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[autoimmunehn]

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[atlantic-riona]

I don't really have "enemies" but if I did, people who try to make the Batfamily unproblematic...you're on thin ice and it's already cracking

[incorrectbatfamandfriends]

Headcanon that since Jason can’t go out with his family publicly, what he does instead is show up in random disguises.

Bruce is chatting up some socialites at a gala, talking about the joys of fatherhood and how rewarding it is. Meanwhile he made eye contact with Jason disguised as a waiter twenty minutes ago, and is currently trying to stop his eye from twitching.

Dick is speaking to a third grade class as a part of the Bludhaven Police department outreach program, except when he walks in Jason is sitting behind the teachers desk, playing the role of substitute.

Babs can’t help but stare when Jason hands her a coffee from behind the counter of her favorite coffee shop. (His name tag reads Peter, and for a second she thinks she’s actually lost it).

Tim walks into Wayne Towers one day and on his way in, he waves to his secretary- lo and behold Marjorie has been replaced by Jason. It takes him three hours to notice.

Cass walks into ballet class to discover her teacher had to take a sick day- his replacement is Jason in a beret who talks in a terrible French accent the entire class, only to drop it at the very end to talk in a thick New Jersey accent. Her entire class talks about it for weeks.

Stephanie hails a cab on her way home one night, only to find Jason driving. She’s not sure how he pulled it off or how he got a cab, but her mind is effectively blown.

Duke is on a school trip to the natural history museum, and when the tour guide introduces himself, Duke can’t help but role his eyes. Jason gives a surprisingly good tour, even throwing in some tidbits about a robbery that went down just last week that the Signal stopped.

Damian’s encounter happens when he’s with Jon in metropolis. He’s watching Jon play baseball, and when Jon steps up to bat, he can’t help but notice a the umpire looks a little familiar.

[just-aake]

Flustered Crushes

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The Black Widow does not get flustered. So why is it that Natasha can’t seem to stop embarrassing herself in front of you?

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2795

At the edge of the bustling hangar bay, Natasha leans against the cold, metallic wall, her arms folded tightly, a faint frown etched across her brow as her sharp gaze observes the scene unfolding before her. 

Near the base of the Quinjet’s ramp, you are engaged in animated conversation with Carol Danvers, who happened to arrive at the compound for a quick visit precisely when you returned from your mission.  

You've been with the Avengers for a few months now, a former SHIELD agent seamlessly adjusting to the team dynamics. 

Over time, you've connected with everyone—including her. 

So, Natasha’s made an extra effort to help you feel welcome. 

Clint often teases her about her behavior, insisting her attentiveness borders on something more personal, something like a…crush. 

Natasha dismisses his comments each time with a roll of her eyes. 

She’s just being nice. 

After all, it's only natural to want a solid, dependable relationship with a new teammate, especially someone she'll be working closely with.

That’s the only reason why she came to greet you when you return from your mission.

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she stands there, alone, on the sidelines…not with you. 

Natasha watches Carol say something that makes you laugh, causing her faint frown to deepen.

The flash of amusement in your eyes as Carol grins back makes Natasha roll her eyes and look away, unable to take the sight anymore as a pang of irritation tightens in her chest.

She tries to shake it off, but it doesn’t disappear.

After all, it’s not like she got here an hour before your scheduled return and waited to see you…just to end up watching as the blonde space beauty swoop in, effortlessly captivating your attention.

Deciding she’s had enough, Natasha pushes herself off the wall, preparing to leave.

However, her abrupt movement catches others around her off guard, and she ends up bumping into a passing cart loaded with tools and equipment. 

A clattering sound echoes across the hangar as wrenches and bolts spill onto the floor. 

Natasha curses softly under her breath, a mix of pain and embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she drops to gather the scattered items, apologizing hastily to the technician she collided with before quickly exiting the area.

In her haste, she doesn’t notice your gaze, the subtle smile tugging at your lips as you follow her with amused eyes, tracking her every flustered move across the hangar bay, even as she slips away without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So, how’s it going with your crush?” Clint asks, a playful glint in his eyes as he watches Natasha.

Natasha shoots him a warning look that would strike fear into the most fearsome of villains.

Without a word, she grabs the coffee pot, filling his mug before pouring some for herself. She replaces the pot with a decisive click.

“There is no crush,” she states firmly, taking a sip as though punctuating her denial.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint asks skeptically before continuing, “Whenever Y/n’s around, it’s like you lose all of your charm and coolness.�� 

Natasha gives him an unimpressed glare. 

“Really? Coolness? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Clint smirks, raising his mug in mock salute.

“Ask me again after I finish this coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, holding her mug close, feeling the warm comfort seep into her hands.

Just as she brings it to her lips, the doors swing open, and Tony strolls into the kitchen, spotting them with their drinks. 

“Oh, coffee! Pour me a cup, Romanoff.”

“Pour your own,” Natasha mutters, savoring her next sip. 

Tony feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. 

“FRIDAY, remind me, who owns this building?” 

“You do, sir,” the AI replies smoothly. 

Tony gestures upward triumphantly at her before pointing towards the kitchen. 

“So, technically, that machine is mine, the beans are mine, and...oh, right, that pot of coffee is also mine.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes but eventually reaches for the pot, lifting it begrudgingly.

Tony holds out his mug with a victorious grin. 

But just as she hovers the pot above his cup, she stops short.

“A ‘please’ once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

Tony’s eyes widen, and he gasps in exaggerated disbelief as Natasha raises a brow in expectation.

Huffing, he mutters, “Can I have some coffee, please?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Natasha quips with a smirk, preparing to pour him his coffee.

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal you, fresh from your morning workout, dressed in your training gear.

You walk by the kitchen, spotting the other Avengers gathered around. 

A delighted smile spreads across your face. 

“Ooh, coffee! Can I have some, too?” 

Natasha’s response is instant. 

“Sure, I’ll make you a new pot.” 

Her tone is warmer than usual, surprising even herself.

You beam at her, and Natasha feels herself pause, momentarily captivated by the sight. Distracted, she almost misses your following words. 

“Thanks, Natasha! Let me change, and I’ll be right back.”

You slip through the doors, leaving Natasha blinking, still trying to regain her composure. 

Tony watches with raised eyebrows. 

“Wait a second—she didn’t even say ‘please,’ and you’re making her a whole new pot?”

Natasha’s eyes narrow as she holds the pot just out of reach of Tony’s mug. 

“Do you want coffee or not?” 

Tony grumbles before muttering a grudging “Yes, please.” 

Satisfied, Natasha pours the coffee, keeping her focus steady. 

“Natasha?” your voice catches her off guard, and she glances up to see you poking your head back into the room. 

“Yes?” she replies a little too quickly, immediately focusing on you. 

Both Clint and Tony fall silent, watching the two of you with curious eyes. 

“Steve’s got a mission tomorrow,” you explain. “Would you mind if I train with you in the meantime?”

Natasha’s mind races for a moment before she steadies herself to answer.

“Uh—yeah, sure. Anytime you want.” 

“Great!” you say enthusiastically before glancing worriedly at the counter. “I think that’s enough coffee.” 

Natasha follows your gaze, eyes widening as she realizes Tony’s cup is overflowing, dark liquid pooling across the counter. She yanks the pot away with a muttered curse. 

“Oh sh—!”

Tony steps back just in time, glaring down at his soaked countertop.

“Really, Romanoff? This is a new suit!” 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grabs paper towels, unruffled by his dramatics. 

“Calm down, it barely even touched you.”

You let out a small laugh. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, shooting her a smile as you exit.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, her attention lingering on the door.

Clint chuckles as he takes another sip, eyeing her knowingly. 

“You’re right, Nat. It’s not a crush,” he says, leaning back with a smirk. “It’s way worse.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha flashes one of her most charming smiles, leaning just slightly forward as the receptionist fumbles through her files, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue under Natasha’s intense gaze. 

“Here you go!” the receptionist says, her voice soft as she hands over a key card. “I’m sorry again for the mix-up.”

Natasha’s fingers rest lightly over the receptionist’s hand as she accepts the card, her eyes warm and a playful smile tugging at her lips. 

“No problem at all,” she replies, her tone smooth. “I don’t mind the delay with such lovely company.” 

The receptionist blushes deeply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and giving Natasha a flustered smile. 

Natasha’s confident smirk grows as she watches her charms take effect. 

Quick and efficient, she slips the USB drive from the computer, seamlessly hiding it under her palm as it rests over the key card. For a moment, she feels pleased with herself, effortlessly pulling off her usual charisma.

See, she thinks to herself, Clint has no idea what he’s talking about—she’s got plenty of charm.

“Nice job, Natasha,” your voice suddenly crackles in her earpiece, startling her. 

Her hand slips in surprise, almost knocking over the items on the counter. She turns it into a casual adjustment, but not before the receptionist gives her a curious look. 

Natasha quickly smiles, grabbing the key card and offering a polite nod before walking away toward a secluded corner of the lobby.

Pressing a finger to her comms, she mutters, “Y/n? Where’s Clint?” 

“He had to step out for a minute,” you answer. “He asked me to take over. Is that okay?” 

“No–I mean—yes, of course,” Natasha says, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly. 

She straightens, running a hand through her hair as she tries to regain her composure. It’s not like she hadn’t expected you to assist with missions, but the thought of you watching her…

She tamps down the sudden flutter in her chest and forces herself to stay focused.

“Your next target is on the same floor as the key card you just picked up,” you continue, your voice warm and steady in her ear. 

“Got it.” 

“I’ll explain what you’re looking for.”

Natasha nods and begins striding toward the elevators, hoping her sudden focus will drown out the distraction of your voice in her head. 

She tells herself it’s just a mission—professional, routine.

But now, with you guiding her through the next steps, each word falling from your lips makes it harder for her to maintain her usually calm, steady demeanor. 

Her heart beats a little faster, and her cheeks feel a bit warmer than they should. She brushes off the thoughts and keeps walking, determined to stay cool and collected.

“Um…Natasha?”

She stops mid-step. “Hmm?”

“You’re…going the wrong way.”

Natasha freezes, blinking in surprise. She glances around, realizing she’s heading in the opposite direction from the elevators.

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over her as she lets out a quiet curse under her breath.

“Right,” Natasha says, turning with as much dignity as she can muster, her face heating as she finally heads in the correct direction.

Oh, she thinks to herself, she’s definitely going to kill Clint.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha steps out of her room, her leather jacket slung over one arm as she adjusts the zipper. 

Your voice calls her name from down the hall, catching her off guard and making her slam the door shut in a startled motion. She spins to face you, only to be tugged back by an unexpected resistance.

Natasha looks down with a sigh, spotting her jacket sleeve caught in the door. Tugging at it proves ineffective, as it stays firmly wedged in place.

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Natasha hastily shoves the jacket behind her back, trying to appear composed. She leans casually against the door, hoping the awkward moment has gone unnoticed.

“Hey,” you greet with a warm smile as you reach her.

“Hey, Y/n,” Natasha replies, attempting a relaxed tone.

You eye her with a hint of curiosity. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Natasha says quickly, forcing a casual smile. “Just, um, examining the door. Thought it could use a closer look.”

Your brows raise in amused surprise at her peculiar explanation, but you let it go. 

“Well, once you’re done with that,” you say, playing along, “I made a reservation at that new place downtown. I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

“Just the two of us?” The words slip out before Natasha can stop herself. 

A flicker of excitement and amusement crosses your face as you nod. 

“Yeah, just us,” you say softly.

Natasha’s heart gives a small flutter, but she maintains her composure. 

“I’d love to,” she says, a smile slipping through despite her best efforts to stay calm.

“Great, it’s a date,” you say, grinning. “I’ll meet you in the garage.” With a playful smirk, you add, “After you finish your ‘inspection,’ of course.”

As you walk toward the elevator, Natasha watches you with a lingering smile.

Once you’re out of sight, she finally frees her jacket and heads to the garage a few minutes later, finding you waiting by her motorcycle.

You hop on behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist in a snug embrace. 

The warmth of your presence makes her feel a fluttering sensation in her chest she can’t shake. Distracted, Natasha blindly reaches for her helmet and slips it on—only to be met with complete darkness.

With a soft sigh, Natasha’s head drops to her chest, realizing she put it on backward. 

The chuckle that escapes your lips behind her is quickly muffled as you clear your throat, your hands reaching to help her. 

You gently remove the helmet, your fingers brushing her cheek as you pull it off.

When Natasha glances back, she catches the playful look in your eyes as you bite back a grin.

Seeing this, Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Can we just pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen and start over? I swear, this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

You laugh, unable to hold back anymore. 

“Oh, I know all about the smooth and charming Black Widow,” you say, your gaze warm and teasing. “But I think this side of you is pretty cute too.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks at your words, and Natasha takes the helmet, this time slipping it on correctly, with a soft smile she can’t quite hide anymore.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

It’s another one of Tony’s famous parties, where glittering lights reflect off polished floors and music pulses softly through the spacious hall. 

In the middle of the dance floor, beneath the warm glow, Natasha sways with you, her hands resting gently on your waist as you move together to the rhythm of the soft melody. 

You wrap your arms around her neck, leaning in and drawing her closer until your lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. 

Natasha smiles softly against your lips, and as you pull back, she rests her forehead gently against yours, eyes half-closed in a moment of quiet contentment. 

Even as the music fades into the background, her hands remain firm on your waist, as if she has no intention of letting go.

“Why don’t we get something to drink?” you suggest, glancing over at the bar lined with sparkling glasses.

Natasha only pulls you closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the small of your back as she murmurs, “Or…we could stay right here and have another dance.” 

Her voice is a soft suggestion, and she leans in slightly, her green eyes filled with warmth and alluring charm.

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across your lips. 

“It’s cute how you’re trying to be smooth.”

Natasha’s expression shifts, feigning innocence. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, though the faintest blush colors her cheeks.

With a playful glint in your eye, you tilt your head at her in challenge. 

“How long has your bracelet been stuck to my dress?” you ask, giving her a teasing look.

Natasha glances away, the blush deepening as she realizes she’s been caught. She’s spent the past few moments subtly trying to free her wrist from your dress, but to no avail.

“In my defense,” she murmurs, attempting to deflect, “you distracted me with how beautiful you look tonight.”

You chuckle softly at her excuse, reaching up to pull her even closer. With a playful grin, you press a gentle kiss to her lips before leaning in to whisper against her ear.

“Think of the bright side—if you can’t get it loose, I’m sure you could just rip this dress off me.”

Natasha’s breath catches, and for a split second, she’s utterly still, her mind stalling at the suggestion. 

You pull back just enough to watch her expression, and a delighted smile grows on your face as she stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered, clearly caught off guard.

It only takes her a moment to catch on, her eyes narrowing in realization as she shakes her head with a playful huff. 

“You’re trying to embarrass me on purpose,” she accuses, a hint of a smile breaking through.

Unashamed, you bite back a laugh and nod. 

“It’s nice to see the calm and collected Black Widow all flustered for once.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a smirk as she pulls you flush against her, her free hand sliding up your back, fingers grazing along your spine. She leans in, her lips just a breath away from yours, the warmth of her gaze intense.

“Only for you,” she murmurs, her voice a hushed promise before closing the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that makes you forget the world around you, the room fading away as you melt into each other’s embrace.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a short fluff with a soft Natasha that I had finished some time ago. after everything that has happened yesterday and today, I wanted to give some kind of happier distraction, even if it may be only a temporary escape from everything. I’m still going between disbelief, sadness, and anger myself about the situation while also trying to be prepared to continue on. But hopefully, this was able to bring some of you some sort of break from everything else.

[iarchmybaculaa]

Pairing: Ex! Jungkook x reader

Rating: 18+ (Please be mindful of what you consume)

Warnings: Jungkook is subjectively a little toxic, Mentions of an ongoing divorce, possessive! Jungkook, Girl Dad! Jungkook, unprotected sex (don't do that irl), oral sex (f receiving), Slight brat reader, Jeon Jungkook is a menace, reader is implied to be black

Word count: 5.2 k (I think)

🎧: Woo- Rihanna

For: @hobicakess and Paige💗

Jungkook is good at a lot of things

Hes a fantastic singer. He dances very well (even if he likes to fein shyness at parties). Jungkook can cook, he can multitask seamlessly and (almost) effortlessly, and he can put Jinhae to sleep in a matter of minutes… It would be much easier to list the things that Jungkook isn't good at.

Jungkook isn't very good at sharing.

He doesn't like sharing food, clothes or people.

You think it may be his biggest if not only flaw.

Jungkook considers the people in his life his. He doesn't expect them to have the same importance in someone else's life, as they do in his. And he doesn't expect them to think of other people the way they do of him, either.

You don't know if it's because he fears that he'll be replaced, or because he was raised as an only child. But whatever it was, Jungkook let it consume him. Holistically.

You remember how he had reacted when Yoongi- his mentor,had taken on a new intern. Jungkook and Yoongi had attended the same highschool within a few years of each other; and had met again when Yoongi was a TA at SNU. Yoongi had taken Jungkook under his wing, as less of a student, and more like a little brother; and their bond lasted way beyond college. Yoongi was so proud of Jungkook that he was practically All he spoke about. Jungkook had gotten used to things being that way.

Then one day, all of a sudden, Yoongi was no longer “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook”; he was all “Jimin, Jimin, Jimin” much to the Younger's chagrin.

To his credit, Jungkook was nothing but nice to Jimin during the time he worked for Yoongi. He bought him coffee once in a while and even invited him out for drinks whenever the opportunity arose. Jimin was cool. Jungkook would even go as far as to say that Jimin was his friend. Jungkook barely knew the guy! He had nothing against him.

It was Yoongi he was pissed at.

Yoongi was the one who owed Jungkook his loyalty. Yoongi was the one who had nursed Jungkook through his first hangover, and held him when he cried about failing a class. Yoongi was there when Jungkook got his first, off campus apartment. Yoongi was Jungkook 's Yoongi.

At first, Yoongi didn't understand it. It made no sense that Jungkook seemed so fond of Jimin, yet he soured whenever the latter's name was mentioned. It gave him whiplash. It went on for a solid month and a half of Jungkook's scowls and petulant pouts for Yoongi to finally realize that something was deeply wrong, and that he needed to get to the bottom of it.

It took 2 bottles of soju and 3 glasses of whiskey for Jungkook to crack. His reasoning was so funny that Yoongi almost didn't feel bad for laughing at him. All it took to pacify Jungkook was for Yoongi to give him a hug, followed by a quick

“you'll always be hyung's favourite, Kook-ah.” as he ruffled his hair.

Jungkook was only 22 when that had happened. And he'd like to believe he's grown a lot since then.

