#or he was on a constant sugar rush | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafeandonlyrafe · 8 months ago

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deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.”

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.”

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?”

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod.

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut.

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

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embbarnes · 2 days ago

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Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x you #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fanfic #emwrites🌿

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bucks-babe · 6 months ago

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Virgin Bucky NSFW Alphabet

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Huge thanks as always to the incredible @buckys-wintersoldier for reading my brainrot; however, any and all mistakes are my own. I do not consent to my work being reposted - likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. And @espinosaurusrexex and @lanabuckybarnes, here it is

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jamie is still getting used to the huge rush of emotions he gets after sex. He feels so vulnerable and confused as to how he could go from such a strong high to feeling like he can’t breathe. No matter what, though, he knows that you will take care of him. If you’re on top he will cling to you like a koala bear, trying to keep you as close to him as possible. If he’s on top of you, he’ll collapse on your chest and listen to your heartbeat, your arms wrapped around him, protecting him from the outside world..

You keep your hands on his body at all times, whispering how good he was for you, how proud you are of him, how much you appreciate him trusting you with his heart and soul. You let him decide what he wants to do next. If he wants to take a shower, cuddle, eat, whatever he wants you’ll do. If he doesn’t feel like talking after, you talk for the both of you. He loves to hear the sound of your voice, it doesn’t matter what you’re talking about, it soothes him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jamie never loved any part of his body, especially after being tortured and abused by Hydra for so long, but you made him see that he’s beautiful inside and out. His favorite body part of his own has to be his thighs. He loves to see you lay your head on his lap, arms wrapping around the thick muscle like it’s a stuffed animal. He loves that almost as much as he loves to see you ride his thigh, taking your pleasure from his body. You look so gorgeous lost in pleasure from just his thigh.

His favorite body part of yours? - Stomach. It’s soft and warm - safe. He is always touching your stomach in some way, whether it be his hands kneading the soft flesh or his head resting there, using you as his own personal pillow

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jamie cums, and he cums a lot. He cums for minutes on end and his heavy balls produce so much cum. It could take him 8 to 11 orgasms in a row before he starts to shoot blanks. Of course that means that his cum has to go somewhere. It’s hard for him to leave the warmth of your cunt when he's cumming, but when he's feeling needy, he’ll pull out, jerking himself off on your pussy, covering your lower lips with his white spend before pushing back in and filling you to the brim. Feeling his sticky cum slap against his pelvis with each thrust only spurs him on more.

If he wasn’t so feral for you then he would keep cumming inside of your pussy over and over again, but Jamie likes messy sex, he likes marking you. He’ll cum on your thighs, using it as lube to keep going. Tits and stomach of course, licking it off after or press his body against yours to share his cum. He loves to fuck your face whilst you lay down on the bed, listening to you choke and sputter on his cum, only pulling back when he feels the overflow leak out around his sack, finishing the rest on your face. And once your entire front is covered with him, he’ll work on your back and ass, and he won’t stop until your entire body is white with him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves to have his balls played with, sucked, licked, the whole nine. And when you brought up the topic he couldn’t resist, going from a subby baby to using you as he pleased.

“You gonna sit on my face, sugar? Wrap those pretty thighs around my head? Yeah, you are.” Bucky takes a deep breath, his cock leaking precum on your face in a near constant stream.

“Yes, mommy, so hard f’you.” Bucky grabs the fleshlight that you bought for him a while ago. It’s not his first time using it, but it still makes his cock throb at the sight. Straddling your head, he looks down at you, his precum glazing your face, lowering down when you nod your head.

“Shittt, open your mouth, baby, can’t fit inside.” He has to reach down and almost forces both of his balls in your mouth. “Sack too fucking big for your slutty mouth. Just want to feel that tight mouth sucking my nuts, ohhh yesss, use your tongue, more, fuck, m’gonna cum before my dick s’even this little pussy.”

You choke and sputter about his sack, your jaw stretching more than it ever has. The soft dusting of hairs tickle, yet the soft, smooth skin makes your cunt pulse and ache. “Fuck, yes, choke on them, too fucking big to let you breathe. But you like that don’t ya? You fucking love choking on your daddy’s fat ballsack.” He holds your head in place, grinding against your mouth, moaning at the feeling of your nose brushing against his rim. He thrusts into the toy, making sure not to stray too far from your tight heat. Your spit and the lube of the fleshlight creating an obscene wetness that makes his cock harder.

