had chuckled, but his eyes had stayed serious, deep with memory. “Then you came to work for me, trying to keep up with you—sharpest PA I ever had. You ran my life like you were born for it, kept me honest, kept me grounded. But it was more than that. Every late night, every briefing, every time you’d hand me coffee and our fingers’d brush... I felt it. This pull. Like you were the one thing I couldn’t plan for.”

He’d paused, his jaw tightening as he’d searched your face. “I kept it professional. So did you. God, you were fierce about it—career-driven, focused, worried about crossing lines. I respected that, but it killed me sometimes, knowing you felt it too and wouldn’t let yourself give in.”

You’d bitten your lip, the truth of those years rushing back—the stolen glances, the unspoken tension, the way you’d buried your feelings under work until they’d clawed their way out. “I was scared,” you’d admitted quietly. “Scared of losing myself. Of losing you.”

Bucky had nodded, his gaze softening. “I know. But you gave in, doll. You let yourself fall, and I’m still here, catching you every day since. We built something real—messy, complicated, but ours.” 

His voice had cracked then, emotion spilling over. “We fought HYDRA together. Side by side, tearing down their lies, their control. You weren’t just my partner—you were my strength. Every step, every battle, you reminded me who I was. Not the soldier, not the congressman, not even the president. Just... me.”

Tears had pricked your eyes, his words carving into the deepest parts of you. You’d seen it all flash through his gaze—the Brooklyn stoop, the campaign offices, the late-night strategy sessions, the adrenaline of uncovering HYDRA’s secrets, the quiet nights when you’d finally let love win. It had been a long road, but you’d walked it together.

Bucky had dropped to one knee then, the movement so sudden it had stolen your breath. He’d pulled the velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal the cushion-cut diamond, its side stones glinting like promises kept. “I don’t deserve you,” he’d said, his voice steady now, raw with certainty. “But I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. You’re my home, my fight, my future. Everything we’ve been through—it’s led me here, to this. Will you marry me?”

Your heart had stopped, then raced, the weight of his words sinking in. The garden had blurred around you, the roses and magnolia fading until it was just Bucky—your Bucky—looking up at you like you held his entire world. Tears had spilled down your cheeks, and you’d nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you’d whispered, then louder, “Yes, Bucky, yes.”

He’d surged to his feet, slipping the ring onto your finger with hands that trembled just enough to make your chest ache. The fit had been perfect, the diamond catching the sunlight as he’d pulled you into his arms, kissing you like it was the first time and the last. You’d clung to him, laughing through tears, the joy so big it had felt like it might burst.

Alpine had chosen that moment to leap up, meowing indignantly at being ignored, and you’d both broken apart, laughing as Bucky had scooped her up, holding her between you. “You’re part of this too, princess,” he’d murmured, scratching her chin.

As the moment had settled, Bucky had pulled you close again, his forehead resting against yours. His voice had dropped to a whisper, thick with something new. “There’s someone I want you to meet. My sister, Becks. She’s... she’s family, and you’re my family now. I need her to know you, to see how much you mean to me.”

You’d smiled, remembering the conversation you'd had about Rebecca weeks ago, how he'd wanted you to meet her. Your heart swelled at the thought of meeting the sister he’d spoken of so fondly, the one tie to his past he’d held onto through everything. “I’d love that,” you’d said, your fingers tracing the ring, grounding yourself in the promise of it all.

Bucky had kissed you again, softer this time, and you’d stood there in the Rose Garden, Alpine weaving between your legs, the future stretching out like the golden light around you—bright, certain, and yours.

Bucky had laced his fingers with yours, his warmth steadying you as always. “Whatever’s next,” he’d said, his voice low, “we’ve got this.”

You’d smiled, squeezing his hand, the future bright and open before you. “Yeah,” you’d said. “We do.”

And as Alpine had chirped, chasing a stray petal across the grass, you’d known this was your ending—not the kind that stopped, but the kind that carried you forward, together, into whatever lay beyond.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

hi ms raven :D i was playing through vil's dream in book 7 and i was wondering if you could explain a little more about his character? i remember struggling to understand his motivs leading up to his overblot. the current understanding i have now is that vil wants to be the best or the most beautiful but is constantly getting blocked by neige probably because hes not perfect and it makes others lean towards him and want to support him while vil has reached a level where hes seemingly flawless on the outside making it hard for people to get close to him the way they do with neige? does he crave the validation from others and is that why there was an emphasis on him declaring that he himself is the most beautiful like in b6 and b7? i dont think i really understand him enough and its just been on my mind for a while now TT

I think Vil's got one of those backstories and motives that's easy to misunderstand if skimmed. This can lead to misinterpretations where fans assume he's vain and only seeking to take Neige down for shallow attention. It's a lot more complex than that!