He's advanced enough in his career that he's not Mr. Bang's payroll anymore, but rather pays him. Jungkook has grown in a literal sense too, having had a growth spurt one random day after he turned 23 (there was no containing him once he realized that he was 6 feet tall) .

Jungkook has (helped) create life; your daughter Jinhae. It's the thing he's proudest of, second only to marrying you.

But Jungkook is only human.

So it's only natural that he feels an itch rise on the back of his neck everytime he picks Jinhae up from your apartment, and all she can talk about is your new boyfriend.

He got so…irritated the more Jinhae babbled on about “Woo- Woo” that he felt a little silly. But who could blame him? He would be holding Jinhae 's hand as they walked through the park for their daddy daughter time, and every other sentence would be about this ‘’Woo Woo”.

Seokjin had once joked that she had switched from being 'Daddy's girl' to 'Woo-Woo’s girl' , and Jungkook 's body took a screenshot. He shot Jin a look so vile, that the older stayed quiet for the rest of the day.

Jungkook really had tried to ignore it as best as possible. And he (thought) he was doing fairly well until that evening, when Jinhae had let it slip that:

‘’Mama kissed Woo-Woo today.”

He had just picked her up from her taekwondo class, and was about to pull out of the parking lot when Jinhae gave him the oh so lovely news.

Jungkook isn't a monster, he thinks he's let this little charade go on for much longer than was respectable. He wasn't going to let that slide.

He took a sharp left and sped down the highway. If he wasn't so caught up in his head, he would've heard Jinhae 's excited scream of:

“YAY! we're going to Uncle Yoonie's house’

You had just finished taking a long, warm bath. Your feet had been aching, and your back felt worse than it did before you had gotten your epidural. You needed a break; desperately.

The silence in the apartment was a welcome change.

You loved Jinhae with all your heart, but children were tiring to deal with alone. Children could be incredibly difficult, just for the fun of it. Especially spoilt, almost-five year olds who are used to their daddy obeying their every beck and call.

God forbid you didn't do “ the voice” right, after reading “The little Prince” five times in a row! suddenly you were public enemy number one.

At least you could bask in the fact that Jinhae never threw (noisy) tantrums or threw things, but you felt that she had quadruple the attitude your hus- ex, accused you of having.

But tonight, the only attitude you have to worry about dealing with, was from Kim when you researched the earliest seasons of Keeping up with the Kardashians. What can you say? There's truly nothing funnier to you than upper class white women trying to be relatable. To this dat, their target audience was a mystery to you. You can't think of a single person whose biggest problem was how many times their name got googled in a day. You find it hard to take anything they ‘’go through' seriously, because if we're being honest, people really are dying Kim!

You walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a soft white robe.

You reach for the the lilac, silk pajama set laid out on your bed. You had bought it from an online lingerie store, after a few glasses of wine a few weeks ago. You had been so…bored that you did the most exciting thing your numb brain could come up with in that moment.

You scoff at your past self. It was more cute than anything, not nearly as scandalous as some of the items you have hidden in the back of your closest. But you're not complaining.

The shorts are a bit shorter than you expected, but the silk is soft a high quality, and the lace that lines the top isn't itchy at all. You untwist your bun, and your braids cascade down your shoulders. You grab the bottle of black castor oil from your dresser, and run the nozzle along the parts. You sigh as you reach up to massage your scalp.

It's in little moments like these that you miss Jungkook the most. You hate to admit, but you used to be just as spoilt as Jinhae. Jungkook used to pamper you in every way possible. He would oil your scalp for you, order your hair products months in advance so that you'd never run out, and give you massages whenever your shoulders stood too rigid.

But you didn't have Jungkook anymore. You suck your teeth in annoyance at yourself for thinking about him so much.

You had just finished applying your vitamin c serum to your face, when you heard an incessant pounding on your door. You pause your music just as Kali Uchis asks if she can get a kiss. You're confused as to why someone is knocking on your door, when you have a very obvious doorbell attached to the frame. It's even stranger given what time it is.

You slip your feet into your cow print night slippers, as you step off the plush rug that lay on the floor in front of your vanity; and unto the floor.

The slippers slap against the floor as you walk towards the living room, and to whoever the hell wouldn't stop pounding on your door at 9pm on a Friday.

You throw the door open, ready to demand an explanation when you stop dead in your tracks.

To say you're surprised at who is standing at your door would be an understatement. You're not sure who you were expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't Jungkook. You're even more surprised to see him without Jinhae in tow.

You don't think that you've been alone with Jungkook for more than a few minutes at a time since the divorce; and even so, Jinhae has always been just a few feet away.

You feel worry start to settle in your stomach.

“Where's JJ? Is she okay?” You ask, praying that what came out of his mouth next isn't bad news.

He chuckes. It's a sound that comes from deep inside his chest and reverberates across the empty hallway. It's an empty laugh, with no humour behind it. It makes a chill run up and down your spine.

“Jinie is fine. She's with Yoongi; and she's the last of your worries right now” he says.

For once, Jungkook hasn't cracked a single smile the entire time he's been in your presence. It's obvious that he's mad, but you're not sure at what. You're not sure that you vare.

He isn't wearing a suit right now, and you can't recall the last time you'd seen him in anything but.

Jungkook worked extraordinarily long hours. You knew that working late and being burnt out would be a part of his life, especially the more his business grew, but it hadn't phased you at the time. There was nothing to be phased about.

At the time, Jungkook always put you first. And when Jinhae was born, he did the same thing. There was never a time where he had left you to fend for yourself with a newborn. He had been there through it all. From colic, to 3 am feedings to explosive diaper changes. He had never let you feel alone as a parent, or in your marriage.

Until around 8 months ago that is.

8 months ago, you feel like Jungkook had just stopped trying.

You know for a fact that Jungkook is terrified of being poor. It's why he always has another merger to make with one of his three companies, and dips his toes into every industry imaginable. His influence spanned over tech, real estate and even clothing. You think Jungkook's fear is understandable, you don't think it's fair. It was teetering on the edge of paranoia and greed.

He was trying so bad to make sure that he could take care of his family, that he wasnt.

He would get home from work after Jinhae went to bed, and left before she got ready for school. You had spent one too many nights falling asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home; only to wake up in your bed the next morning with a handwritten note on your bathroom mirror. They were sweet and all..but not much more.

As much as you appreciated the affirmations, his words meant nothing when there was no action behind them. Promises to come home home early the, family outings that never happened… You felt like you were a kid whose love was expected to be bought with money, and placated with empty commitments all over again. You could count on a bouquet of roses being delivered at your door every morning, more than you could count on your own husband being there.

You hated it.

You were starting to hate him.

It had gotten to a point where Jungkook had just given his secretary reign over his personal phone. You almost lost your mind when you had called him to ask what he wanted for dinner once, and she answered and told you that he was busy.

You could hear Jungkook 's laughter in the background, and the noise was not a professional setting. In fact, it sounded a lot more intimate and cozy. Like a restaurant or small bar. You felt sick to your stomach. You couldn't even get the chance to talk to Jungkook about it, because you barely saw him.

The look on his face when you served him the divorce papers in person at his office was borderline comical. His eyes had widened so far out of their sockets, that you thought the expression was causing him physical pain. You had said nothing. You simply handed him the papers and stayed long enough for him to read the heading. He clearly wanted to communicate through words on paper, so who were you to not oblige him with some?

As far as you know, Jungkook had never signed the papers, but he did follow all the other conditions you had outlined in your petition for separation.

He got an apartment for you and Jinhae in a building he didn't own, and was never late for any pickups or dropoffs, save for once when he had the flu.

A part of you had forgotten how young Jungkook was.

The suits he wore aged him plenty. Not in an old, haggard way, but in a way that made him appear more refined and serious than he actually was. His hair was always cut short and clicked away from his face. The collars of his shirts were always ironed to sharpness. Hell, he even wore sensible shoes.

If you hadn't seen every inch of Jungkook 's body before, and gone to college with him…You would have pegged him for an uptight dogooder. You're sure it helped him get taken seriously in the corporate world, but overtime, it was as if Jungkook had forgotten his roots. As if he had morphed into a no nonsense, mormon-esque version of himself.

But the Jungkook standing before you now, is the Jungkook you know and lov- respected. Jungkook who proudly wore his colorful sleeve of tattoos,silver hoops through his lips and a stud in his nose. The Jungkook who liked to wear cargo pants and oversized shirts with stomper boots he could barely walk straight in.

You knew he had showered before he had come over, because his hair was still curly. He hadn't blow-dried it. His hair is much longer than it was when you had last saw him. It fell past his eyes now. He had started growing it out sgain because Jinhae told him she wanted to. At least, that's what he had told you.

What had really happened was that Jinhae had been asking a lot of questions about “ when appa wasn't so old” one Saturday when they had gone out for ice cream.

“Appa, Mommy says your hair used to be w-eally long and pwetty. Can it come back? Mommy misses it.”

Jungkook hadn't cut his hair again since.

“Aren't you going to invite me in?” He asks, one eyebrow raised at you.

You fold your arms across your chest.

“I'm not sure why I should. Besides, I don't think that this is a good time.”

“Oh? Why's that? You lip expecting someone else,princess?’ He takes in your attire from head to toe. His eyes linger for a little too long in your chest. His voice goes deeper as he struggles to finish his last question.

You don't answer, and it makes his eye twitch.

It's so ridiculous, yet so on brand of him to create a hypothetical scenario in his head and get all eaten up about it. He takes a deep breath.

He doesn't want to blow his fuse. Not here, Not yet.

“ I need to talk to you. Inside. Please.” He asks, but it's not really a request.

You roll your eyes and turn your back to him as you walk away.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches your ass jiggle in the tiny shorts. He enters behind you, and the door closes softly with a click.

You walk over to the fridge and grab the unfinished can of Arizona Iced tea, and a glass from the cupboard. You were looking forward to having a glass of wine tonight, but if you were going to talk to Jungkook… you needed to be stone cold sober.

“You want anything?” You ask, as you pour the content into the glass. “ I think I have some b-”

“What I want is answers.” He says simply, leaning in the arched entryway.

You look at him with confusion written all over your face, before your pettiness takes over.

“ Oh yeah? Well I wanted signed divorce papers, and yet here we are.”

You take a swig from your cup and let the sweetness of the drink coat your tongue.

You see Jungkook release a breath so deep that his entire body shakes.

“ Who are you kissing in front of my kid?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says with his arms crossed against his chest. “Who are you kissing in front of my kid?”

You're getting irritated now, because for one, what the hell is he talking about, and two…Who was Jungkook to talk to you like that?

“Jungkook. First of all, she's our kid. And secondly, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. And even if I did… I wouldn't tell you jack shit. What or who I do is none of your business.”

Jungkook pushes himself off the threshold and starts walking towards you. His steps are slow and strong. His strides are long,and he has your back pressed into the counter in a matter of seconds.

You haven't been so close to Jungkook in so long, that everything about him overwhelms you in the best way possible. He smells so, so good. He smells like sandalwood and warm vanilla. He smells like home. His proximity to you is dizzying, and you can only pray that you'll keep it together.

He puts his arm on one side of you, leaving your left completely open. If you wanted to get away from him, you could. You stayed in place. It tells him everything he needs to know.

“Have you completely lost your fucking mind Y/N?” He questions. He reaches for your left hand and your heart sinks down to your ass. The diamond of your wedding ring glitters under the lights hanging from the the ceiling. The princess cut stone is practically mocking you.

“What do you think I gave you this ring for huh? Fun? Fucking decoration?” He jests, “You know, for someone who never shuts her big mouth up about divorce, you sure keep this on don't you baby?”

You don't deny it. There's no point in doing so. You know that if you do, he'll lift the ring upwards. And you know that when he does, he'll find the unmistakable circle of a tan line wrapping around your ring finger.

He strokes his thumb against your cheek, and you almost preen at his touch. “Who's ‘Woo- Woo’ baby?”

“None of your business.” You bite out.

“When are you gonna get it through your thick skull, that you are my business?!”

He runs his hand through his long hair, and you can see his face so much better. He's as beautiful as you remember and he's right in front of you.

You don't know who leaned in first, but you do know how soft lips feel as they press against yours. You fell the metal of his lip piercings touch the roof of your mouth as you suck his lip into you mouth.

He puts his hand under your ass, and your legs wrap around him on instinct. He lifts you and bring you over to the cool marble of the kitchen island.

His hand tugs on the hem of your blouse, and you pull away from him.

“Kook, we can't.” You whine as you pull away.

Jungkook uses his thumb to wipe some of the spit from the corner of your mouth, and fixes your shirt so your boob is no longer at risk of spilling out.

“Okay baby, we'll stop and we can talk over dinner. Do you want me to make something or do you want to get takeout?” He asked as he pulls away from you.

He doesn't get very far, because you wrap your legs around him, and pull you back to him.

“Wait- I didn't really mean that.” You whisper. Jungkook has a sneaking suspicion that you weren't just talking about telling him no.

“You want me baby?”

You nod your head yes, too embarrassed to open your mouth lest your voice shake.

He cradles your face, and tilts it upwards so you have no choice but to look him in the eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You answer affirmatively, reaching forwards to capture his lips again.

Youre not even thinking about the Pandora's box that you might be opening; and quite frankly? You don't care.

You're acutely aware that you wont be able to blame your decision on being drunk or tipsy. The only thing driving you was a burning need to have Jungkook deep inside you (where he belonged).

He litters kisses along your neck as he slides his hand down your shorts. Your hips buck forward on instinct, and you shudder as you feel his fingers ghost your clit.

“Why are you naked under here?” He growls out. grip tightening around you waist. “I'm starting to think that you were expecting someone tonight.” he muses.

He spreads your folds with two fingers, reveling in the way your arousal leaks out of you and unto his fingers.

“ Is that why you're so eager, baby? Hm? Is that why you're so wet? You decided that you were gonna get fucked one way or another? Is that it?”

He asks each question as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. It shallow. He doesn't allow you the pleasure of going further than his first knuckle. You try to grind down on his digits, but he holds your hips down with his free hand.

“Whoever you've been giving my pussy away to, hasn't been doing a very good job... have they?” He groans as you clench around him.

“Jungkook please. I want-”

“Shh baby, I know. I'll give it to you I promise. Just give me one first” he begs as he speeds up his circles on your clit.

He sinks his teeth into the sensitive spot on your neck, and you cum almost instantly. Your body shakes and you wrap your arms around his neck as your pussy convulses around his fingers.

You barely have time to recover before he's pulling your shorts down, and cleaning up the mess you made. He catches the slick of you orgasm on your tongue just as it starts running down your leg.

He goes at your pussy like a man starved. You cry out the moment his tongue enters you. You ride his tongue with vigor, gripping unto the counter for stability.

Jungkook pulls away from you for moment. His mouth is shiny from your juices, and his eyes are already so blown out that you want to fuck him even more.

He guides your hand to his hair, and encourages you to grab the tendrils.

“Use me, baby” he instructs.

His voice is so gravelly and raw, that you can do nothing but oblige him.

You grip the roots of his hair and push his head back between your legs. You both moan when he starts lapping at you again. You hold his head in place, guiding him where you want him; where you need him.

The second time you cum, your legs closed so tight around his head that Jungkook thought he had died and went straight to heaven.

You pull him away from your core by his hair, and bring him up to your face. You clean his face with your own tongue, and lean in to kiss him so you both taste like you. Your chests are still heaving when Jungkook carries you to your room.

He lays you gently on the bed, and takes his shirt off at the same time you toss your blouse over your head. He's about to undo the strings of his sweatpants when he stops cold in his tracks..

“ Shit, baby…I don't have any condoms. I didn't plan on this-”

“ It's okay,” You reassure him “ I'm clean. Are you?”

Jungkook looks a little scandalized. “Of course I'm clean, I haven't - I havent been with anyone except you since before we started dating.” His honesty shines so brightly in his eyes that you almost want to pull him into a hug.

You release a shaky, nervous breath you didn't know you had been holding.

“ Good. I want to feel you, all of you.”

The bed sinks as Jungkook climbs over you, one leg on each side of your body.

You've missed this view. Him on top of you, chain swining in your face, and big doe eyes filled with lust for you and only you.

He takes a hairtye from around his wrists, and pulls his hair into a low manbun. His cock is already painfully hard, red and leaking from the tip.

You spread your legs as Jungkook nestkes in-between them. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, and presses a soft kiss to your calf.

He rubs himself between your folds, mesmerized by how quickly your wetness coats him.

He lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses.

“Are you sure you're ready baby? I don't want to hurt you.”

“ Is that it? Or are you scared that you don't hold a candle to ‘Woo-Woo’ my” you jest. Jungkook doesn't find it very funny.

He pushes himself into you, but as wet as you are, you're still so, so tight. Your pussy is so warm…hot even, that Jungkook almost cums the moment yes fully sheathed in you.

You're just as tight as he remembers, tighter even.

You both moan when he delivers his first thrust. You haven't had dick in so long,that you'd forgot what it felt like. How it felt like to have your walls stretched and your g spot caressed, how delicious and heavy the drag was inside you. How good Jungkook was at this. You feel so good that Jungkook practically forgets that he's supposed to be mad at you.

“You know you belong to me right?” Jungkook demands as he thrusts into you, slow and forceful. You don't answer and turn your face away from him He wraps his hand around your throat as speed up.

“Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you!”

His thrusts become faster, punishing. He practically ploughs you into the mattress as whatever restraint he had before vanishes into thin air. You scream the more intense the pleasure gets.

“ I should fuck another baby into you, you know that? Hm? Should swell your tummy up with another one of my kids, so you have nine months to think about why the fuck you would do something as stupid as try to leave me.”

He finds your gspot as effortlessly as he usually does, and he hits it over and over and over again.

“Jungkook PLEASE” you cry. You reach your hand out to push against the hardness of his abdomen. He takes your hand and kisses it. You're so close. So fucking close, and Jungkook can tell.

“You want to cum, don't you baby?”

You nod frantically. Your pussy is practically raw from overstimulation, and you feel so much pressure building inside you that you don't know whether you want to run away from the pleasure or dive headfirst into it.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I need to please.”

“Then tell me. Fucking tell me you're mine”

“Fuck, I'm yours, Jungkook! Please!” you cry.

“ How many people have you fucked since you left? Answer me!” He commands you, adding a finger to your clit to the mix.

“Nobody, no one, Jungkook Please!”

“ I know baby, I just needed you to admit it.”

He leans down and places a soft kiss to your temple. He gives you two more delicious thrusts that make your toes curl and your eyes roll back. Your lurches forward as your orgasm rips through you. Your walls convulse around him, squeezing him so tight that Jungkook feels a bit dizzy.

“Baby,” he whines “unwrap your legs so I can pull out.” He gasps when your legs only wrap tighter around him. “Baby, I have to-”

“N-no,” you protest “ I want it inside Jungkook please.”