“M’gonna bust, oh shittt, pleasepleaseplease, oh fuck, s’good, can you feel it? Can you feel my sack about to explode?” You shake your head from side to side, practically gargling your spit. Just when you feel his sack tighten, he pulls out, a thick stream of saliva being smacked into your face as he shoves his cock down your throat, balls pressing against your nose and forehead, fleshlight long forgotten.

His body falls down, legs spreading to get deeper as he brutally shoves his cock into your throat over and over again, wet, slobbery balls bouncing off your face, forcing you to close your eyes, no matter how much you wanted to see his fat sack beat against you.

“Oooohhhh, fuckkk, can feel my nuts everywhere, so wet.” You struggle against his cock, fighting for oxygen, but he just goes faster, thicker ropes of cum shooting out. “You can take it, sweet girl, take my load, my perfect cumdump. Gonna do this with your pussy next, and then your ass.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

It’s no secret that Jamie doesn’t have any experience at all. Before you the only action he ever got was a sweet kiss at the end of his date in the 40’s. But he is extremely willing to learn, wanting to give you everything he has to offer. Luckily for you he’s an extremely quick learner and has found ways to make you cum that you didn’t know was possible.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

When he’s feeling subby he wants you to ride him into oblivion. It doesn’t matter if it’s from the front or the back. He’ll gladly watch your tits bounce in his face, desperate to take a nipple in his mouth, or from the back with your ass jiggling with every movement, landing hard smacks on your soft flesh. That or missionary so he can watch your pretty face while he makes you feel good.

“Please, doll, closer.”

Bucky pulls you down, his arms wrapped around your back, pressing your entire body to his. Your skin slides against his, slick with sweat. He plants his feet on the bed, frantically fucking up into you, desperate to feel more of you.

“Oh God, doll, it’s so fucking good, you’re choking my cock, gonna cum, please let me cum, please.”

He’ll beg every time even though you rarely edge him, and that’s only when he asks you to. You always let him cum and he’ll bury his head in your chest, moaning around your nipple as ropes and ropes of his load shoot into you, still pounding, his cum squirting out.

When he’s feeling dominant he’ll contort your body every which way. Legs on his shoulders while he leans over, raising your ass in the air in the process, from behind slapping your ass.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jamie is rarely goofy during sex. Your pussy makes him so drunk that he doesn’t have a single thought in his head. He is so caught up in the feeling of you around him, skin pressed together that nothing can break his concentration.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

When he was a prisoner in Hydra, they waxed his entire body, sans his head. Legs - waxed, arms - waxed, chest - waxed, pubes - waxed. It was a form of torture, taking away his choice, altering his body the way they wanted. Now he lets his hair grow. He keeps his tufts of chest hair and leaves his legs alone. The only part that he grooms is his pubic hair. He’ll trim his bush, not wanting to go full jungle but he doesn’t go bald, loving the way your cream looks on them.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He desperately craves intimacy. You’re the only person that he lets touch him. Maybe Steve or Sam giving him a short hug, but other than that, he cringes away from touch. But when it comes to you, he needs to be touching you at all times, feeling your soft, warm body pressed against his, your scent surrounding him.

During sex, he needs to be close to you, his cock inside not enough to satisfy him. In missionary he’ll wrap his arms around you, letting his weight fall, your legs wrapped around his waist, hands running down his body, gripping and scratching whatever you can reach, doing the same thing with cowgirl.

“Doll, s’perfect, love you so much, oh god, please.” Bucky’s practically sobbing into your neck, his slick body sliding against your skin, hips pounding into yours, hitting your sweet spot every time without fail.

“Need you, doll, please, I can’t, uuuhhhh.” In his pleasure riddled mind, he can’t verbalize what he needs, but you always know even when he can’t say it.

You hike your legs higher, pulling him closer while your hands interlock with his, raising them above your head. “Jamie, feel so good inside me, m’so close. Want to cum with you, baby. Please, need you to cum for me, can’t hold it.” You moan with every rope of cum shooting into you, your own orgasm milking more out of his dick.