The first thing to note about Vil is that he is a child star. His father, Eric Venue, is also a very successful celebrity, but the public does not know about their familial relationship. Vil has worked very hard to achieve his level of stardom all on his own, without relying on nepotism or riding on the coattails of his father. However, that also means that Vil was under an intense amount of pressure and scrutiny since a young age, and that can really mess with one's self-perception.

Since the start of his career, Vil has only ever been casted in villain roles. His post-OB flashback shows Vil asking his dad "Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?"

And though his father reassures him and calls him cute and charming, the vast majority of other people Vil interacts with judge him and assign labels to him. Children Vil's age "hold [him] accountable for work(s) of fiction", equating him playing villainous roles on TV to him actually being a villainous person off-set.

Similar things occur in his professional life. Film crew members praise Neige for his friendliness and wholesome vibe, but also express that Vil is just too perfect and hard for audiences to relate to, so Vil apparently isn't suitable to play the hero.

So on one hand, you have Vil's peers, who assume that he must be an awful person, just like all the characters he plays. Then you have Vil's colleagues, who put him on a pedestal, calling him "special" but also saying he's not relatable. Both viewpoints isolate and dehumanize him. They indirectly tell Vil--a young, impressionable kid--that he's not capable of goodness or of being a normal person. You also have to keep in mind that because Vil always has eyes on him, he has to maintain a cool, mature, and perfectly curated public image. He has had to grow up extremely fast in order to handle himself in the entertainment industry. That's an INTENSE amount of pressure to be under. So how does Vil react to all this pressure? By pushing himself to work even harder to prove everyone wrong. "I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it." This is later repeated in the Tapis Rouge event: “[…] looking for the easy way out. Something I detest. […] I love to see someone with a lofty goal who’s not afraid to work for it.”

At this juncture, I'd like to point out a vital area where Vil's story and that of Snow White weave together. In Snow White, physical beauty is used as shorthand to indicate the goodness of a character. Snow White is pure, beautiful, and innocent because she has a good heart. The Evil Queen is more accurately depicted in her hag form because of how her jealousy twists her into something hideous. When Vil speaks of beauty, it's also in a similar context. He's using "beauty" as a metaphor for "goodness", hence why he fixates on Neige being the "fairest one of all". Neige is the one always playing the hero, and he is also the one the internet considers the most beautiful--so if Vil can become the most beautiful, then surely he, too, can be a hero.

If beauty = goodness, then the opposite is also true to book 5 Vil: ugliness = villainy. And if he is always assigned the villain again and again and again, then its telling Vil that he's “ugly”, that he is a bad person and can never be anything but that.

Not only that, but Vil's worries about permanently being labelled a villain relates back to how his peers and colleagues perceive him. "[...] villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. [...] All I want is to stay on stage until the end of the show." Vil wants what has always been denied to him: the ability to stand on stage and take a bow with the other actors, to be treated like a normal person that's a part of the group, to have that humanity handed back to him. Why should he be the only one languishing backstage while Neige and other heroes get to soak up that spotlight? He wants to be a part of it, too. He wants to be included.

Let's get back into book 5, present day, now. Vil spends much of this book driving his teammates VERY hard to achieve his vision. To this end, he is imposing harsh restrictions on them, such as new diets, new skincare, new practice routines, and more. This of course garners many protests, but Vil insists on having his way and admonishes those who complain. In these moments, Vil is very much acting like a "villain"--but to him, it's all worth it, because he wants to win against Neige fair and square, earning that victory through his own efforts. "[...] I have no interest in spells that fade when the clock chimes midnight. What I seek is genuine, authentic aesthetic perfection."

Recall that I said earlier that beauty is used as a shorthand for goodness. Because Vil is stating that he wants to win fairly, he is attempting to demonstrate his own beauty--his own goodness--in this bid to triumph over his rival.