He cums so forcefully that his orgasm leaves him winded and his arms almost give out. He spils his seed into you, and you feel the warmth of it coat your walls.

He pulls out of you as he begins to soften, and collapse beside you as he tries to catch his breath. You both turn to look at each other, and Jungkook offers you a soft smile.

He notices the sweat starting to bead on your forehead, and turns his head to switch your fan on.

That's when you see it. Your eyes bug out of their sockets.

“Jungkook, what the hell is that on your neck?”

“ What are you talking about?”

“Right there,” you turn his head to the right to get a better look. Your heart starts thumming uncontrollably in your chest. Because there it was, your name in bold black letters for everyone to see.

“Jungkook…When did you get that?”

“Hm…about five months ago?” he chuckles. He had the decency to look sheepish.

“Jungkook!” You say as you slap his chest “ We weren't even together!”

“ Correction, we are together, we just have separate living arrangements.”

You look at him incredulously.

“You're crazy, you know that?’

“About you? Yeah..Real crazy baby” he flirts “Hey, you never told me woo this ‘Woo-Woo’ guy is anyways .”

You roll you eyes at him as you climb of the bed.

“I can't tell you who he's not. He's not the one whose cum is dripping out of me right now. Are you gonna join me on the shower or what?”

Fin.

[emacrow]

Alfred's new ward making sure everyone is having great day during their day off from crime whether they want to or not.

Previous original post

Damian knew from day one of meeting alfred's new ward that he was going to be trouble..

He may have been stalking the kid doing alfred's work while alfred sat down in a comfy couch with a plate of fresh jasmine tea, his prescription medince bottle at ready and a raspberry strudel to nibble on.

He ain't going to replace his favorite Butler, not now, not ever. So Damian got Tim and Dick to help sabotage this heathen from taking over...Not knowing this kid was expecting their over the top sabotages. They tried scaring him with Titus but the little traitor lay there on his back getting belly rubs like it was heaven itself.

Changing the plumbing in his shower to freezing cold, but he walk out there refreshed. Tim trying to look of anything to blackmail him only for the batcomputer to go off the frizz with a virus.

Alfred did make sure to have his work sort out alphabetical because he is the Glue that keep these Wayne Manor going and everyone living in it not because caveman style creatures of the night.

Danny made sure Bruce didn't escape to his batcave on his supposed day off after 96 hours without sleep and spite driven nature, and don't even come with Justice never sleep excuses is going to run by him. He got Alfred's speical Bruce's tranquilizer gun at ready and he is not hesitating to shot you Bruce.

He does kept Tim from overdoing with the coffee addiction, giving him a better offer of coffee as long as he goes to sleep. Dick will still talk about Saturday night when Tim tries to sneak out to do some more investigating in the batcave only to see Danny dragged a unconscious Tim back to his room, a two tranquilizers to the back and one of his arm, though he didn't mention the Danny's glowing cat light green eyes that shine in the dark.

Danny's funny puns neon ghost stickers made dick's days, every morning as he goes to get his lunch, and he really want to know where he get them from.

Danny did actually helped a lot with the Wayne Manor as it never been cleaner before, Jason visited one time even mentioned that the chandelier never feel so clean to hang on from, not a speck of dust on it.

Damian getting a new animals book/documentaries, a new knifes for the collection or art supplies that match his demands in a way that keep his stabby nature at sate and bay for now.

Barb, Cass and Duke are amused by the fact that Bruce, Tim and Damian are having a little mid crisis that danny making them have day off on certain days such as holidays.

All this free time actually had alfred's going back to old hobbies that were nearly long forgotten such as conversations with old dear friends, practicing his old shooting skills, and having well deserved rest. Once his arm was healed, he stil did his duty along side with Danny as it was much quicker to do together as two people at hand.

What they will probably find out later on in the future that danny is actually Bruce's great grand uncle from his older sister side, and that he had disappeared when he was 20 years old in a old spooky town that vanished and still on today uneXplained series after his great grandmother moved to gotham. (But that another story for next post)

[writers-potion]

Storyediting Questions to Ask

As You Read the First Draft:

Are there place that surprised you as you read your first draft? - Why do you suppose that is? - Is there material there you'd like to expand?

What are the character really doing in this story? - Might they have issues you haven't explored fully yet?

Look to the places that drag. - These might be scenes where you have avoided dealing with something deeper. - What are the characters really thinking in these places? - What are their passions, frustrations, and desires?

Imagine alternative plotlines. - How might your plot be different if ti headed off on another tangent from various points in the story? - You don't have to follow them, but they might suggest other streams that can flow into the main plot.

Think About Structure:

Does you story play out naturally in three acts?

Is there an immediate disturbance to the Lead's world?

Does the first doorway of no return occur before the one-fifth mark?

Are the stakes being raised sufficiently?

Does the second doorway of no return put the Lead on the path to the climax?

Does the rhythm of the sotyr match your intent? If this is an action novel, does the plot move relentlessly forward? If this is a character-driven novel, do the scenes delve deeply enough?

Are there strongly motivated characters?

Have coincidence been established?

Is something happeing immediately at the beginning? Did you establish a person in a setting with a problem, onfronted with change or threat?

Is the timeline logical?

Is the story too predictable in terms of sequence? Should it be rearranged?

About Your Lead Character:

Is the character memorable? Compelling? Enough to carry a reader all the way through the plot?

A lead character has to jump off the page. Does yours?

Does this character avoid cliches? Is he capable of surprising us?

What's unique about the character?

Is the character's objective strong enough?

How does the character grow over the course of the story?

How does the character demonstrate inner strength?

About Your Opposition:

Is your oppositing character interesting?

Is he fully realized, not just a cardboard cutout?

Is he justified (at least in his own mind) in his actions?

Is he believable?

Is he strong as or stronger than the Lead?

About Your Story's Adhesive Nature:

Is the conflcit between the Lead and opposition crucial for both?

Why can't they just walk away? What holds them together?

About Your Scene:

Are the big scenes big enough? Surprising enough? Can you make them more original, unanticipated, and draw them out for all they are worth?

Is there enough conflict in the scenes?

What is the least memorable scene? Cut it!

What else can be cut in order to move the story relentlessly forward?

Does the climactic scene come too fast (through a writer fatigue)? Can you make it more, write it for all it's worth?

Does we need a new minor subplot to build up a saggin midsection?

About Your Minor Characters:

What is their purpose in the plot?

Are they unique and colorful?

Polishing Questions:

Are you hooking the reader from the beginning?

Are suspenseful scenes drawn out for the ultimate tension?

Can any information be delayed? This creates tension in the reader, always a good thing.

Are there enough surprises?

Are character-reaction scenes deep and interesting?

Read chapter ending for read-on prompts

Are there places you can replace describing how a character feels with actions?

Do I use visual, sensory-laden words?

For a Dialogue Read-Through:

Dialogue is almost always strengthened by cutting words within the lines.

In dialogue, be fair to both sides. Don't give one character all the good lines.

Greate dialogue surprises the reader and creates tension. View it like a game, where the players are trying to outfox each other.

Can you get more conflict into dialogue, even emong allies?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[tsumuus]

teacher izuku midoriya with a crush on his coworker

The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day at UA High. The corridors were soon filled with the sound of chattering students and the shuffling of feet as everyone made their way out. Izuku Midoriya, now a seasoned hero and a dedicated teacher, walked through the halls with a gentle smile, his eyes occasionally glancing at the groups of students passing by. Despite the many years that had passed, his passion for nurturing the next generation of heroes had only grown.

He made his way to the teachers' lounge, hoping for a moment of peace before tackling the mountain of paperwork awaiting him. As he pushed open the door, he was greeted by the sight of you, sitting on the couch with a stack of assignments in your lap. You taught a different course to the same grade, and your classrooms were right next to each other. Your playful demeanor often lit up the otherwise serious atmosphere of the school.

"Hey, Midoriya!" you called out, waving a hand in greeting. There was a playful glint in your eye as you looked up from your papers.

Izuku's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. Despite his years of hero work and teaching, he still felt a bit awkward around you. It wasn't just your looks that captivated him but also the way you seemed to effortlessly brighten up any room you entered. He walked over to the coffee machine, trying to act casual as he filled a mug.

"Hi," he replied, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness that only he could detect. He took a deep breath and turned to face you, leaning against the counter.

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing smile on your lips. "Rough day?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, not really. Just the usual end-of-day exhaustion." He paused, glancing at the papers in your lap. "How about you? How's everything going with your class?"

You sighed dramatically, placing a hand on your forehead. "Oh, you know, the kids are great, but this grading is going to be the death of me." There was a sparkle in your eyes as you exaggerated your troubles, and Izuku couldn't help but smile at your theatrics.

He watched you for a moment, admiring the way you managed to find joy even in mundane tasks. He wished he could express how much he admired that about you. Instead, he simply nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

"You always seem to handle it well," he said, his voice soft. "The students really look up to you."

You looked up at him, a genuine smile replacing your playful one. "Thanks, Midoriya. That means a lot coming from you."

He felt a warmth spread through his chest at your words. Despite the countless times you'd had similar exchanges, each one felt special to him. He wanted to say more, to let you know how much he valued your presence, but the words always seemed to get stuck in his throat.

As you returned to your grading, Izuku couldn't help but steal glances at you. Your playful nature, the way you interacted with the students, and your ability to make even the most boring tasks seem fun – all of it drew him to you. He admired you deeply, but he was also aware of the awkwardness that still lingered within him, a remnant of his younger years.

Finishing his coffee, he decided to muster up the courage to speak more openly. "You know, it's really nice having a colleague like you," he began, his voice a bit hesitant. "Someone who can make even the toughest days a little brighter."

You looked up, surprised but pleased. "Thanks, Midoriya. That means a lot."

He nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment at having expressed a bit of what he felt. As he made his way to the door, he paused and turned back to you. "If you ever need help with grading or anything else, just let me know. I'd be happy to lend a hand."

Your eyes sparkled with that familiar playful glint as you replied, "I'll keep that in mind, Midoriya. Don't be surprised if I take you up on that offer."

He smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. "I'd like that."

With that, he left the lounge, his heart feeling lighter. He knew it would take time for him to fully open up, but he was willing to wait. After all, you were worth it.

masterlist

[hollyseb]

A COLLISION OF FATE - CEO!BUCKY X ASSISTANT READER (one-shot)

warnings; swearing, minors dni

2.4k words

summary; As an assistant to the powerful CEO Bucky Barnes, you’ve always kept things strictly professional—maybe even a little distant. But when a chaotic morning commute turns your world upside down, you find yourself relying on your boss in unexpected ways.

authors note; this is my first fic in a while so please let me know what you think!

Fuck.

You couldn’t help but pull the bed sheets over your head as your alarm sounded. You’d slept terribly, anticipation stewing in your chest all night long. A huge day at work loomed ahead. Your boss trusted you with organising a client meeting for a massive company project, and despite your meticulous preparations, anxiety gnawed at you relentlessly.

This marks your fourth month as an assistant to Mr Barnes, CEO of Barnes Industries. Your boss embodies power and leadership, standing well over six feet. He has a presence that’s impossible to ignore, although you often find yourself trying to; avoiding his piercing gaze, shrinking away from his broad figure. He intimidated you.

You’d learned to anticipate his needs, not just to impress him but perhaps as an attempt to keep your conversations to a minimum. Although you had managed to settle into your role, growing accustomed to your boss’ high standards, you often felt a sense of apprehension. You were overwhelmed by how important he was. Mr Barnes wasn’t just your boss - he was a force of nature.

The two of you maintained a strictly professional relationship, even lingering towards slightly cold sometimes. You liked to do what he needed you to do, and then get out of his way. However, every now and then, you’d catch him watching you with a look that lingered a moment too long. You’d always assume there was something on your face, or a smudge on your shirt, anything that might explain why he was staring. But when you checked, there was never anything there.

For Bucky, it started with the little things. He noticed how you always made sure his coffee was exactly how he liked it, down to the last detail, even on the most hectic mornings. You remembered the smallest preferences he had, the things he rarely even thought about himself—like the way you would quietly replace the pens in his office with the specific brand he preferred, or how you always ensured there was a bottle of his favorite water in the conference room before every meeting. These weren’t just the actions of a diligent assistant; they were gestures that spoke of someone who genuinely cared, someone who paid attention to him in a way that no one else ever had.

Your snoozed alarm began to sound again, piercing your thoughts like a violent shriek. Just get through the meeting, you told yourself, before ultimately deciding to drag yourself out of bed. The thought repeated like a mantra. Is it normal to feel this worried about disappointing your boss? You thought, before swatting away the idea. You didn’t need to focus on that for now.

A hot shower did little to wash away the anxiety that clinged to you. Your movements were robotic as you went through your morning routine, driven by the pressure of the meeting.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone, the screen lighting up with a soft glow. 7:45 AM. It felt as though the numbers were taunting you. You ran a hand down your face, bracing yourself for the day.

Time to go.

After locking the door to your small, cozy apartment, you made your way down the narrow, communal staircase. The morning air hitting you with a welcomed bite as you stepped outside into the car park.

You slid into the drivers seat of your aging Mini, the familiar creak of the door and worn leather seat beneath you provided a familiar comfort. It wasn't much, but it was yours, the car you'd had since you were 17. You shifted into gear and gripped the steering wheel, the hum of the engine almost grounding you.

Just get through the meeting, you repeated, merging into the flow of morning traffic. You let your mind drift to the day's plans, mentally rehearsing the things you had to organise when you arrived at the office… calling the clients to confirm their attendance, setting up the meeting room, dropping the itinerary off at Mr Barnes’ desk.

As you approached a red light just a few blocks from the office, you felt a fleeting sense of calm. Your heartbeat, which had been a relentless drumbeat of anxiety, finally began to settle into a more regular rhythm. The office was so close, the meeting so imminent. All you had to do now was make it through the last stretch of traffic and face the day.

Without warning, a loud, violent crashing noise shattered the calm. The force of the impact threw you forward, your seatbelt straining against your body painfully. The contents of your bag spilling into the passenger seat footwell alongside the sound of crunching metal. Your mind was blank, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

What the -?

Your heart raced, your breaths leaving in shallow and quick successions. The realisation hit you like a second wave of impact - you’d been rear-ended.

You gripped the steering wheel like a vice, catching sight of your pale face as movement caught your attention in the rear view mirror. the driver of the car behind you was already out of his vehicle, storming towards you.

Rather than waiting for you to get out the car, he began shouting at you through the closed window. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted, his voice echoing violently.

He looked to be in his mid thirties, dressed in a wrinkled suit, face red with anger and eyes practically bulging out his head.

You took a deep breath, adrenaline surging through your veins. Stay calm, don’t escalate. You unbuckle your seatbelt, ignoring the dull pain of where it had dug into you, stepping out your beloved car.

“Do you even know how to fucking drive?” He yelled, arms flailing. “I’m going to be late for work because of you, stupid bitch”

You were taken aback by his blatant profanity. Humiliation rising in your body as bystanders gawked at the interaction.

You blinked, your nerves fraying under his aggression. “I was stopped at the light. You hit me,” you said, voice trembling.

”Bullshit!” He spat, inching towards your face. “You stopped like a fucking moron and now look at my fucking car!”, he pointed in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek black BMW, barely scratched.

The sight of your car, however, made your stomach turn. The bumper was shrewd across the concrete, the metal contorted dramatically. You’d come off much worse than him. You could feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“This is all your fault!”, he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You’re going to pay every cent for the damage you’ve caused.”

Before you could respond, he lunged closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “Do you even realise how fucking pathetic you look right now? Crying because you’ve ruined my car-“

The man was interrupted. A firm, authoritative voice cutting through his ramblings like steel.

“Is there a problem here?”

You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was - Bucky Barnes. The sight of him hit you like a tidal wave. For a split second, you were frozen, breath catching in your throat.

Bucky’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on the angry driver, his expression a mask of controlled authority. Your eyes shifted between the two, noticing how Bucky towered over the man.

The man’s voice was quieter than before, his composure tense. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I’m her boss,” he said, his tone calm but edged with a warning. “And I suggest you step back before you make this any worse.”

The anger in the man’s stance faltered, replaced by a grudging recognition that he was outmatched. With a final glare towards you, he stormed back to his car.

You exhaled, realising you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice shaky from adrenaline.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening a fraction. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low and filled with a warmth which contrasted the icy authority he had shown moments before.

You watched the way his eyes trailed down your shaking body for any obvious signs of injury.

You nodded in response. “Y-yes, I’m okay. Just a bit shaken”, a forced smile pursing against your lips.

He leaned down slightly, lowering himself to your height, his face inches from yours. Placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “You don’t have to put a brave face on with me. Are you really okay?”

The depth of his concern was more than you expected, combined with the gentleness of his touch, you felt like your head was spinning.

”Thank you, Mr Barnes”, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I’m okay, I promise”.

Bucky’s expression softened even more. “Let me take you to the office. I’ll sort you out and make sure everything’s taken care of.” Bucky said, his voice low and earnest.

His words soothed you. He placed a firm but gentle hand on your mid-back, guiding you towards his car. The warmth of his touch was a comforting contrast to the cold air. You found solace in the protective way he guided you.

When you reached his car, Bucky opened the passenger door for you with a quiet, practiced grace. His movements were deliberate and careful, as if he wanted to ensure you felt as secure as possible.

Bucky closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side. As he settled into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the rear view mirror, his gaze flicking over to you. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Barnes, when it’s just us two. James will do.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, feeling a sudden rush of warmth. You faltered for a split second under the heat of his stare. “Okay, James”, you said quietly.

He gave a small, approving smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get you to the office.”

Your boss wouldn’t let you know, but the way you trembled when that man was yelling at you, the way his words reduced you to feeling small and insignificant, made Bucky’s blood boil. His usual calm and composed demeanor was barely holding back the fury simmering beneath the surface. The sight of you being treated so harshly, so unfairly, sparked something primal in him—something protective and fierce.

Arriving at the office, Bucky parked with a practised ease and opened your door, offering a supportive hand as you stepped out. Eyes glazing over you again to see if you were moving with any discomfort.

As you walked into the building, you were met with a flurry of activity. Bucky led you to your room, settling you into your office chair with a soft, reassuring hand on your back.

“Take a moment to breathe,” he instructed, his voice a mix of warmth and authority. “I’ll handle the meeting for now, okay? You’ve had a rough morning.”

You nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Bucky made a few quick phone calls and sent some emails, managing the meeting logistics with the efficiency and competence that defined him.

Throughout the morning, Bucky periodically checked in on you. Each time, his concern was evident, his questions simple but genuine. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” he would ask, always with that soft, protective tone.