In pretty much every other position, if he can’t be pressed against you or if he wants to watch your ass or tits jiggle, he’ll hold your hands, hips, thighs, neck, any part of your body he can reach.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off a lot. He has 80 years to make up for, and he’ll get hard at the slightest thing. He swears that the wind can blow and his cock gets hard as a rock. Not only that, but you both are Avengers and have missions, not always together and it’s impossible to ignore his raging erection.

“What the fuck am I doing?” In any other scenario, he would feel ashamed, but he can’t bring himself to at the moment, so horny that he’d do anything to cum. He huffs and folds the pillow; the first thought he had when laying down in his feeble attempt to sleep was how good the silk pillowcase would feel around his dick.

It didn’t take him long to get his first load out, a full minute of aiming his cum at the pillow, creating his own lube. His cock pulses at the wet sound the pillow makes when he folds it. He has the pillow on the bed, each hand pressing down as hard as possible, making the makeshift hole as tight as possible. He whimpers at the first slide of his dick, the silk soft and smooth against him.

“Fuck, doll, need your pussy. Not as good, my cock s’hard for you. Such a waste of my load, know that you would take it, oh shit.” His hips pick up speed, the hotel bed creaking under his frantic thrusts. Bucky bites his lip, trying to hold in his moans, the springs squeaking causing flashes of you bouncing on his cock, the old frame barely able to withstand the hard pounding.

“Wish you were here, doll. You’d look so pretty covered in my load. Pretty tits painted white, letting me lick it off, spit it in your mouth. Oh god, here it comes, gonna take it all? Yeah you are, my perfect little cumdump.” The next morning, Bucky made sure to take the pillow and its case down to the dumpster before anyone could see, the entire thing soaked with his cum, but not before sending you pictures of his tongue full of cum and a video of his cock sliding in and out of the makeshift toy.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Daddy/Mommy kink, breeding, cumplay, marking, ball worship, praise/degradation, pain, edging/getting edged, overstimulation, watching porn together

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His favorite place is definitely the bedroom. Tony soundproofed all the rooms and Bucky couldn’t have been happier about that. He doesn’t want anyone to hear how he begs and moans, borderline screaming sometimes. The two of you are planning to get your own place someday and Jamie can’t wait to be able to fuck you wherever he wants.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, plain and simple. He’s never felt attraction so strong until he met you and his cock is always begging to be sucked or fucked. He doesn't know if it’s the serum or just how much he loves you, but he could go all day every day, maybe with a few breaks in between to make sure that his dick isn’t about to fall off with how much he uses it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesome - You’re the first person that Jamie has trusted fully since the 40’s and he has no desire to be with another person. You’re his everything and he doesn’t need anyone else but you

Exhibitionism - He’s still very insecure about his body, rarely leaving the house without triple checking that his metal arm isn’t visible to anyone. The thought of anyone watching him make love to you terrifies him. You make him feel perfect, but what if someone else knows how fast you make him cum, how he begs and pleads for you to hold him while he ruts into you, desperate to get that much closer to you? He wants to keep your sex life private and he’s not going to risk anyone seeing or hearing

CNC - Bucky has been through a lot when he was with Hydra and he wants to stay as far away from that as he can

Heavy degradation/humiliation - He loves light degradation, calling you a slut or whore for his cock, his little cumdump. He loves when you degrade him for not being able to last, always mixing in praises, letting him know how much you love it..

“Fuck, Jamie, look at you, can’t even hold out for me. ‘S my pussy too good, baby? Makes your fat cock burst? Love your cum, Jamie, wanna suckle your cock all day, keep it warm in my mouth, letting you use me, make me swallow load after load. That’s it, sweetheart, fill my pussy again.”

Even if it was in a safe setting, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if you said that he wasn’t good enough, that you should find another man to fuck you and make him watch. He saw it one time when he was watching porn with you and that was the end of the night, you held him in your arms until he fell asleep. He doesn’t know why, but that makes him want to cry, even if you weren’t the one saying that to him

Somnophilia - When you’re asleep, you can’t give consent and neither can he. He’s okay with waking up with you in between his legs, kissing and sucking on his thighs purposefully waiting until he wakes up to touch his cock and vice versa

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jamie loves both. He truly doesn’t think that he would be able to live without either. He wants to drown in your pussy.