But what ends up happening? Vil sees Neige's practice performance and realizes right away that NRC is destined to lose. He tries to take matters into his own hands by cursing a bottle of apple juice and offering it to Neige. While book 5 is vague about what the consequences of drinking that cursed juice would have been, book 7 implies the worst--that Vil had intended to kill Neige with it. Vil went against his own principles (which he stated earlier in book 5) and used a dirty tactic to get Neige out of his way. He can only win if he harms others in the process. I would argue that what triggers Vil to snap and OB isn't his failure to poison Neige (although that's certainly a part of it), but rather Vil realizing he just... proved what everyone has always said about him right. That he's rotten to the core (ie "ugly") and will never be anything else but a villain.

Vil fixates on the eyes of his teammates, perceiving them to be staring at him and judging the moral ugliness of his actions. Like in his childhood, he derives much of his image from public feedback--from the eyes on him. "Please. Don't look at me... Don't look at me with those eyes! Why? I wanted to be the fairest one of all, so why am I so... so... ugly? Ugly?! UGLY?!"

Kalim and Rook try to reassure Vil and remind him that Neige didn't get hurt, so it's okay. But Vil only gets more upset and continues to berate himself. "What does it matter who forgives me?! I can't... I can't forgive myself!" This makes sense for Vil, who is a character that has consistently held the people around him, as well as himself, to high standards. He has betrayed himself, and he is ashamed of how ugly his envy has made him.

After Vil's OB, Rook pretty succinctly states why Vil fails to be "beautiful": because he doesn't believe in himself. Throughout his entire life, Vil has been relying on the words of others to affirm his identity as someone "beautiful", as a "good" person. You can even argue that Vil being so strict with himself is to earn the approval of others, to be seen as the "most beautiful". But Vil never truly believed he was "beautiful" ("good"), and that lack of confidence is ironically what is keeping him from realizing his full potential. "Nobody should believe in your beauty more than you yourself [...] No amount of validation from the rest of the world will ever leave you fulfilled. Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... If you were to truly believe that you are the fairest of all despite that, even the Magic Mirror of legend wouldn't contest your claim. The strength and pride to believe in yourself is what marks the true fairest one of all. Roi du Poison. Fair Vil. I implore you to believe in yourself more than anyone else. Beauty is always with you. At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all."

In book 6, we get to see how far Vil's character has progressed. When Idia taunts Pomefiore, calling them "wannabe heroes", Vil responds with, "You know, I've always wanted to be cast as a hero, just once. But there are no heroes or villains here. This time I'll be the one who stays on stage till the very end!" He now disregards the notion of labels and is only committed to being the one that puts an end to Idia's machinations.

This point is even further driven home when we see old!Vil, the result of him diving into Tartarus to pull Idia out. Though his dorm members are shocked to see their glamourous leader in this state, Vil laughs it off and announces, without hesitation: "Even though I'm grimy, withered, and emaciated... At this exact moment, I am the fairest one of all." This parallels the words Rook imparted onto him at the end of book 5. ("Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... [...] At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all.")

It's a complete reversal of Vil OBing. Back in book 5, Vil went mad because he realized his jealous actions made him hideous (even if he still physically looks young and conventionally attractive). But now, in book 6, Vil is content in knowing that his heroic actions make him absolutely beautiful (even if he stands there, old and grey). It doesn't matter what he looks like on the outside, or what other people think of him--because Vil has learned to love himself and to stay true to his principles.

He is deserving of standing on that stage with everyone else. He is human, like everyone else. He’s not THE Vil Schoenheit anymore, he’s… just Vil. This also shows in vulnerable moments late game, like him squealing from excitement at the end of book 6 or screaming in fear in book 7. He still has the image of a celebrity to maintain, but he’s now allowing himself to be less of that “perfect” person, at least around his peers. I believe this is what Vil’s dream in book 7 reinforces. This is most exemplified when Vil faces his OB self and announces, “Oh… This is deplorable. I’m so steeped in envy and resentment there isn’t a trace of beauty to be found. But I won’t turn away from it any longer. I accept this nauseatingly ugly part part of myself. This is… the real me.” I won't get into the details of that dream, since I assume you've played it + it would just repeat what I've already gone over in this post. That’s honestly what most (if not all) of the book 7 dreams do, try to summarize their personal issues, how the dream attempts to placate them with convenient falsehoods, and then have the dreamers confront those falsehoods with what they’ve learned through their own arcs.