By lunchtime, Bucky made sure you had something to eat. He watched with a mixture of satisfaction and relief as you ate, noting the gradual return of color to your cheeks.

As the workday wound down, you wrapped up your tasks and prepared to head home. Bucky had been a steadfast support throughout the day, ensuring that you felt taken care of and that everything went smoothly despite the morning’s chaos.

As you gathered your things, Bucky approached with a rare, genuine smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Much better, thanks to you,” you said, returning his smile. “I really appreciate everything today.”

”Well I would love to drive you home, but I still have a few more things to wrap up. One of my drivers will take you, okay?”, your boss said, leaning against the door frame of your office.

You opened your mouth to politely decline, feeling that he had already done enough for you today. However, you faltered when he raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his expression, you knew there was no point in arguing.

“Alright,” you agreed, feeling a warmth spread through you at his insistence. “Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied, a part of him wanted to grin at your obedience as he circled back to his office.

The ride home was quiet, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You were exhausted, but there was also a strange sense of anticipation that you couldn’t quite explain.

When the car pulled up outside your apartment, you thanked the driver and stepped out. The cool evening air was refreshing after the long day, and you were eager to wash the day away with a hot shower and a bottle of wine.

But as you approached your apartment building, something caught your eye. Parked in your usual spot was a familiar-looking Mini, only this one was brand new. The gleaming paint, the spotless interior—it was unmistakably the same make and model as your beloved old car, but this one was perfect in every way.

There’s no way, you thought.

Your heart pounded as you took a hesitant step closer, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. There was no mistaking it—this was a gift, one that had been carefully chosen to replace what you had lost earlier today.

A note was tucked under the windshield wiper. With trembling hands, you pulled it free and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable.

You’ve had a rough day. I hope this makes it a little easier. – James

A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You never expected something like this. Bucky hadn’t just replaced your car—he’d chosen something that he knew would mean something to you, something that was a perfect reflection of who you were.

As you stood there, staring at the car that now felt like a symbol of so much more, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you and Bucky had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone.

A collision of fate.

————————————————————-

TAGLIST!

@sashaisready @matchat3a @writingpastmybedtime @melsunshine @lex-the-flex @himawariizephyr @jbbarnesgirl @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @sagebarness @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @selella @armystay89 @globetrotter28 @iwritewithpenandpaper @casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @buckydarling09 @kandis-mom @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90

[hvnyrt]

Request: Jason is surprisingly affectionate in private

JASON TOOD X GN! READER

SUMMARY: You're tired, Jason takes care of you

WARNINGS: None, enjoy!

WC: 1.4k 

The door to your apartment closed softly behind you as you stepped inside, your body feeling heavy with the weight of the day. Gotham’s chaos had seeped into everything—into your bones, into your mind. You were physically and emotionally drained, barely able to summon the energy to hang your coat or kick off your boots. The city had a way of exhausting you, of leaving you with nothing to give. It had been one of those weeks—long hours, too much stress, too many things left undone.

But when you entered your living room, you didn’t expect to find him here. Jason Todd. You didn’t even know he was coming over.

He was sprawled out on your couch, leaning back with one leg draped over the side, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at his phone. There was a mug of coffee on the table in front of him, untouched, cooling. The lights were low, casting a soft glow that made the apartment feel more like a refuge than the outside world ever could.

You paused for a moment, not wanting to disturb him—until you noticed the way his posture changed when he heard you enter. His eyes flicked up from his phone, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, quickly replaced by something softer, more concerned.

"Long day?" he asked, his voice quiet, low, the usual edge replaced by a gentler tone.

You nodded, dropping your things in the entryway with a tired sigh. “It’s been a week,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. “I’m... exhausted.”

Jason didn’t respond right away. He just looked you over, his eyes narrowing slightly as he registered the exhaustion on your face, the way your shoulders sagged in defeat. He was used to seeing people at their worst, but he wasn’t used to seeing you like this. Not like this.

“Come here,” he said, his voice no longer playful but soft, almost commanding in the way he said it.

You glanced at him, too tired to argue, and slowly made your way over to the couch. Jason shifted, sitting up straighter, making space beside him. Without saying anything, he reached out and pulled your legs onto his lap, arranging them carefully like he was afraid you might pull away, like he was trying to be gentle with you in a way he wasn’t always.

“Sit,” he repeated, this time with a soft insistence, as if his only goal was to make sure you found some comfort.

You hesitated for only a moment before sitting down next to him, sinking into the couch. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile before grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over both of you. The weight of it was comforting, the fabric soft and warm. His arm naturally settled around your shoulders, pulling you closer, a silent invitation to rest against him.

"You’re too stubborn," he muttered, more to himself than to you, but the words were gentle, like a small reprimand for not taking better care of yourself. His fingers rubbed at the back of your neck, slow and soothing. "You push yourself too hard. You need to slow down."

You leaned your head against his chest, letting out a soft breath, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. The exhaustion was still there, but now it felt distant. For the first time all day, you didn’t feel like you had to be on alert. With him beside you, the weight of everything seemed lighter.

“I don’t know how to stop sometimes,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “I just keep going. Even when I’m running on empty.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a while. Instead, his hand moved from your neck to your back, rubbing in slow, comforting circles as if trying to ease away the tension that had built up over the course of the week. You could feel the softness in his touch, the way he wasn’t rushing to do anything—just being present.

“You don’t have to do it alone, you know.” His words were quiet but firm. "Let me take care of you for once. Let me help."

You swallowed, your throat tight at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. It wasn’t often that Jason opened up like this. He had walls, thick and impenetrable, built from years of hurt. But tonight, he seemed to be letting those walls fall, just a little.

His hand slid down your arm, pulling you even closer to him, until your head was tucked under his chin. The rhythm of his breath steadied yours, and you felt something in your chest—something warm and soft—begin to unfold.

“You’re always the one taking care of everyone else,” Jason said, his voice barely a whisper. “But you deserve to be taken care of too. I’m not going anywhere. Let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to push away the tightness that had settled in your chest, the overwhelming feeling that had accompanied the last few days. But his touch, the heat of his body against yours, seemed to make the anxiety fade away, leaving only calm in its wake.

“Thank you,” you murmured, not sure if you were thanking him for the moment of peace, or for his willingness to show up when you least expected it. But the gratitude was there, unspoken but felt all the same.

Jason didn’t respond. Instead, he reached over and grabbed your tea mug from the side table, gently pressing it into your hands. “Drink. It’ll help you relax.”

You took the mug, the warmth of the tea seeping into your cold hands. You sipped it slowly, savoring the way it warmed you from the inside. Jason sat quietly beside you, his fingers still tracing small, comforting patterns on your arm as he watched you. There was no rush, no pressure to talk, to be anything other than what you were in that moment. He was giving you space to breathe, to let go.

As the tea worked its magic, you felt the tension begin to melt away. Your eyelids grew heavy, your body sinking deeper into the couch as Jason adjusted, his body angling closer to yours.

“Lie down,” he said softly, shifting you slightly so you were resting more comfortably on the couch. “You need sleep. You need to rest.”

You didn’t argue. It was too much to argue with him when you felt this good—when his care wrapped around you like a blanket, giving you the comfort you’d been lacking.

He rearranged the pillows behind your head, making sure you were propped up just enough. His hand was never far from you, always resting somewhere on your body, as though he couldn’t quite stop touching you. He wasn’t smothering you, though. It was a subtle, gentle thing—just enough to reassure you that he was there.

You closed your eyes, your body relaxed in a way you hadn’t felt in days. The weight of the world was slowly lifting, and with Jason beside you, you felt safe.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’ll be here. Just sleep.”

You nodded, too tired to say anything more. His hand shifted again, this time moving to your cheek, brushing a stray hair away as he gently cupped your face in his palm. His thumb traced over your skin, soft and slow, and for a moment, it felt like he was taking in every detail of you—every part of you that had been worn down, that needed healing.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Jason leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. The touch was tender, almost reverent, and when he pulled away, you could feel the gentle brush of his breath against your skin.

“Sleep,” he whispered again, the words a soothing balm.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, and you let yourself drift into sleep, the warmth of Jason’s presence grounding you, keeping you safe in the quiet moments. As you drifted off, you could still feel the steady rhythm of his hand on your back, the softness in his touch, the care he was offering so freely. You didn’t need to say anything more. Tonight, Jason had given you what you needed most: peace, tenderness, and a reminder that you weren’t alone.

[missmeinyourbones]

AURORA BOREALIS GREEN

cw: non sorcerer au, college au, enemies to lovers (?) neighbors to lovers, miscommunication trope if you squint (I AM SORRY), reader e to as she/her once, reader wears heels, some light sexual content (dry humping nation rise)

wc: 10k+

There's something wrong with your upstairs neighbors. 

You've never met them, not face to face at least, but between the times you've hit your ceiling with the end of your broom and the audacity they have to continue to be as rowdy as they are, something isn't right with them. You're sure of it. 

And you're not naive to the fact that your apartment building is filled with young people, either currently in college or just freshly graduated. You're no prude to the dulled sound of late-night party playlists or squeaky bed frames muffled by plaster. 

But your neighbors aren't guilty of these typical noise complaints. No, they're borderline much worse.

The majority of their crimes take place in the day, believe it or not, which makes it all the more frustrating when you actually have shit to do. When it's not boyish yells of victory and frustration, it's footsteps that sound like a herd of elephants (how many people can live in an apartment floor plan for two?). They're relentless upstairs neighbors to have, and though you couldn't pick their faces out of a crowd if you tried, you're sure their lack of etiquette spans across other areas of their lives. 

The tiny clock at the top of your computer blinks a mocking 11:38 AM as you try to study through the sounds of excited stomping and rowdy gibberish. 

You don't know what makes today so different, whether it's the burnt coffee beans you can taste lingering in your usual order from the cafe across the street or the organic chemistry study guide practically laughing at you as you review your hieroglyphic notes for tomorrow's test.

Whatever is in the water has you feeling braver than usual, and instead of reaching for the conveniently placed broom in the corner of your kitchen, you find yourself stomping your way down the hall and up the staircase.

The sixth floor is identical to the fifth — you don't know why it wouldn't be, but you've never put much thought into it — so it's no surprise that your feet find no trouble in naturally bringing you to a door equivalent to yours just a floor below. 

Your knuckles wrap against the wood with three unfriendly knocks, and the joyous buzzing from inside the apartment instantly comes to a lull. You think you hear panicked whispers from the other side, almost as if the culprits are debating on answering or not. You take their choice away when you knock three more times. 

After a moment, you hear the clicking of the lock and the fiddling of the doorknob. You take a deep breath to ground yourself, put on your best customer service voice, and prepare to calmly tell these entitled frat boys to shut the fuck up when—

You're ironically met with the prettiest green eyes you think you've ever seen.

A tall brunette stands before you, about your age, and wearing a look that's both confused and embarrassed. Your eyes quickly flicker across his face in the span of mere seconds, logical thoughts going out the window and now replaced with amazement at how stupidly attractive he is. 

Though you knocked on his door, he speaks first.

"Hi...?" He clears his throat, looking behind you in the hallway, almost as if you have the wrong room. 

His confusion annoys you, and you suddenly remember why you're here in the first place. 

"Look, I really don't wanna be a bitch," you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose, "but what could you possibly be doing in this apartment that sounds like an actual full-out brawl on a Wednesday morning?"

Obliviously handsome neighbor's face goes a bit pink and his jaw slacks as he stutters, looking for either a shitty excuse or a polite explanation of the truth.

He opens the door a bit more, gesturing to the living room behind him. You spare a glance to where another guilty suspect stares back at you with big brown eyes and a smirk. There's some video game paused on the screen, ridden with animated blood and a scoped weapon's perspective.

Your attention is brought back to the one holding the door when he mumbles, "I think it's our game."

A bit dumbfounded at his lame answer, you blankly stare at him.

"Your... game?"

Brown Eyes yells from the couch, "Call of Duty!"

As if on instinct, Green Eyes closes the door a bit, shielding you from his roommate and shaking his head in exasperation. He clears his throat awkwardly, "Sorry, are you—?"

You're suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you've been staring at how long his fucking eyelashes are. He's anything but sore on the eyes, but again, you try to remind yourself that he and his roommate make your life difficult at least five out of seven days of the week.

"I live below you," you huff behind a swallow, "and you really don't make it easy." 

He nods dumbly, finally realizing the connection behind your visit. "Oh, right."

You scoff and nod your head. For someone as pretty as him, he's a bit thick in the head. 

Biting your cheek, you begin to walk away from the door without completely ending the conversation. As you're turning to leave, he hears you call out from down the corridor. 

"If you could just — not play video games like eleven-year-old boys," your tone is filled with annoyance, "that'd be great." 

You don't need to turn around to know that the stranger at the door is apologetic and nodding in compliance. Before he can fully shut the door, you hear a quip from his counterpart on the couch.

"She told you, bro."

As the door shuts, you hear the muffled hiss from the other. "You're the one making noise, dipshi—"

…..

Your threatening conversation must have worked to some degree, because it's been almost two days without any sort of annoyance from your upstairs neighbors. You think you almost take it for granted, the way you can study without headphones and enjoy a movie in the living room rather than in your bed with the speaker on high.

The walk back from your class is usually about twenty minutes, but it's closer to fifteen today as you're quicker when it comes to getting out of the cold.

Your chemistry test went alright — maybe not your best work but okay enough that you passed. And that's all you care about as you make your way back to your apartment, intending to crash in your bed and not move for the next few hours.

The winter air leaves a chill up your spine as you swipe into your building and press the elevator button. Your nose runs a bit from the cold as it sits against your knit scarf. Bag on your arm and half-consumed coffee, you can't wait to enjoy a day or two without thinking about covalent bonds and isomers.

You close your eyes and release a sigh as the elevator door begins to close, but before it gets the chance to do so successfully, quick footsteps and a hand jammed between the closing space prompt the doors to reopen.

Not really paying attention to the stranger joining your 30-second elevator ride, you simply step to the side to make more room for them.

It's not until they make eye contact with you that you realize it's your neighbor, the same one you'd borderline terrorized a few days ago for being irritating.

He's out of breath from catching the lift last minute, lungs still adjusting from the crisp air from outside. His jacket is zipped all the way up to his collar and his hair pokes out in spiky tuffs from beneath his hat.

He mumbles out a weak "sorry" before his eyes find the floor and the rickety door shuts, leaving the two of you alone in the suddenly very small space.

You'd cuss beneath your breath if you weren't close enough for him to hear it.

What's the acceptable thing to do in this scenario? You mentally weigh out your options. Sit in an awkward silence? Introduce yourself as if your encounter never even happened? Address the fact that you banged on his door a few days ago and insulted him as a first impression?

You choose the silence. If anything, you silently pray that behind your winter apparel and the lack of eye contact, he doesn't even recognize you.

But that thought goes to shit when you see that he's already pressed the fifth-floor button for you.

You swear the ride to your floor has never been this slow. Seconds feel like hours as you watch the digital number rise like paint drying on a wall. The elevator almost laughs at you as it stops on the third floor and opens itself to find no one there; you curse whoever decided to press the button before changing their mind and taking the stairs.

After what seems like forever, your floor finally flashes on the pixelated screen, and as you feel the elevator come to a stop—

The doors don't open.

You think it's just your dramatic prolonged sense of time until it's been about ten seconds and still, nothing. Just the two of you in a stopped elevator with doors that won't unlock.

You've never been one to believe in karma, but you can't help but think this is the universe punishing you for standing up for yourself. You are quite literally on your floor, a mere sliding door away from the embarrassing situation you got yourself in, but still, nothing happens.

He presses the button meant to prompt open the doors a few times with slight force.

"It does this, sometimes," he weakly coughs out in an attempt to make conversation. "It's uh—a shitty building."

You try pressing the button for yourself, "It's never done this for me."

Green Eyes sighs, slouching against his side of the wall and letting his head fall to rest on his shoulder, "Consider yourself lucky."

You huff, giving up on the button and turning to face him.

Your eyes didn't deceive you the first time you saw him — he is just as pretty as you'd initially thought. Not a great conversationalist, but nice to look at. He avoids eye contact until you speak up.

"It's happened to you before?" you gesture to the doors that won't open.

He catches your eye before nodding defeatedly, "This is the fourth time."

You can't help but bitterly laugh at the situation you're in.

"Maybe it's just you, then," you joke, looking up at the digital five mocking you in the corner.

Though you don't catch it, his eyes soften a bit as they fall on you. The corner of his mouth slightly quirks up when he chimes, "Could be."

You let yourself count another ten seconds before tossing your hands by your sides in aggravation and sighing, "So, what now? Hit the help button or—"

And like a blessing, or maybe a curse, you can't decide, the elevator chimes, signaling its arrival. The doors open swiftly as if there was nothing wrong with them in the first place, revealing your destination floor to you.

You whip your head to your upstairs neighbor, confused and almost asking for his permission to exit the elevator. You don't know why you do so, and you don't know why you only depart after he nods his head and waves his hand for you to continue.

Next time you leave your apartment, you find yourself taking the stairs to be safe.

…..

Your peaceful living is unsurprisingly short-lived. After a few enjoyable days, you'd given your neighbors too much credit as they now return to their usual noisiness. You find yourself rapping on their door once again.

This time, Brown Eyes answers.

Even before opening his mouth, he's instantly friendlier than his counterpart based on body language alone, completely opening the door all the way wide and leaning against the frame in his palm.

He's taller than you, but not as tall as the former who greeted you last time. With light rose-colored hair, he's all smiles and giggles. You'd think he were high if you could smell anything on him.

Oh, he's also shirtless.

"Hey, it's our friend again," he smiles at you before craning his neck backward, and you can make an educated guess on who exactly he's talking to.

You're quick to steer clear, "We aren't friends."

He laughs at your words, completely unfazed by the unwelcoming attitude. He casually sips on an energy drink that looks borderline lethal when he asks, "Were we being loud? You comin' to yell at us again?"

His lack of care for the situation surprisingly doesn't rub you the wrong way. Inconvenient? Yes, but not necessarily malicious, from what you can tell.

"I wouldn't be here for any other reason."

"Sorry," he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "We don't really have inside voices around here."

You can't help but roll your eyes at the childish excuse. "You should find some."

"Will do," he nods like a child being reprimanded in class, "sorry again."

He salutes you with a metal can in his left hand. Before you can turn your back to him and towards the elevator, you hear the same voice call out to you.

"Hey—!"

You stop midstride, slowly turning around to face the door again. He stands in the same position, leaning against the door frame as he points out the obvious.

"We didn't get your name last time."

You blink at him a few times, not caring enough to connect the dots and extend the nicety, but the friendly one persists. He places a palm on his (bare) chest as he gestures to himself, "I'm Itadori."

You nod with raised brows, "And I'm calling our landlord if you piss me off again."