“Lower, doll, I told you to sit on my face, so sit.”

He doesn’t wait for you before wrapping his arms around your thighs, dragging you all the way down, taking the liberty to grind your hips for you.

His moans are muffled and you can’t understand what in the hell he’s trying to say, but you know.

“Pussy’s so fucking good.”

“Tastes so sweet.”

“Just like that, doll.”

“Making my cock so fucking hard.”

“Gonna cum just like this. You’d like that too, huh? Me busting a fat load without you even touching me? Yeah you fucking would, cause you’re my little slut.”

“Love you so much, can’t live without you.”

He never knew how good blowjobs could feel. The first time you went down on him he got it, he understood why men go so crazy over it. He may have never gotten head before, but he’s sure that there’s no one better than you.

“Lean just a bit more. There you go, good girl.”

He has your head laying off the side of the bed, throat ready to be ruined. You’re almost drooling at the sight of his thick cock hard and pulsing.

The first thrust is shallow, trying his hardest to not push you, but you want him to ruin you, push you to your limits and then tell you that you can take more because you’re his good little slut.

You tap his thigh so he’ll pull off only to tell him to fuck you like you’re a fleshlight, and that sends him over the edge. He widens his stance and places a hand on your throat, dragging his cock and balls around your face, rutting into you, before doing exactly what you asked, so what if everyone asked you if you were getting a cold the next day when you couldn’t speak?

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rarely will it be slow and sensual. Jamie can’t control himself when he’s inside of you. He chases the feeling of your tight walls choking him over and over again. The only thoughts going through his mind is making you cum and cumming. It’s slow when he’s worn out from his missions or deep in subspace and you’ll warm his cock in your cunt while he sucks and fondles your tits. He can’t stop his cock from bursting even if he doesn’t move.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t like quickies. He wants to cum as many times as he can, make you cum as many times as possible before one of you passes out. Usually when he’s extremely horny, you’ll pull him away to suck him off.

“Come on, Jamie, we don’t have much time.” You glance at your phone - 5 minutes before you have to be at the meeting. You can do it in two. You lead him into a closet, locking the door behind you and quickly slipping your panties off from under your skirt.

“Can’t wait to be inside you. Please tell me you’re ready, need it now.” You only shake your head, balling up the garment and placing it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back at your essence hitting his tongue.

“Not right now, Jamie. Gonna suck your cock. If you want I’ll let you cum in my pussy and walk around with you in me for the rest of the day.” Bucky’s eyes bulge, wanton moans leaving his lips, hands flying down to pull his jeans down just enough for you to get to his cock.

“Needy aren’t we? But don’t worry, I won’t tease you. We only have three more minutes.” Without hesitation you swallow his entire cock, gagging on his thick length. Your throat immediately welcoming him, remembering the shape of his perfect length.

“Mmmhh!” You can’t make out any of his words, but the panties help to muffle his sounds. You bob your head faster, moaning at the surplus of precum oozing out of his tip, spit already dripping down to his balls. This is how he likes it - sloppy and dirty. Spit and tears. Ruining you, maybe even taking your voice away.

Your nose pressed up against his pubes, shaking your head from side to side before pulling off, both hands jerking his cock, twisting from base to tip. Innocently you look up at him, tears streaming down your face, spit and precum covering your chin. “Can feel you pulsing, aching, baby, cock begging to bust. You need to cum, don’t you? Where do you want it, baby? Can cum wherever you want, just want your cum, wanna be your little cumslut.”

Bucky’s hips jerk, head thrown back, moans barely being contained by your underwear. He grips you, pulling you up and spinning you around, going balls deep into your cunt, your slick making the slide smooth. You moan with each jerk of his hips, warm pussy welcoming his heavy load.

When he pulls out, you take your panties back, swiftly putting them on, making sure none of his cum goes to waste. “Did it in one, Buck. You proud of me?”