You hear a soft chuckle from the inside of the apartment. The two of you turn at the sound of the noise, where Green Eyes hides his smile behind the strings of his sweatshirt and quickly returns his attention to his phone.

Itadori, apparently, looks back at you and nods to his friend, "That's Fushiguro."

You breathe out your own name and quickly make your way back towards your apartment. On the ride down to your floor, you find yourself repeating the name — Fushiguro. It tastes weird on your lips, and you hate the way you don't hate it.

..…

His name is Megumi. 

You learn this when a letter shows up at your door addressed to a Fushiguro Megumi. Mail mix-ups are common in the apartment complex, but you can't help but laugh at the coincidence - his name but your apartment number clearly displayed in black ink.

You examine the piece of paper closely. The cream-colored envelope covered in poorly drawn hearts and tacky puppy stickers placed randomly across its front found itself wedged into your door's mailbox. Flipping it over, the return address is a mere surname of Gojo underlined with a smiley face. 

A love letter, you realize. You're not sure why the shift in narrative suddenly fills your stomach with an uneasy weight of disappointment.

You're going out anyways, you tell yourself as you slip on your scarf and shimmy into your shoes. Between stopping at the grocery store for a few small things and dropping off overdue assignments at your professor's office, it's not like you're going out of your way to return the letter to its intended recipient. You're doing the right thing, being a good samaritan, your mind repeats. 

The single flight up the stairs is easy enough and a good excuse for exercise. Approaching the door that mimics your own floor below, the same one you've already visited two times too many, you feel weirdly nervous. Just slide it beneath his door and call it a day.  

As you bend to slip the paper beneath the door, it swings open. 

You quickly stand up straight and back away from the opening, as the shadow in your peripheral startles from your presence and does the same. 

"Shit, sorry—"

Looking up, you lock eyes with the one and only whose letter lies in your hand. Fuck. 

He hesitates a bit when he realizes it's you, doing a double take and immediately assuming he's in trouble again. 

"We—" Megumi, you now know him to be, turns his back to you, quickly surveying his empty apartment to show you, "aren't playing? Yuuji's not even home, so—��

You're not sure why you're the slightest bit hurt by his more than reasonable accusation. The only two times you've been at his door were to reprimand him, so of course he's not wrong to assume this time was no different. Still, it has you feeling guilty as you dryly swallow and raise your arm.   

"I was sticking this under your door," you sigh, handing him the ridiculous-looking envelope. "Got sent to my place accidentally."

His eyes flicker to your extended hand, and when he sees the writing on the envelope between your fingers, his body instantly goes hot with embarrassment.

"Of course it did," he groans beneath his breath, almost annoyed. 

A bit abruptly, he grabs the letter from you and places his hand behind his back, telling himself that if it's out of sight, you'll forget it ever happened entirely.

His uneasiness and slight frustration have you taking a small step back as he snatches the envelope. He senses your hesitation and immediately mourns how he acted out of instinct, sighing and slowly moving the letter from behind him to rest by his side.

He softens and clears his scratchy throat, something you've come to notice he does a lot. "Thanks."

Feeling a bit brave, you raise your eyebrows, amused at his odd behavior. Your words are taunting yet friendly when you nod to the note at his arm.

"You should probably tell your girlfriend that you're in #603, not #503."

Megumi's face is often stoic and downturned, aside from a slight pull of a smile that can rarely be seen on occasion. But at these words, you watch in regret as Megumi's expression mimics one of disgust mixed with pure mortification. 

"Oh, this—" his eyes fall to the envelope he thinks might be the cause of his death, "this isn't from a girlfriend. It's actually a lot worse than that." 

"Worse?" you push.

"It's... from a family friend," he weakly reveals. "Kinda like a dad, I guess." 

You find yourself smiling at the meek yet sweet confession, nodding along and biting back a good-hearted laugh at his timidness. 

"Right, I just assumed with the hearts and the cute stickers that—" you trail off, gesturing to the letter that clearly presents itself as something else. 

He laughs a bit humorlessly and itches the back of his neck shyly.

"That would make a lot more sense and be a lot less humiliating, yeah."

You take a moment to take in his shyness. He's harmless, you decide at that very moment. You make a mental note to remind yourself to weigh the sides of the subject at hand. 

Cons: awkward, obvlvious, bad neighbor, a tad unfriendly at times

Pros: annoyingly attractive, nice enough in actual conversation, respectful in passing, girlfriend-less 

You shake those points from your head, taking a breath and slowly moving towards the elevator. "It could've been worse. The stickers could've been puppies and kittens," you tease. 

You expect that to be all, because that's all it should be, right? An awkward yet friendly coincidence between two strangers who got off on the wrong foot. You're locked in on entering the elevator when you hear his voice from behind you. 

"Sorry—" he shortly blurts out. 

You turn, expecting him to elaborate on the outburst. The look on his face almost reads as if he wasn't planning to until seeing your reaction, where he explains, "That we're loud sometimes. I really do try to tell Yuuji to shut up, but he's just... a lot."

You don't know why your heart swells at the apology. 

"It's fine," you nod softly. Turning your back, you call out to him as you enter the elevator. "You've actually been pretty tolerable this week, but don't let that go to your head."

As the elevator closes, you see Megumi smile before returning inside and closing his door. This time, you don't stop the thoughts that flow through your head.

Pro: cute

.….

You suppose it was only a matter of time before the tables you'd set managed to turn on you, but you just didn't expect it so soon. Because the next time you run into your neighbors, it's them knocking on your door for a change.

The sharp winter wind shakes the sides of your building with rage — the kind that results in creaky panels and systems outages in certain sectors of your building.

After waking to take a shower early this morning and being greeted with piercing cold water that refused to warm up, no matter how long you ran the faucet, you knew today would be a long one.

Clad in layers of fuzzy socks and bulky hoodies, you rise from the couch to answer the banging outside. After opening the door to see who's on the other side, it takes less than a second for the visitor to make himself at home.

"You out of hot water, too?" Yuuji casually brushes past you, walking into your home and stopping in the center of the living room. He looks around the space in awe — as if his own place just a singular level above doesn't mimic the exact same floor plan.

Still in the hallway but keeping an eye on his friend's questionable behavior, Megumi waits in the hallway. He's on the phone with someone, his cell wedged between his elbow and ear. When he begins asking about the building's backup generator, you mentally thank him for being the only proactive one here.

You sigh and turn to Yuuji, who's admiring your wall art and the fact that you have an actual television stand, "I'm out of heat in general."

"Damn," he blurts out without a thought, "that sucks."

You overhear Megumi wrapping up his conversation in the background when your lips are pulled downward in confusion.

"Are you guys not?"

"Oh no, we are," Yuuji continues admiring your apartment with a child-like curiosity, "but we have a space heater that's doing the job for now. How are you so good at decorating?"

You ignore his question, turning to Megumi who now stands on the threshold of your doorway. He makes a face, one of tight lips and sympathy, almost as if he's wordlessly apologizing for both the unfortunate scenario and his roommate's lack of social etiquette.

You further wrap yourself in your own little warmth, crossing your arms inwards. "That's actually really smart of you guys," you manage to croak out.

"You can come up and chill if you want," Yuuji mindlessly offers, eyes scanning over the magnets on your fridge. He can't stop himself from fiddling with a cherry-shaped one that holds up a baby picture of you from kindergarten.

The shock on your face must be obvious because you swear you hear Megumi swallow a chuckle at your reaction.

"You came down here… to ask me to chill?" Your voice octaves up towards the end, almost as if repeating the offer will reveal itself to be a track or joke.

While Yuuji nods eagerly, you can hear Megumi muttering from behind the neckline of his sweatshirt.

"Sue us for extending a neighborly olive branch."

As Yuuji continues to outwardly snoop around your kitchen, his eyes land on your oven-top clock and he whines.

"I actually have class in twenty and need to catch the shuttle to campus, but you're welcome to not freeze to death with Fushiguro, if you want."

You check your phone, confirming the time when you question, "Didn't the last shuttle of the hour leave already?"

You watch the gears turn in Itadori's mind for a second before he smacks a palm to his head, quickly brushing past you and out the door.

"Fuck me, see you guys later then—" he hurries, the only sound following him being the swishing of his winter coat and clunky booted footsteps jostling down the stairs.

And with Megumi still standing in your doorway and the sound of the main staircase gate slamming behind Yuuji's path, you could hear a pin drop between the two of you if it weren't for the howling wind outside (which you find yourself suddenly grateful for rather than loathing it).

Megumi shifts his weight on the balls of his feet as he stands. He clears his throat in a way he hopes is subtle.

"You can still come up," he gestures to the hallway with a nod of his head, before cautiously adding, "if you want."

Instinctively, you feel your body curl further in on itself. Megumi must notice it too, as his eyes quickly flicker to your raw hands tucked beneath your arms.

"It's not that bad in here," you weakly dismiss.

He deadpans, "I can almost see your breath."

A sigh leaves your chilled body and you look up at Megumi. Now it's your turn to silently communicate with him — eyebrows raising and wavering between your options, you chew on your cheek in thought.

"You don't have to," he softly adds, hands burrowing themselves in the pocket of his hoodie. "Just wanted to see if you needed anything, I guess."

"What did the landlord say?" your words are muffled from your teeth in your cheek.

Megumi's eyes light up a bit before they find his scuffed Converse again.

"He's sending his guys over, but it's gonna take an hour, at least."

After another minute that feels like twenty, you softly speak up.

"…Do you really have a space heater?"

As he fights off a smile, Megumi gently nods.

.….

You'll admit, the apartment looks better than you'd imagined. Not that your standards weren't too high to begin with, but you're pleasantly surprised.

Megumi unlocks the front door, gesturing for you to enter as he slowly closes it behind him, shivering a bit from the draft weaving through the hallway.

It's clean, relatively. The design of the rooms and open areas are identical to your layout below, but between the decor (or lack thereof) and the overhanging presence of the space, it feels so different.

Their television, the one you know to be responsible for their rowdiness, balances on what looks to be a bedside table. Far too small for the proportions of the TV but just enough to carry the width of the screen's base, it looks silly but does the job.

"You can just…" Megumi waves his hand to the living room, awkwardly trailing off as he insists. "Sit. Wherever you want."

Your seating choices include a felt futon in scrappy condition, two lopsided beanbags, and a busted recliner. You take your chances with the futon.

Surveying the apartment, it's not terrible — truthfully, you'd been expecting worse from college guys. You give them props; aside from a few half-drank plastic water bottles and withering plants on their window sill, there's nothing that outwardly goes against any health violations or suitable living standards. No empty beer cans or pizza boxes, no trashy flags or posters hung on the walls. It's decent.

And the space heater working overtime in the corner outlet is a major plus. Feeling the angle of its warmth blasting on your legs, you exhale at the heat and rub your fuzzy slippers together on instinct.

"Do you want anything?" Megumi stands a few feet away, nervous for someone in the comfort of his own home, "Water or a drink, or something?"

It's sweet how respectful he's being — you think back to whoever sent him that letter, imagining they raised him right.

You shake your head curtly, "I don't take drinks from strange men."

His face drops instantly.

"Oh—right," he swallows harshly, fumbling with his sparse words. "I didn't mean it like that or anything, but that makes sense. I just meant—”

The stoic expression you were attempting to upkeep fails and you can't fight off the smile that pulls at your cheeks. Exhaling a laugh and looking over at him, you apologize, "I'm just kidding, Megumi."

He feels his stomach instantly solidify like cement at your words — Megumi. He doesn't recall you ever referring to him by any name, let alone his first. He feels a wandering heat itching up his neck when he coughs up a chuckle.

He shakes his head, sitting on the opposite end of the futon and leaving the middle cushion between the two of you unoccupied.

"Fuck off," he scratches his jaw to busy his shaky hands. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of a few silver rings wrapping around his knuckles.

As the warmth of the space heater (solely the space heater, you remind yourself) gradually dissolves the chill that's been stuck up your spine for the last few hours, you slightly settle further into your seat.

"So this is the scene of the crime, huh?" you motion to the gaming console propped up on the floor beside the makeshift television stand.

Megumi amuses an exhale through his nose and nods along, "Yeah. I mean, you've kinda seen it from the hallway before."

"Yeah, but this is the real thing, first-person point of view. It's just missing me downstairs hitting the ceiling with my broom twenty times."

The next few minutes are stolen by a whole lot of small talk that holds no weight. Beginning to panic at how the hell you're gonna make it through this entire hour with little to talk about, your eyes fall on the television once more.

"So," you curl into the futon. "Show me something worth screaming over."

Without warning, Megumi chokes on his own saliva as he swallows.

"Huh?"

"A game," you quickly correct, not realizing how your words sounded and nodding to the television before you. "I meant, show me a game that justifies how loud you two get."

The game is fine, nothing revolutionary but admit that you could see how it could be entertaining for some. A standard battle royal concept, Megumi hands you his second controller and walks you through the instructions on how to play.

You mimic the way his fingers hold the controller, how they flex and bend to hit certain buttons for special uses. Throughout the tutorial of trial and error, the two of you naturally close the gap of the middle cushion, now much closer as you copy his movements and use his hands for reference. He even goes as far as reaching over to point out certain buttons to you, skimming your fingers hesitantly as he pulls away.

It's safe to say you don't win, don't even come close, but he's a good sport all the same. He laughs when you're hit by enemies and revives you with little to no mocking. He whispers an encouraging "there you go" whenever you manage to land a hit on someone, followed by an "I got you" when he's covering for your character. It's fun — you freeze a bit when you realize that you like spending time with him, even doing the very thing that caused this entire debacle in the first place.

You don't realize how much time has passed until Megumi's phone vibrates from the coffee table. His eyes quickly glance over the unsaved number, almost as if recognizes the contact and is debating on answering or not.

Your eyes narrow teasingly when you taunt, "You gonna take that?"

Snapped out of his thoughts, Megumi nods, swipes his screen, and holds his phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

The conversation is short, maybe thirty seconds in total. Though you can't make out any specific words, you can hear the rumbling of another deep voice on the other end of the call. Megumi listens half-heartedly, nodding along and chiming in here and there to acknowledge the caller.

"Hey, yeah. That was me. Right, okay. Okay, nice. Thanks, appreciate it."

The call ends and Megumi puts his phone down on the coffee table once more. You swear you can hear a small sense of disappointment in his voice when he breathes.

"That was the maintenance guy," he breathes softly. "Heat's back on."

You feel your own body getting sour with misfortune. Why are you so bitter about the thought of going back downstairs to your own apartment?

Nodding at his words, you slowly stand and do your best to sound relieved. "Thank god," you joke, "I was beginning to think I might have to sleep on this gross futon."

Megumi sneers, rolling his eyes and rising to walk you to the door. Before you step into the hallway, you turn to face him.

"Thanks," your tone is spineless, one he's unable to recognize from you before you elaborate, "for letting me leech off of your heat."

"No problem," he shoots you a genuine look. "Consider it reparations for all of the times we've annoyed you."

"All of the times?" you shoot him a harmless glare.

Unlike most who cower and scowl at your sarcastic quips, Megumi seems to bloom beneath your daggered attempts at pushing him away.

"Fine," he exaggerates a groan, "maybe not all. But it's a start, right?"

A start. The insinuation tickles all air out of your lungs like a feather. Though you pretend to be annoyed and kiss your teeth at his words, you nod all the same.

Leaving his door, Megumi seems lighter than he did when you first entered.

"Sorry you just kinda watched me play video games for almost two hours," he calls out to you as you depart, hands returning to his pockets.

"Don't be," you honestly tell him as your head cranes back to look at him. "It was nice to be up here for reasons other than wanting to strangle you."

.….

A day and a half later when the universe has realigned itself and it's you knocking on their door again, they half expect you to be followed by your stuffy landlord holding an eviction notice.

Much to their surprise, you're alone, rather skittish — and holding a tupperware container of… cookies?

It's Megumi who opens the door initially, but Yuuji is quick to squeeze his way into the opening at the sight of your familiar face and mysterious delivery in hand.

"Ooooooh, what are these?" he inquires, unashamed as he pokes his nose into your space in an attempt to get a better look at the baked goods.

Pulling a bit away from his antics, you swallow back any potential wisecracks.

"Thank you for being neighborly and not letting me die of hypothermia cookies," you keep your voice neutral.

"Are they poisoned?" Megumi pipes in.

You shoot him a scowl, one he's learned is innocent enough, and his eyes crinkle in amusement.

"Shit, can't remember if I added vanilla or vitriol?" your head cocks to the side in faux thought.

Your eyes flicker to him as he chews on his cheek in a half-assed attempt to cover up his entertainment at your quickness.

Yuuji, focused on nothing but having a minimum of five cookies for good measure, snatches the container from your hands and carries it to the kitchen counter.

He's already opening the dish and helping himself as he chews, "I don't even know what that is, so I'm gonna take my chances."

Megumi gives a quick thank you for the cookies, and Yuuji chimes in behind a satiated mouth and crumby lips. You brush off their graces, reminding them it's just you returning the favor for the heating situation.

Just as you're about to see yourself out of their entryway, you hear an authentic offer from the kitchen.

"Hey," Yuuji wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and something about it feels oddly youthful to you, "wanna come over this weekend?"

You look at the two of them for a moment, waiting to see if there's a punchline to come, before carefully treading, "Why?"

"We're havin' some friends over," Yuuji reveals casually before going to take another large bite, "and I guess you're funny enough to hang out with us."

The hesitation in your response must be more apparent than you think because he's quick to chuckle and elaborate on the offer.

"It's not an orgy," he teases at your stiffness before grabbing at another cookie and shrugging. "We get take out, chill, drink a little, kick ass in Mario Kart."

You nod as you listen to his words. He's kind, they both are, and you know the offer to be a genuine one. Still, the situation makes your stomach ache with uncertainty at the thought of mingling with strangers for the sake of your mere — acquaintances? Neighbors? Friends?

"As fun as that sounds," you breathe, clearly trying but failing to convince them of your apologetic tone, "I don't really wanna intrude on you and your friends.

"It's not intruding if you're invited," Megumi interjects for the first time in the conversation.

Looking at where he stands against the counter, his eyes are on you. They're careful, but hopeful in a gentle kind of way. He wants you to say yes — but he'd rather swallow a knife than his own pride and admit it himself.

Your words are unconvincing when you sigh, "Not really in the hangout mood. Next time, okay?"

The two men deflate a bit, one more dramatic and obvious than the other, but they nod at your rejection. Wiping his hands off on his shorts, Yuuji walks you to the door, thanking you again for the sweets and joking about you getting home safe on your long journey back downstairs.

You can't help but giggle at his theatrics, insisting that, "If you need me this weekend, I'll be rotting away on my couch with a bottle of wine and a week's worth of Love Island to catch up on."

Yuuji laughs wholeheartedly, "Your loss, see ya."

Megumi weakly waves as his best friend swings the door shut. Once closed, Yuuji turns to him with a cheeky smile he knows can mean nothing good.

Megumi grimaces at his enthusiasm, "What?"

Yuuji nods to the door, a toothy grin spreading across his face. "Think I'm gonna ask her out."

Megumi's quick to react poorly.

"What?" he borderline knocks over the water bottle next to him on the counter. He catches it, embarrassed by his obvious care for the situation as he tries to cover it up with a nonchalant scoff, "Why?"

Yuuji stares at him for a minute in disbelief before stating what he believes to be the obvious.

"'Cause she's hot and yells at us all the time?"

Megumi scoffs in distaste again. He fiddles with the rings on his right hand, pretending to be careless about a situation he's anything but careful about.

Sensing his roommate's off response, Itadori's quick to add. "Unless you wanna call dibs before I do?"

"Dibs?" Megumi groans.

"Yeah, like claiming—"

"I know what dibs means," he interrupts before Yuuji can dig his own grave any further. He slumps into the palm of his hand as his elbow rests atop the kitchen counter, "I just think that's shitty."

Yuuji, knowing Megumi well enough to sense that he's hit a sour spot, nods and backs off. He joins him at the counter again, oblivious as he grabs another cookie to chomp on. With cautious eyes and a mouth filled with chocolate, he speaks up.

"…So you don't wanna call dibs?"

.….

It's Saturday, almost Sunday, according to the cat clock on your wall.

You'd kept your word. Beneath a few blankets and practically one with your couch cushions, you're spending your weekend doing exactly what you'd anticipated.

The television continues to play the stream of episodes you're catching up on. With your second glass of red in hand, you tune in and out of the segments when the good parts catch your attention. It feels good to relax, to do nothing and to be nothing behind tipsy and fatigued eyes.

A sudden knock on your door puts a minor wedge in your plans. Sitting up with a groan, you whimper beneath your breath but move to answer it regardless.

Maybe you forgot to tip your delivery driver when he dropped off your takeout a few hours ago and he's back for revenge. Maybe it's your drunk friends, showing up to ruin your night and attempting to persuade you to join them on their foolish escapades. Maybe it's someone with the wrong address.

Locking eyes with the visitor at your door, it's Megumi. Maybe you're drunker than you thought.

His delicate eyes match yours when he scarcely smiles, "Hi."

Your eyes go to the items in his hands — a few beer bottles, a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, and a deck of cards.

Giggling to yourself, you stare at him, "I think you got off a floor too early."

Megumi laughs, and when you're able to get a good look at him, you can tell he's a bit tipsy, too. His shoulders aren't as tense as they usually are, he's still broad, but a lot looser now. His eyes are glossed over with a haze you're sure yours mimic. He scratches his nose awkwardly before opening his mouth.

"I—" he cuts himself off, eyes darting to the items in his arms before returning to you, "wanted to see you."

"Me?" you're unable to stop yourself from nearly gawking.

He laughs again, not obnoxiously but easy and natural. "Yes, you. Does someone else live here?"

"Don't you have plans with your friends?" you question, still not letting him inside.

"They're upstairs," he nods, "and no, I'm not here to force you to come up."

At his words, he can see your visible relief. Opening the door fully and letting him come inside, you relish in reassurance, "Good, I really didn't wanna be fake nice right now."

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he sets his belongings on your coffee table. "Fake nice?" he prompts.

"I mean, not that it's fake, it's just like—customer servicey. Y'know? Being kind to people in a way that's not ingenuine but—"

"Exhausting?" he finishes for you, and he's weirdly more talkative with a bit of alcohol in his veins. "Yeah, I feel that."

You sprawl onto your couch and he takes the seat next to you but refrains from leaning back as far. He watches you graze on your glass of wine, your legs crossed childishly as you gaze up at him.

"Are you like that with me?" he puts on a brave face. "Fake nice?"

He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding when you shake your head. After a hearty sip from your drink, you talk dramatically with your hands.

"Am I even real nice to you? I've kinda been a bitch since the day I banged on your door."

Megumi shakes his head as he laughs, which in return allows you to do the same. He relaxes a bit further into the warmth of your cushions, lolling his head to look at you as he opens himself a beer.

"I don't think so," he shrugs. "You're not wrong for complaining about us being understandably annoying."

Things lighten up as time passes. The night gets a bit blurry but it's fun, carefree. The two of you sit on your tiny couch, passing a bag of pretzels back and forth, and playing stupid card games that bring out your competitive sides and don't have real rules.

Minutes bleed into hours and you're not sure what time it is when it's late enough for Megumi to start yawning. Enjoying a comfortable silence between the two of you, his voice is temperate when he asks.

"Why didn't you want to hang out with us?"

He almost seems mournful, and a part of you feels guilty as his eyes blink heavily down on you. You exhale, readjusting your legs and throwing your head back.

"Seemed like a friend group thing," is what eventually crawls up from your throat. "Felt weird being the only one who didn't know everyone, y'know?"

He considers before nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. But I would've been with you."

His stare feels sharp, like he can see right through your facade and into parts of you you've buried deep a long time ago. You hate it and love it, want to drown yourself in it and voluntarily inhale until your own demise.

Unable to hold his stare, you look into your almost empty glass, swishing around the bleeding wine and ice that remains at the bottom.

"Well, you're here with me now, anyway."

Megumi continues to admire you without words. Pointing an accusatory finger back at him, you nudge his leg with your foot. "So, why aren't you up there?"

"Cause you didn't show up," he doesn't hesitate to respond. Almost as if he regrets his eagerness but still stands by the sentiment, he clears his throat before adding, "Was weirdly hoping you would, but—"

He doesn't finish his sentence, trailing off with a lame shrug.

His eyes look greener when they're a bit more watery. Fuck it.

Slowly, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time to assess his reactions, you move to crawl into his lap. You sense a difference in his breathing pattern, but other than that, he makes no move to pull away from you. He lets you carefully straddle his legs before getting comfortable atop him, when he places his hands on the plush between your hips and thighs.

Leaning in, giving him any chance to reject you, stop you, hate you, you continue to keep his eye as your lips just barely brush against his. He does the same, refusing to look away from you as if he'll never get this opportunity again. As if he wants to take a picture and relish it forever.

"Stop me," you bite through a hushed whisper, daring him to put an end to this before it begins.

His breath is lulled against your own when he whispers, "No."

You kiss him, and he kisses you back. It starts simple, like you're learning all about one another's creases and folds. Between shaky inhales and nervous hands, you lean into one another's touch, savoring every taste and sound you can manage.

Megumi feels brave, and on one particular gasp from you, he prudently skims his tongue across your lower lip before slipping it inside. Rubbing against your own with a fervent need, you open your jaw further for him to have whatever he wants. Between your increased breathing, soft moans, and greedy hands, the two of you slowly become messy and desperate for one another.

Hips wantonly moving against his thighs, he flexes instinctually as you begin to grind yourself down on him. He meets your movements, half hard as he presses into you, both of you whimpering at the new-found friction. The two of you reduce to whiney teenagers, practically swallowing one another whole and dry-humping fully clothed before you open your eyes to look at him.

Megumi, eyes shut and whimpering into your neck, is too good for this — deserves more than this. He's kind, respectful, funny (though you'd never tell him that to his face), and you're both drunk. It feels so fucking good, but it isn't right. It's not supposed to happen like this.

Slowing your movements, you pull back to see his face. Dazed, he opens his pretty green eyes to look up at you like you hold the stars and sun in your hands.

"We shouldn't," you pant, brushing your bangs back and catching your breath. "We should stop."

Megumi, confused and hurt, but instantly moving you off of his lap with a gentle hold, nods in agreement. "Right, right, we're — we're drunk," he whispers, almost ashamed of everything that just happened.

Before you can say anything, he's readjusting himself and standing up. A bit more sober than he was a few minutes ago, he's straightening himself out and making his way to your door.

"Sorry—" he keeps repeating himself, "I'm… I'm so sorry."

He's gone before you can reassure him that there's nothing to apologize for.

.....

You don't hear from him the next morning — or afternoon. 

When night falls, you've given up that there's any hope of saving whatever it was the two of you had going. 

Wanting to drown yourself in your own sorrows, you stare at the text from your friend before you and weigh your options. 

Stay in, cry yourself to a babbling mess, and finish your show

Answer their text and agree to go to this party with them

Thinking back to last night and how badly you fucked that one up, you decide the first choice is off-limits. Hoping you don't regret your decision, it's not long before you're looking decent enough to lock your door behind you and start the commute to your friends. 

The walk isn't terrible, being ten minutes to your friend's place and an additional fifteen to whoever's party you're attending. On the west side of campus, you can hear the muffled music and drunken squeals of the attendees from down the street. 

The party itself is fine, nothing special. The lime seltzer in your hand is still half full when you stray away from your friends in search of the bathroom. 

There's a line formed down the hallway of drunk girls laughing, couples swallowing one another's faces, and a single guy slumped against the wall in his own world. Taking a second glance at the end of the line, you recognize the lone drunk as Yuuji. 

Gently tapping his shoulder, his eyes blink open and he's nearly crushing you to death when wrapping his arms around you in excitement. He lets his animation get the best of him, lifting you in the air and spinning you once before he realizes he can't handle another. Leaning on the wall to steady both you and him, you're smiling at his sloppy yet endearing enthusiasm. 

"What are you doing here!?" he beams, swaying back and forth and reeking of cheap booze. 

"My friends dragged me out of the house," you tease before noticing truly how incoherent he is. Your nose crinkles with worry, "You fucked up?"

He can barely stand up straight, eyes unable to focus in one spot for too long as he blearily looks at you before skimming his body against the wall again. He's talking in slow gibberish, something about having one too many and wanting to talk to this pretty girl from his linguistics lecture before she leaves.

"Hey," you gently grab his jaw to steady his gaze. "Did you come here alone?"

Yuuji doesn't answer, or rather he does but it's nonsensical and impossible to go off of. You sigh, quickly scanning the suddenly overwhelming crowd around you before grabbing his arm and speaking kindly, yet reflective of a mother. 

"Let me take you back to our building, okay?" you prompt him to stand up straight and follow your lead. "I'm going back anyways, I'll walk with you."

Yuuji's eyes light up with excitement at the thought of a journey with his neighbor friend, and it's not long before he's dragging his feet over one another and using your hand as a guide to the door. 

On your walk home, you ache for the comfort of your warm bed, the feeling of taking these god-forsaken heels off, and Megumi's forgiveness. You wonder if you'll see him when dropping off Yuuji at his door — you pathetically hope so. 

However, Yuuji didn't show up to this party alone.

Megumi, who had been grabbing him a drink and caught a glimpse of you two, saw the entire thing without context — Yuuji's hands around your waist, you caressing his jaw, the two of you leaving abruptly together. 

He downs both his and Yuuji's drinks with ease. 

..…

Megumi wasn't home.

Disappointed but relieved to see Yuuji safe in the comfort of his apartment, you help him collapse on his couch.

Turning him on his side and making him drink at least two cups of water before throwing a blanket over him and leaving a note, you close the door behind you with a heavy heart.

A few minutes later, you're a bit more at ease. Feet now ridden of silly high heels and skin against the soft cotton of your bed, you find yourself flooded with thoughts of Megumi.

You wake up to a constant thud on your front door. Picking up your phone, it's almost two in the morning and you're not even sure you're not dreaming when you're feet carry you to the blistering noise of a fist on your door.

Swinging it open with half-closed eyes, you're more than prepared to fight a murder charge to get whoever the hell this is to leave you alone. But before you can curse them with everything in you, you realize it's Megumi.

"Hi," he whispers. It's a start contrast from the violent banging on your door he was responsible for two seconds ago, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

"Hi," you respond, suddenly more than awake and just as breathless. "You okay?"

"Are you sleeping with Yuuji?"

Your heart skips exactly two beats before you can accurately comprehend his question. It's then when you notice that he's drunk, disgustingly so. You're not sure how it wasn't the first thing you noticed - but looking at his green eyes again, you give yourself some grace.

"… What?" is all you can pathetically muster.

"Itadori," he slurs. His face is pale with hurt and the collar of his shirt is all wrinkled.

You can't help but roll your eyes, "Yeah, I know who Yuuji is, but why the hell are you asking me that?"

"Because you shouldn't be," he declares through a heavy tongue and spinning head. You think you hear his voice crack with emotion when he continues, "I don't want you to sleep with him."

You're sure you're still dreaming as you take in his words. Since the moment you knocked on the door one floor above you, sleeping with Yuuji has never crossed your mind. You've been far too busy focusing on thinking about the man in front of you, who's wasted beyond belief and accusing you of something that not only doesn't make sense but hurts a bit.

He fumbles on his words, swallowing dryly and spiraling.

"You shouldn't sleep with him just because he walks around shirtless and invites you to hang out with us."

Your eyebrows pull downwards with what Megumi knows is hurt. He can't stop himself from talking or spewing nonsensical things just because he can.

Your voice is shaky when you plea, "Megumi, what?"

"I mean—he's my best friend, he's great," he throws his hands up to surrender the truth. "But we played video games and—and we kissed. And you're always looking at me with those eyes and—"

"Megumi," your voice comes tired now, cold. "You're drunk."

"You left with him. And you were whispering in his ear and touching his arm." He frowns, feeling sick just thinking about it again. He shakes the nightmare from his head when repeating his prior question.

"Are you sleeping with him?" he asks again, more accusatory this time around.

He watches your eyes fill with water, but it's not long-lived before you're blinking away any sign of weakness and cementing your walls up again.

"If you didn't notice," you spit with venom, "your friend is drunk off of his ass. I walked him home since he could barely stand on his own."

As if you're speaking another language, Megumi dumbly gapes at your confession.

"You—what?"

You press with ice in your words, "Walked him home. He's passed out on your couch right now."

"Oh." Megumi hadn't returned to his apartment before coming to yours. He'd walked home from the shitty party with one destination in mind, immediately talking the elevator to the fifth floor and finding your familiar floor.

He feels stupid, nauseous with guilt, and god, does his head hurt. His heart hurts too when you scoff and cross your arms in defense.

"Wanna go back to the part where you were practically calling me a slut?"

He cringes, "No, no god no, that's not what I was trying to—"

You don't give him the luxury of explaining himself. Turning your back and slamming the door, you take away his chance of redemption.

You sound unrecognizable when you tell him, "Go to fucking bed, Fushiguro."

.….

The birds outside of your window remind you that it's Sunday, and the open book on your desk reminds you that not only do you have class tomorrow, but you have an assignment due before midnight.

Memories of last night's conversation — if you could even call it that — with Megumi make you feel queazy. Nothing happened in the way you'd wanted. It all just spiraled out of control, like water slipping through a cracked ceiling, you'd just watched it leak without remorse.

The continued chirping outside reminds you that it's quiet, something you should use to your advantage. A light in this mess of a pathetic story.

You'll study, you decide. You'll grab a quick coffee from the cafe across the street and get some actual work done. Something you should've done a long time ago, something you’d ignored that ended up with this this heartbreak.

Not even ten minutes later, you're decent enough to slide your shoes on and grab your house keys. Opening the door into the hallway, you're met with familiar eyes.

Megumi looks disheveled, sitting with his knees up against the wall of your hallway. At your abrupt opening of the front door, he's quick to stand up and dust his pants off from the grime of the hallway carpet. You notice he has a paper bouquet of pinks and blues in his hand and an exhausted frown on his face.

When he looks at you, he can almost feel the air leaving your lungs as your stomach drops.

The first words you say to him are softer than he expects, than he thinks he deserves, but still carried by a look of disapproval.

"Were you here all night?" your lip turns with disgust.

"No—" he spews too quickly. Seeing your expression that clearly reads disbelief, he slows himself down. Taking a deep breath, he repeats himself with a bit more certainty. "No, I've been here since like, seven maybe?"

"Why?"

His hand trembles in a way he hopes you have the respect to ignore as he moves to give you the bouquet. "Because I'm sorry," his voice is steady, like he's been practicing in the mirror.

Choosing to make him work for it, your eyes flicker to the flowers unimpressed before finding his face again.

"For?" you cruelly push him further.

But Megumi's determined to meet your forces just as equally. His voice gains confidence as he speaks clearly, "For panicking and assuming the worst last night. I was drunk, but that's not an excuse. It was a douchebag thing to do."

Admiring how your face softens at his apology but still carries creased lines of worry, Megumi half expects your response.

"And?"

This is the part he's a bit unprepared for.

"And for leaving that night," his volume dips with the confession, eyes wanting to find comfort in the floor so badly but refusing to leave your own as he tries and tries and tries to fix this, "I..."

His lips move before he can think twice about his words, "I thought it was what you wanted."

His confession cracks something inside of you, like nails digging crescents into raw skin. Slowly, you gesture for him to come inside. He hesitates but follows when you move towards the couch, the same couch you'd straddled him on two nights prior. It looks different in the daylight.

Megumi's careful with each step, as if he's walking on eggshells, when he slowly sits beside you on the couch. Placing the bouquet on your table, he moves as if you're a predator, as if he'll make one wrong move and you'll snap, lurching at him and sinking your talons into his neck. You hate how it makes you feel.

Your words surprise the both of you when they eventually come. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I wanted you to stay I just—felt bad."

Felt bad? Megumi's mind goes numb at the realization. Felt bad for him? Like when you do a good deed to cancel out a bad one? Did you kiss him that night because you pitied him?

Before his mind runs itself further into the worst-case scenario, he's brought back to reality as you continue.

"We were drunk, and I didn't want that to be how it happened y'know?"

He starts at you blankly, "It?" He lamely asks.

This time, it's your voice that weakens with shame. He watches you fiddle with your fingers, the same ones he remembers feeling in his hair and on his skin. The ones he wants to feel again.

"Felt like I was coming onto you, and you deserved better than that," you eventually reveal softly, correcting yourself with certainty. "Deserve better than that."

And he feels stupid. God, does Megumi feel stupid. All this time, he'd been thinking you regretted the why of the situation, kissing him like you did. He'd never stopped to think about the fact of how you did it. Never thought you'd be so inclined to consider his wishes.

You think he regrets it, and that is the last thing he wants you to believe.

Taking a risk, Megumi lays a gentle palm on your thigh. He does so slowly, giving you a chance to revolt and bite his hand clean off the bone. You don't so he relaxes his hand.

It's not sexual, not desperate and needy like how it was the other night. It's calm. comforting. Another way for him to say I'm still here, aren't I?

"I'm not great with words," he starts, "but I was very much into it. I need you to know that. You didn't—do anything I didn't want."

Softly and ignoring the criticism from the voice in your head for once, you nod.

You recognize the familiar pull of his lips when he softly grins. "Think it's pretty obvious now, but in case it's not," he leans into this whole communicating thing, "I really like being around you."

He thinks his heart grows a size when you weakly smile back at him, "You like being around me?"

He shrugs, laughing at your sarcasm. "Around you, with you. I guess I just like you, really."

You raise your eyebrows, challenging his statement, "Are you still drunk?"

"Fuck no."

You hum shortly. "Hungover?"

"Disgustingly so," he grimaces at the reminder of how nauseous he is.

"Thinking clearly?"

"Never really around you, but clear as I can be."

It's soft and sweet, and this is how you wanted it to be. Naturally, as if you're both magnets being pulled to one another, Megumi is carefully guiding you into his lap as you're naturally making yourself at home in his hold.

The position almost exactly mimics the one you'd found yourself in on Friday night, but this time, it's different. It feels different — golden instead of red and light with a newfound meaning.

With gentle eyes and slight nods from each of you, you kiss once more. His mouth moves the same, eager yet graceful as he leans into you. No wandering hands or drunken hiccups, you feel one another smile into the kiss until it is all giggles and teeth.

"Y'know, if you wanted to ask me out," you pull away from him, accusatory with an underlying teasing, "you should've just asked like a normal person instead of accusing me of sleeping with your friend."

Megumi groans in embarrassment, hiding his face in your neck. You feel the heat of his cheeks when he sighs.

"Yeah, that wasn't my finest moment."

Kisses are stolen and silence is shared until he yawns you remember how awful he must still feel from drinking so much. Crawling off of his lap, you ignore the butterflies in your stomach whines he whines at the loss of your weight.

"Want anything?" you call out as you walk towards the kitchenette. "I have Advil and a bagel with your name on it."

Megumi hums at the thought, not confirming or denying the offer, as his eyes remain locked in on you in a blissful comfort.

Your voice becomes more distant as you turn the corner, "I'll even give you those eyes I know you like so much."

A muffled sound of humiliation can be heard from the couch, "God, please forget I said that."

Putting the bagel in the toaster and reaching up to the medicine cabinet, you laugh carelessly.

"Never."

…..

Yuuji wakes up with a throbbing headache and an acidic burning in the back of his throat.

He groans, turning on his side before realizing that — he's not in his bed. With blurry vision and sweaty hands fumbling to survey the environment around him, he feels for his phone. The screen is far too bright and completely overridden of missed calls and texts, reading a mocking 2:14 PM when he groans.

When yelling Megumi's name a handful of times doesn't work (it usually does), he opens his Find My Friends app and tracks his roommate. Seeing his icon appear right next to his own while ironically hearing your echoing laughter ring from upstairs, he laughs.

Before he closes his eyes again and deals with a hangover from hell, he sends Megumi a text before tossing his phone across the room.

Ur welcome for not actually calling dibs.

[autoimmunehn]

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[wandasaura]

GODDAMN BLAZE IN THE DARK

summary — when the ultimate arises of being allowed to orgasm or being allowed to relieve your bladder, the only thing you can do is hope to god that you can be the good girl she expects you to be

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, alcohol consumption, piss kink, holding/control kink, fingering, teasing, begging, orgasm delay, degradation, praise kink, eventual orgasm, condescending tones/elements, domestic banter, men/minors dni

kinktober

The weather was finally beginning to turn as October earned its keep in the festive beach town you resided within the borders of, no longer blisteringly hot, but rather soft and quaint as a breeze ruffled leaves and blew discarded litter down the streets of Westview. The aesthetic of the world had begun to shift with the incoming breeze of cool air as well, replacing vibrant pinks and muted blues with burnt orange shades and deep charcoal hues. Wanda herself had fallen into the fall frenzy, adding decorative pillows to the couch and styrofoam pumpkins to the mantle despite her mentality that decorating for single day holidays was pointless and a waste of hard earned money. You knew she adored the whimsical magic of Halloween, even if she rolled her eyes each time you suggested watching a film inspired by the spookiest month of the year. That’s just how she was. Pointedly difficult merely to get a rise out of you, and it worked each time you begged to watch Hocus Pocus only to receive an eye roll and an exaggerated huff of faux exasperation. She always caved, always cuddled up on the couch or in bed, but it was never easy to get her there, nor was it easy to keep her interest as her hands began to wander down your tantalizing body and mark its claim on your most sensitive areas. 

Tonight, as you cuddled up close, beneath a thin throw blanket printed with jack-o-lanterns and the silhouettes of cartoon bats, it had been painfully easy. She hadn’t protested when you suggested a movie night, hadn’t rolled her eyes when you turned on a film from your childhood that was admittedly horrible at best and downright insulting at worst, and she hadn’t even huffed in overdramatic defeat when you’d turned the subtitles on because that made any viewing experience ten times better. In fact, she’d been nothing but pleasant and willing. She’d collected your drinks from the kitchen, gathered your chosen snacks from the pantry, and lit a candle on the coffee table that had the entire house smelling like sweet notes of subtle maple and addictive vanilla. 

Cautiously, you peaked over your shoulder at her side profile illuminated by flickering auburn light from the three wick candle providing a gentle ambience of mood lighting around you, the dancing flame with the slightest twinges of blue and yellow embedded within its fiery existence reflected off of her emerald stare so peacefully that you nearly accepted the gentle nature of the night ahead of you without question, but you knew better. You’d been with Wanda for years, seen her through some of the most trying and difficult periods of her life, and subsequently some of the best and softest. You knew that whenever something was easy with her, then there was something else up her sleeve just waiting to be pulled. She kept things interesting, always had and always would, but you’d become rather perceptive to her motives after such a long game of cat and mouse. 

She had you pinned against her chest as you lounged on the couch she’d affectionately decorated with throw blankets and decorative pillows, one arm looped around your waist while the other held onto her glass of chilled white wine, the stem carefully weaved between her fingers in intricate delicacy that you hadn’t quite mastered no matter the years you spent attempting to copy her mannerisms. She dripped with class and exquisite wealth, despite being brought up in a country suffering with poverty. There was an intoxicating energy to her, one that compelled even her most passionate haters to surrender to her spell and seek to know her personally. You’d never quite gotten over that alluring charm about her, but she’d made it painfully obvious that you were the only one she wanted to bring home and into bed each time you left the house, so you didn’t dwell much on the simple fact that Wanda Maximoff could have any man or woman she desired without so much as lifting a finger to flirtatiously wave. 

As you reached for your glass of wine that had been thoughtlessly left abandoned on the coffee table besides the slowly burning candle, her arm pressed against your bladder just enough to make an uncomfortable feeling travel through your nerves. Willing to ignore it for a while longer, not wanting to leave her soothing company or risk your film being turning off due to her unrelenting boredom, you stayed against her chest, now gripping your own glass with delicacy, although you didn’t quite have the placement of your fingers right enough to have replicated her eloquence. You’d thought that Wanda was unaware of your subtle wince, however, she’d so easily detected the shift in your body language and the way you maneuvered within her hold to alleviate some of the pressure she was intentionally pressing into your bladder. 

When her hand fell to your thigh, her wine glass set to the side as she had only a couple of sips left and didn’t particularly enjoy being drunk without your lighthearted energy to match her pace, you shivered with anticipation, knowing all too well where her soft touch would lead if you played your cards right. Well, you had thought you knew all the moves she was going to make, but when she dug her fingertips into the crevice of your thigh without warning or prior teasing, tickling the sensitive skin that she knew was a no-go zone on your best day, let alone your worst, you truly began to realize what you were in for. A soft whine slipped off of your lips as you wriggled against her, but all she did was tighten her hold on you and coax your whines with sweet kisses against the shell of your ear, her fingers still teasing and tickling your sensitive skin with passion. 

“Wanda.” You gasped when one hand splayed firmly against your sensitive belly, and the other moved beneath your soft gingham print sleep shorts to cup your core beneath the frilly underwear you’d picked out that morning. Your attire was nothing special, nothing sexy nor new, but that’s what Wanda preferred. There were times when lingerie worked, where it brought a level of excitement and newness to your already exhilarating sexcapades, but Wanda was sweet, she preferred you as you were, with no reason to constantly be trying to change your comfortability and appearance. Her boldness had always been a turn on, and as you sat trapped between her chest and her possessive arms, you felt merely like a toy at her disposal. 

“What’s wrong, my angel?” She cooed against your earlobe, teeth taking claim over that sensitive inch of skin that always provoked your desire to rise to uncontrollable levels. She knows what’s wrong though, it’s not the first time you’ve walked into this trap, but it’s been months since she’s laid it out, months since she’s been so cruel and condescending that you don’t know whether to plead for leniency or for her fingers to claim the sweetest softest spaces of your intimacy. “Hm, be a good girl and tell me.”

“I have to pee.” The words burned your pride as they slipped into the air, your cheeks twinging a flush shade of pink more aligned for the pallet of summertime than fresh autumn. You wriggled in her grasp, attempting to set yourself free, but all you accomplished was adding more pressure against your already sensitive bladder, intensifying the sensation of urgency within your nerves. “Wands, I have to pee.” 

Your desperation did nothing to quell her cruelty, rather it feebly landed in the near silent room apart from the voices slipping out of the speakers in the ceiling. “Well that’s too bad, sweetheart. I like having you here. Surely you can wait a little while longer, can’t you? I’m not ready to let you go just yet.” 

Her fingers slid through your folds, collecting warm, sticky arousal that pooled at your entrance. You whimpered in need, desperate need that turned your nerves cold with pleasure but warmed your skin deliciously to the touch. You writhed in her lap, torn between staying still, ignoring the pressure being applied to your belly, and squirming against her hold until you could sink onto those tantalizing digits and claim your pleasure. You didn’t have the luxury of choosing, she was already deciding your fate before you could strategize a game plan to secure dominance. You never won when you attempted to overpower her, but it was fun to have those unrefined moments of vicious pleasure while they lasted. 

You gasped a broken whine of pleasure when her fingers dug themselves into your core with one finite movement, buried to the hilt if the chill of her rings laying heavily against your pulsating clit pebbled with anticipation was any indication. The pads of her fingers pressed against the softest section of your walls, sparkling sharp sparks of pleasure to shoot up your spine and reverberate off the lining of your sensitive bladder. You gasped again, a breathy, whiney sound that was entirely pathetic but lewdly sweet, as Wanda prodded and pressed against that spongy spot continuously, her fingers curling and scissoring apart within your slick velvety walls. 

You writhed in intense pleasure, squirming against her tight, near clinical hold as she kept you confined and at her mercy, only able to take whatever she gave you when she felt like it. The sensations sparking to life in your bladder and core were unimaginable fireworks of pleasure that drowned you in their intensity, covering you in pleasure derived from her; her touch, her words, her eloquently dominant energy. She covered you in her effortlessly, and you surrendered to the flames of passion without hesitation. 

“I can’t hold it! I can’t hold it! Wanda! I have to pee! Please let me cum!” As torn as your body was between remaining still and writhing in passionate movements, your mind was an even playing field of indecision. You had to pee, that was undeniable, it was steadily beneath the surface of pleasure, tethered to your orgasm in a terrifying way, but you need to cum, as her fingers scissors your pussy apart, massaged that spongy area within your walls, as her rings nudged and thumped against your clit, you were being driven closer and closer to that beautiful edge of vulnerability and pleasure. 

“One or the other.” Wanda’s voice was level, calculated. She wasn’t bothered by your desperation, nor was she feeling generous. Your bones grew cold with anticipation as you shook your head, but it did nothing to win you sympathy. Her fingers that had already been hammering into you at an unforgiving pace took an even harsher approach, and the squelching sounds of pleasure and arousal filled the room and joined the existing symphony of a crackling flame and animated characters. “You can either cum on my fingers like a good girl, or you can go pee and not receive anything. And, I know this slutty cunt never misses an opportunity to cum, so stop acting like you can’t handle what I decide to do to your body, and sit still.” 

Your body couldn’t help but oblige by her demand, and with muffled whimpers, your body stopped fighting against her hold. She laughed tauntingly, pressing harder against your bladder. You knew the moment you leaked even the slightest bit against her fingers, her touch would be withdrawn, whether you were in the middle of a blissful orgasm or just on the cusp of falling over the edge. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t show you even the slightest bit of moisture. She had made her ultimatum clear, there would be nothing that could change that. 

“I’m close! I’m close!” As your orgasm built, so did that pressure in your bladder that was slowly becoming unbearable. You could only will your body to allow you control, but before you could slip off the edge, fall into a sea of butterflies and pleasure, her fingers were slowing down, her palm pressing harder against your bladder in return for the loss of pleasure. 

“Hold it.” She demanded cruelly, voice level and dominating, only luring you further beneath her captivating spell that had you submitting unregretfully. You did as best as you could, your eyes pinched shut as you fought to fight off your orgasm, but eventually it all caught up to you, and your mindless babbling became indistinguishable pleas and desperate begging. “So pretty when you squirm for me.” 

“I-I can’t! Please! Please! I need to cum! I need to pee! Let me cum! Please, Wanda! Please!” Finally forcing the words off of your tongue, you only hoped they were enough to convince her to be kind. Minutes passed until they became a blur of sensations that ripped you apart from the inside, and when you thought you were going to break, just as you were on the cusp of deteriorating, everything started up again and instead of being denied, instead of loitering on the edge of bliss, Wanda granted you permission. You came with a high pitched moan, squirming and writhing against her hold and the second she worked you down from that blissful edge, you were bolting toward the bathroom, followed by her footsteps and taunting laughter. “Three glasses of wine and you decide to pull this shit! Wanda, I am going to kill you one day!” 

“That’s how you repay someone who just gave you the best orgasm of your life?! You threaten them?!” Wanda laughed menacingly, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom as she watched you attempt to relieve your bladder, although that was slightly difficult in your post-orgasm state, which only made your frustration double. 

“Second best! Nothing will beat last Christmas.” You threw her a nasty glare, finally able to pee as your muscles began to loosen and return to normal, although every nerve in your body was still alight with blissful pleasure. 

“You’re only making me want to compete with myself here, darling.” She smirked, licking her fingers clean of your arousal in a tantalizing power move that had your cheeks flushing but your eyes rolling. 

“You’re impossible.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

UNTOUCHED. 18+

pairing. dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count. 2967

summary. you thought your crush on your dad’s best friend would never be reciprocated. but it turns out, that’s not true

warnings. 18+ only!! age gap (20s, 40s) dbf, 'experienced' virgin reader, body worship, titty stuff, fingering, unprotected pinv sex, soft dom bucky. minors dni

rewrote this from a request I did

You often felt a spiral of shame surrounding your thoughts. Thoughts that no one should be having of a parents friend. 

And yet, it was happening. 

These abashed notions of your father's best friend clouded your mind far too regularly for you not to question your moral judgment. You would often find moments where you told yourself lies to feel better, saying that it was natural to feel this way about someone you can't have - someone you shouldn't have. But with most things in life, the more you can't have it, the more you want it.

This impromptu lakehouse vacation with your parents and said friend has been the most challenging strain on your ethical code. Every stolen glance feeling that much more intimate, given the circumstance. Almost confined within the same household for the past several days - forced into family dinners, nudged into game nights, all of it intensifying your attraction towards him.

These thoughts of utter infatuation continue as you watch Bucky and your dad at the pool table across the room, your pen tapping rhythmically on your chin as you pretend to think about the words on the notepad. Your perfect little ruse while you gawk at the hunky man leaning over the felt table, large bicep flexed with the cue slotted underneath.

Staring at him like that with eyes so eager and attentive made you feel juvenile —pathetic— the whirlwind of schoolgirl-like emotions that followed with a crush so prohibited made you feel confused. It would've been easier to take a liking to a guy your own age, to a guy you'd maybe have a shot with, but no. It was on someone completely off-limits and someone you should not be thinking of in the way you do.

The illogical connotations that followed with the infatuation seemed to heighten everything - everything within your little delusion growing more and more dramatised. 

So now, when you meet Bucky's momentary gaze from across the way for the fifth time, you begin to overthink everything, all prior thoughts spiralling out of control. With an uneasy inhale, you briefly drop your head into your hands and then collect your things, bunching everything into a pile - leaving it neatly on the coffee table.

You slip out of the main room, going undetected as you head for your bedroom across the house. Once within your own space, you take a moment to compose yourself - to give yourself a second to regulate the dirty thoughts that hogged the rational parts of your brain. 

But to no avail, it fails. 

Instead, you make your way into your ensuite and turn on the water, hoping that your second shower of the night will clean your mind this time.

You allow yourself some time in the shower, standing in near silence as you lather the soapy loofah on your skin, doing everything you can to fight off the want. All earlier feelings slowly being replaced by a slither of sanctity.

After a short while, you shut off the water and wrap a towel around your body, patting yourself dry before rubbing on some quick creams. Opening the door, you see an outline of someone sitting on the side of your bed - their —his— broad, upper figure acting as a surely silhouette in the moonlight. 

"You're in the wrong room," you say - speaking softer than you'd have liked. "Shouldn't be in here," you add, gripping your towel tighter.

"No?" Bucky hums, almost pleased. Cocking his head to the side as his eyes slowly rake over you, gaze trailing up the exposed parts of your body that are lit in the moon's cast.

You shake your head, pointing at the door. 

Instead of doing as you asked, he reaches for the lamp on your bedside table and flicks it on. Turning his attention back to you, he scans over your body with that subtle hint of possessiveness he often wears around you. Blue eyes bloomed up, taking you all in. 

You rush over and hastily grab his hand - pulling down on the chained switch to turn it off. But his hand underneath yours pulls back down on it, letting in a gentle flood of light, allowing him to see you clearly again. 

And only now do you really see his face. Eyes primal as they look up at you standing between his spread thighs, hand wrapped tightly over his on the pull-chain. Keeping his focus on you, he brings his spare hand up to rest on your hip, palm grazing along the towel covering the curve.

"Saw you looking at me earlier," he finally speaks, words faint and low as he slips his hands into both of yours - holding them.

You gently shake your head and divert your gaze to your hands, looking down at the difference in size - how his large ones almost engulf yours. "I don't know what you're talking about," you lie, tone breathy. 

He brings your hands towards his face and places a soft kiss on the back of each, keeping his eyes locked at you from above. "Liar," he whispers into the skin. "Thought your parents taught you not to lie."

"Don't talk about them," you utter, breath catching in your chest, watching your hands in his. 

"You don't want them to know you got a thing for your old man's friend?" he asks, voice silky as he fiddles with your fingers. The act like a tender caress, his big, rough hands uncharacteristically gentle with you - everything like you pictured them to be. 

You shake your head a singular time, the motion faint.

"I don't want my friend to know I have a thing for his daughter either."

Meeting his now earnest eyes, you see that he held truth within his confession - his expression purely genuine under your focus. His fingers continue with the playful teasing in yours, his sole attention locked on you standing between his wide-spread thighs.

He carefully releases your hands and lets them hang at your sides, your fingertips skimming at his knees. Your eyes hone in on him, intently watching him resume his visual survey of you.

His hands reach for the opening of your towel, looking up to a hesitant expression on your face - features pulled together with uncertainty. This was all so foreign to you, and you didn't know what do to with yourself. You've wanted this so bad, for so long, but now that it was actually and finally about to happen, you felt at a loss. 

"You haven't done this before?" he asks rhetorically, knowing what that tentative look means.

With your silence, his question gets answered. That same possessive expression resurfacing. 

He weaves a finger to the opening at the bottom of the towel, hooking it aside to reveal the very upper of your thigh - the soft, plushy skin looking the more tempting. 

"I'll be gentle with you," he whispers, voice hoarse as his finger slips higher, exposing the crease just under your hip bone - that irresistible line right next to your cunt. "You tell me to stop, and I will."

Though no words come from your lips - silently agreeing.

With his singular finger parting higher, the towel untucks from its hold around your chest, the fabric undoing and falling to the floor - pooling around your feet as you stand naked in front of him. His fully clothed self juxtaposing the sheer bareness of you. 

His attention dances over your body slowly, taking all of you in - letting the image curate in his brain for safekeeping. Eyes temporarily focus in on your tits a mere foot away from his face, slowly travelling down your stomach and finally to the beautiful, tempting, untouched thing between your thighs. Your pussy.

He places his palms back over your hips, hands almost dwarfing you as he guides you closer - making you take a step towards him. 

"So no one has ever..." he starts, bringing his hands up to cup your tits. "Seen them, touched them?" he asks, rolling them gently, eyes flicking up at you.

"No," you utter, bottom lip bitten as you eagerly watch him palm your breasts. 

"Good," he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over the perk nipples. 

The action causes a hitch in your breath, his touch so unlike that of your own during late-night solo sessions - the feeling of another person's touch coating your body with goosebumps.

He leans in closer to you and presses a kiss into your rib, the faint contact of his lips on your skin making you shudder. Though, he doesn't pull away. He continues with a trail of soft kisses up the underneath part of one of your tits, lips grazing along the dome-like shape - eyes locked on yours.

He takes one of your nipples in his mouth, wrapping his lips around it - tongue flicking over it leisurely between kisses. Shame and lust and excitement rise to heat your cheeks, and you drop your head backwards at the feeling, puffed lips parting as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

"Feel good, hm?" he muffles against the plush of your tit, moving to the other - giving it the same attention. 

You hum sweetly, mind blank. You bring your hands to rest on Bucky's broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the swell of his muscle as you use him for stability - thumbs brushing against the base of his neck. You straighten your neck to look down at him, watching the way his lips caress your nipples.

You glide a hand along the side of his head, teasing fingers dragging across his scalp as if to hold him there - like you were trying to keep him glued to you. But he pulls away, and you bashfully rip your hand from its placement in his hair. 

"Sorry."

Resting his hands on your waist, he looks up at you, turning his attention away from the wetness around your nipples. "For what?"

"Think I made it awkward," you whisper.

"When?"

"Now. Just then."

"You didn't," he assures, trailing kisses down the valley of your chest, working featherlight pecks along the top of your abdomen.

"No?"

"No," he confirms.

His hands stroke over your hips, palms light and tender as they caress you. He nudges you forward, making you take another step closer - his grip directing you and making you perch upon his thigh, guiding you to straddle it. 

His placement on your hips slips upwards, moving into a gentle but surely hold in the middle of your back. Like he was taking charge, doing the thinking for you - letting you turn your mind off. 

You loosely drape your arms off his shoulders. "I haven't..." you start, pausing as if to think of the words. "Done... this before."

"I know," he hums and leans in to place a kiss at the base of your throat, trailing them upwards - working up to your jaw. "Don't worry about it. I got it."

With one hand now on the side of your face, the other in its spot on your lower back, he pulls you towards him and rolls over into the mattress, holding you to him as he does so. He repositions you underneath him - hovering from above to your side. Almost cradling you with his lips resuming their previous spot on your throat. 

Bucky leisurely grazes his hand down your stomach, moving steadily towards your inner thighs. He's slow and teasing with it, making you wait - letting the anticipation build impossibly further before he finally slides to where you wanted him. 

He slides the tips of his two middle fingers over your cunt, the pads coating with a creamy sheen of your arousal as he gently parts your folds. Like the feeling of his mouth on your breasts, this sensation was so unlike that of your own. The foreign touch of another person is solely enough to elicit gentle dulcet noises from you.

He pulls his forehead from that spot in the crook of your neck, adjusting to glance down at you - his eyes low and lidded as he looks into your eager ones. Your pretty eyes so trusting and willing under his attention.

He teases his middle finger around your entrance, the pressure almost non-existent as he circles over it. Just slow movements as he watches the knitting of your brows - the rest of your features blissfully pulling together. He's being so softly dominant with you, every touch made with tender precision.

He eases his finger into your cunt, the thickness of it a slight stretch as he curls it up into you, hooking up against that spongy spot. He keeps it there, pressing a kiss into your cheek.

Ever so slowly, he begins rocking it into you - the heel of his palm rubbing nicely against your clit as he does so. He's patient, listening to your body, waiting for it to tell him what it wants. 

Even though you were inexperienced, that didn't mean you don't know your body - know what it wants. You've had years with yourself cultivating your likes, but you've just never had someone to fulfil them. You knew the things you need and where you needed them, and it happened that Bucky knew it, too. He knew it all without you having to voice it. 

His finger pumps into your pussy, the motion a slow, steady rocking, moving into you as if he was trying to familiarise you - get you used to the feeling of having someone else inside of you.

"Listen to how wet you are."

He drags along the inside of your cunt before easing out and bringing his finger up to you, showing you the ringed milky sheen above his last knuckle. He licks over the skin to lap up your arousal - like the act was muscle memory, a process he didn't need to think about.

Your eyes compliant and eager as you look up at him, darting over his face as if to process what had just happened. The warm, fluttery feeling of being indulged pushed you into a tizzy and the look on his face as he did it, expanded the need unbearably further between your thighs.

He coos softly and readjusts you up the length of the bed. Cupping the back of your head, he peels it from the mattress and places a pillow underneath - getting you comfortable. Taking the lead, taking care of you. 

Kneeling between your open thighs, he tugs off his tee, his upper body like everything you had pictured - rugged, sculpted, beefy, a true sight.

And he was on his knees, between your legs.

You lay there somewhat patiently, mind whirling as you watch his hands slip into the waistband of his plaid lounge bottoms, the slight force down on the fabric exposing himself to you. Your eyes rake down his stomach and to his happy trail, eager cock standing attentively below - the sight almost intimidating. 

The first real cock you've seen and sure to ruin all future expectations.

He hovers over you, his weight anchored on a singular hand beside your head - the other wrapped around his cock, stroking himself as he guides his head closer.

"I'll go slow," he whispers, his voice soft and gentle, speaking mere inches from your lips.

You nod, the motion faint as you slip your hands into the sides of his hair, fingers skimming his scalp. Doing what you've read - doing what you've seen, not letting your lack of experience awkwardly taint the moment you've been waiting for. 

With his grip on the base of his cock, he nudges himself closer - his leaking tip pressing up against the warmth of your cunt. He pushes his head through your messy folds, collecting your arousal as if it were lube. 

Easing his head into your pussy, he stills, letting you adjust to the unfamiliar sensation - the stretch of your walls opening to accustom him. Keeping his eyes on yours, he looks out for discomfort, only to find none - your features clouded with lust and bliss and obedience. 

With your silent encouragement, he slips in a little more of himself - the girth of his upper shaft creating a mellow, tame burn in your cunt.

"Such a pro," he praises, moving the hand from his cock to place on the side of your face - his palm warm as it rests against your cheek, holding you. "S'good," he mutters, tone strained as he kisses under your jaw.

Your dulcet, sultry noises ring like music to Bucky's ears - the sounds like everything he's imagined them to be, if not better. The soft, breathy, whiney moans combined with the wet clicking of your cunt, egg him on more than he thought to be possible. More than he was used to.

He momentarily parts focus from your face, instead glancing down your stomach to look between your thighs, watching himself sink into you - the swallowing of your pussy pulling him back in for more. The creamy ring forming around the base of his cock. His new favourite sight.

Your eyes so full of lust and trust - everything about you in this position igniting something deeply possessive within him. 

And though you were still new to sex, he wanted to ruin you - obliterate your standards so that you keep coming back for more. He knew in his mind that was wrong, but when he watches your face knit with waves of bliss, he can't help but think he's not alone in that feeling.

He knew this wasn't going to be a one-time thing. And in your heart, you knew that, too.

lwk hate this, but in my drafts so worth posting

[dropsnectar]

When a Fox is Bored...

M!Kitsune x gn!reader

NSFW

A Kitsune who recently inherited a new territory, of which your house is smack in the middle of. 

As an easily bored spirit, he finds the thought of pranking you hilarious. He starts out with small things, moving your cereal bowl in the morning, replacing dish washing detergent with dish soap. He laughs quietly to himself as he watches you search for what should have been obviously in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, and confusion fueling his quiet laughter. He watched you run around in horror, trying to scoops bubbles into water buckets. Something about your confusion and panic satisfied him. 

He made a habit of visiting you and making something go wrong. But after the fifth prank, something changed. You laughed at how your water bottle, once filled with water, was now orange juice. Your missing backpack, instead of being on the table, under your bed. You cleaned the place up, reducing clutter. You kept your bags close, and hummed to yourself as you searched about, peaceful. This picked at something in him. Your worried expression had been his after all. He upped the ante.

He messed with your washing machine. That prank took a while, since as a spirit of nature, tech was foreign to him. Filled with pride expecting your eyes to go big and your lips purse for him, all you did was roll your eyes and take your clothes and laundry detergent to the bathroom. You turned on a little play on your little black rock, and filled the tub with water soap and clothes. Then you got to work, stomping like you were pressing grapes for wine. Despite the distraction of the “phone”, your face was still crinkled in effort, sweat drifting down your brow. He liked this expression. Maybe this too was a prank well done.

At some point, you had started making double helpings for dinner. In the past, meals of ramen and grocery potatoes salad had turned into steaks, chicken and pasta. 

You would pour two glasses of wine and put out a plate and a glass on the old stump by the back door. Curious, the kitsune would eat up, soon enamored with your cooking.

About time! It was only right of you to give him offerings. You were in his territory after all. In the mornings you would collect the dishes, and the cycle would continue.

Of course, this didn't mean he would stop his favorite source of entertainment. Far from it. He'd replace your coffee maker with one of a differing model. He'd leave piles of fruit by the door, savoring your surprised reaction as you looked around, not noticing the small form he had taken behind the door. He learned your preferences, your schedule, even your sorrows as you poured over a hastily scrawled budget that just wouldn't add up the way it should. 

He had to admit sometimes his pranks grew even farther then he meant to. You had dressed up to the 9s for a much needed job interview, with a man whose soul was so gray he could see it through the phone. You had gotten in your old, rusty car, only for it to get hit by a huge black Denali, five minutes from your house.

Out stepped a gentle older man in a weathered cardigan. The old man listened to you cry, as you waved about a dead phone, and explained how you couldn't afford this. You had missed the job interview you so desperately needed.

 This was the part that bewildered the kitsune. He wasn't sure if it was his own magic or yours, but the older man offered you a job on the spot, twice the salary you were looking for. The old man's aura was a gentle green. This satisfied the kitsune. This man would take care of his favorite victim.

His heart filled with satisfaction at how you bounced and garbled out thank yous. He didn't fail to notice that dinner that night came with a whole tray of brownies. You made him cupcakes when you got the huge insurance check in the mail. 

After dinner, he was surveying you as you watched “Net-fix”, something about a mute woman rescuing a lake monster, when you turned the TV off and headed upstairs. 

This intrigued the kitsune, as you usually watched television for another hour before passing out. 

You took off your pants and crawled into bed. The room was quiet except for your breathy moans as you pleasured yourself, one hand working yourself up under your underwear.

The smell that filled the room was mouthwatering. And the way you mewled out made the kitsune feral. He was on you in a few minutes, transforming from his invisible form to his most majestic one. He leaned over you, eyes red and hungry, as he pinned your free hand over your head and licked his lips.

“Its you.” You whispered, voice light and merry. It was like it had been a long grey winter and the sun had finally decided to come out. It was an expression he had never collected from you and it made his heart heavy.

“I knew you were here. Thank you. For everything.”

He stared at you, now full of apprehension. But a peice of him was still so full of joy that you recognized him. That you saw him and wanted him with you now.

“You have been my playtoy. I have made your life difficult more times than I have lightened it.”

“You kept me on my toes” you laughed out, tone innocent. “But I know how to deal with boys who tug my pigtails. And you haven't tugged on them in a long time.” You reached your other hand forward and brought it to his cheek. It was a gentle gesture of affection, but it did not have the soothing effect you intended. 

Your hand smelled so full of your core it drove him insane, dick throbing and hard under his robes. He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down any residue that had been left on your fingers. The face you made was adorable, how your eyes glowed and the ghost of your tongue peaked out from your lips. He was going to collect so many faces from you tonight, and they would all be his. YOU would be his.

He discarded his robes and your underwear with magic, a tidy pile on the chair next to the bed. Then, he was on you, mouth nibbling your neck, biting you collarbone, before licking at the marks he had made. He rutted his hips against you for relief as he claimed your mouth, your tongue swirling around his. Your hands grasped hard to his back, nails scratching. It was your way of claiming him too, of this he was sure, and it was just too damn cute.

He dragged himself around your entrance, laughing and saying he wouldn't enter you until you begged him for it. You pouted at him and huffed, but eventually gave in, asking him to fill you. He did so with one hard thrust causing you to cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He kept a quick pace. Your eyes were glazed, your core molten hot as he hit every little spot inside you that would bring you closer to release. You tried to hide it at first, hands covering your mouth but your eyes gave it away. He let you conceal yourself for all of five minutes before he had both your hands pinned above your head, his thrusts jutting at an unforgiving pace inside you. 

He was feral. THERE it was! That was the face he had wanted, the expression he had wanted to capture from you since the very beginning. Your panting, your eyes glazed over, mouth open in a silent plea, THAT'S what he wanted all along. And it was his! You were his now. The realization, the feeling of you, and the way you cried and clenched around him in release was what finally sent him over the edge. Against all odds you came together, riding out your ecstasy with sighing breaths. 

His mind was hazy with afterglow as he pulled you into his arms, large fluffy tails wrapping around your legs, arms, even one teasing at your face, a tickle. You laughed and kissed the fluff before turning over and kissing his nose, eyes bright. You were sated and happy. 

“Could we maybe, make a habit of this?”

He grinned at you. Every single feature of him was dripping with mischief when he replied.

“You think I'm satisfied with just this? There's so much more I have planned for you, you silly thing. Be prepared, got it?”

Part Two-ish

[becomingthatgirl111]

organize your week like this to be closer to the best version of yourself

i interpret the process of becoming our best version as climbing a ladder, on each step, we learn something new that serves us, and the next we complement it with something new, and so on until we reach the end and after many small habits we have become that version we wanted to be. little by little we are learning and although sometimes it is complicated to climb because of the adversities that may arise we can always take up the path again and put into practice what we have learned. that said, today i want to share a method that i have created to organize our habits and thus fulfill them more effectively and feel motivated. in this post i will only present some examples, you have to apply it to your own situation and my recommendation is to start now even with small habits that will be the ones that will lead you to success. i recommend that you try it for this week and write down your results, if it has worked for you keep using this "organization method" and adding new habits or increasing its time.

organize by categories.

create groups to categorize the habits you want to implement in your life, for example like this (the habits are examples, use your own)

🌿 health (body and nutrition)

10 minutes of exercise every day

30 minutes of walking every day

drink a lot more water

start eating consciously

one self-care day a week, for example on friday. we can take this day more relaxed and take more care of ourselves, dedicate more time to our personal and mental care.

do massage with the quartz roller and gua sha

make an appointment for nails, hairdresser, spa, eyelashes or even go to a coffee shop with yourself.

use a face mask and hair mask

🌿 personal growth

read 10 pages a day

listen to personal growth podcasts or audiobooks (choose one and listen to it all week long)

choose an affirmation and write it down every day

record in a diary or an app your mood and what you did during the day.

create a to-do list of what you will do for the day (the night before)

choose a video of affirmations and listen to it every day at a time that suits you best

🌿 studies

study about what you are studying or training for.

dedicate e.g. 20-30 minutes each day to study or review.

study a new language, 15 minutes a day, 5 days a week.

🌿 hobbies

1 - 2 hours to what you enjoy doing (depends on the day and your schedule)

you can write down in a notebook the groups you want to choose for yourself and then the habits you are going to implement, even if they are very small, for example 5 minutes of daily exercise, that is a good start.

to stay focused and not fall into old habits we can also replace the old habits with new ones that we want to implement in this way.

old habit: too much time on instagram new habit: reading or listening to an audiobook while i take a walk. or even just 15 minutes of social media a day.

other examples:

drinking soda or alcoholic beverages > drinking a lot more water and starting to drink natural juices.

watch a lot of series on netflix (or any streaming platform) > read or listen to podcasts/audiobooks that nourish my mind.

overthinking, worrying > meditating for about 5 minutes

lying in bed without doing anything > organizing my room

think in negative > think about the things you would like to happen to you

other tips to connect with your best version

write in your diary how you would act, be and what habits your best version would have. this will give you clarity about what you want and you will feel closer to that because you will know how to act.

establish small habits to start with and take it as a kind of game or test during this week. don't push yourself too hard.

at times when you don't know how to act or react, think about how your best version would act and what it would do.

write down things you are proud of or would like to be proud of.

if you are easily distracted or do not know what to do at any given moment, set alarms to know what to do at that moment.

if you use social media a lot, set a limit of use.

choose habits that you know you will be able to do easily, that will make you gain confidence and little by little establish those habits in which you have procrastinated or which are more difficult for you.

think big, open yourself to the possibilities that life offers you every day and keep a positive attitude towards any situation.

apps i recommend: habit: it serves to keep track of your habits and also get organized, it's a kind of to-do list. daylio: you can record your mood, what you did during the day and your habits, it also allows you to write and add photos. it is very complete, it can be used as a digital diary. notion: to get organized.

duolingo: if you want to learn a language a few minutes a day will be enough. i learned a lot of grammar in english thanks to this, which works if you practice daily.

and as always my blog is about this and there will be many more related posts in addition to the existing ones, all to be our best version 🤍 in fact if you try it i would love to know your results.