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s not one for risks, not wanting anyone to hear or see him in such a vulnerable state. But if it’s with you in the privacy of your shared room, then he’s willing to experiment with you. Fantasies, toys, kinks, as long as you both feel comfortable with it, he trusts you to take care of him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He doesn’t last very long. The first time he was in your pussy, he blew his load as soon as the tip was in. He has gotten a bit better with holding it in, but you love when he cums so fast and so much so he doesn’t try to hold it back for too long, but he can go for hours without his cock getting soft. After a while, no more cum shoots out of his cock but that doesn’t stop him from fucking you until he cums again, only slightly missing his cum filling you up, but by then you’re covered from head to toe with his load.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has a few toys that you’ve got him - fleshlight and cock ring, but his favorite are your toys. He is obsessed with using them on you, and you using them on him.

“Faster, doll, c’mon.” You huff but slam your hips down harder, moaning at the fullness of the dildo in your pussy and his cock in your ass. “Oh, fuck yeah. This how it feels, doll? Is this why you go so crazy over my cock, huh?” Bucky moves his own hips faster, with every thrust his own dildo slides in and out of his ass.

“Shit, m’gonna cum again, shit, takeittakeit. FUCK.” Bucky practically screams when his cock bursts, his load immediately pushed out of you ass, leaking to the floor, the sound of your cum covered ass bouncing against the floor causes a new wave to wash over him.

“Ooohhh, shit, doll. Can barely fucking move. My ass is gripping this cock so much, needed this fat cock in me.” He throws his head back, fucking into you as fast as he possibly could, creating a seesaw with his dick in your ass and the dildo in his. “Sogoodsogoodsogood. Gonna blow, haven’t even finished and I’m gonna cum again.” It was a long night and by the end of it there were puddles of your squirt and his cum on the floor.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease unless he’s being dominant. On a regular day he just wants to see you cum, and get drunk on his cock.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

LOUD. He can’t help but to let out the most salacious sounds. A few times he questioned if the soundproofed walls really did stop the whole compound from hearing him scream as he busted load after load. He’ll whine and whimper, grunt and groan, moan and scream, cry and beg. Pretty much every sound he could make. There is no way in hell that he would ever be able to stay quiet, even for a minute.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When he is extremely overwhelmed he likes to lay on your chest, gently sucking on your nipple with his cock in between your thighs, slowly fucking the soft flesh until he cums, using his load as lube to keep going until he’s completely drained of everything. Quickly falling asleep on your chest, soft cock surrounded by your soft thighs and his multiple super soldier loads.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He has a big, fat cock. Around 8 inches in length and thick as all hell. He’s uncut and has the most beautiful veins dancing around his length. Before the serum his dick was around 7 but he always has girth. The thing that the serum really changed was his balls. They went from a normal size to very large. Each one is around the size of an orange. They’re so big that he has to get custom underwear to support them when he walks, if not then they would get in the way of his everyday life, swinging around, slapping against his thighs, more than once he's sat on them by accident.

He can’t even be mad about it though because they let him cum so much and for so long. If he thought they were sensitive before, then he doesn’t know what they are now. You love to suck and lick his sack and he loves it just as much. The both of you found out that you shared a ball kink, neither of you knowing until he pulled his pants down and they were there in all their glory. Touching his sack feels almost as good as when you touch his dick - almost.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Do I even need to say anything?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jamie used to struggle to fall asleep, terrified of the nightmares that constantly plagued him, but your pussy puts his ass to sleep. He sleeps like a baby after giving you everything he has to offer, more than willing to fall asleep covered in his own cum with how tired he gets.

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writtenbymoonflower · 7 months ago

Note

Okay I feel comfy requesting now!! Sorry when it’s new I just get anxious. Anyways can I request something small with Remus(he is my comfort character if you could tell) and the reader where she has a friend who blames everything on her weight(maybe she’s alittle chubby). Like her red face she’s had as long as she can remember? Well it’s because you’re overweight. Your stomachs hurting? It’s probably all that sugar you ate like I could never eat all that sugar. Like it’s constant comments like that and she just let it goes but maybe he hears at sticks up for her… if you couldn’t tell it’s totally self indulgent because I feel like shit rn 😅 anyways if not it’s a okay I will still love you with my whole heart 💕 thank you for even reading it 💕💕

Hi baby! Sorry this took so long, I hope this is okay! He less sticks up to the friend and more to reader. remus lupin x fem!reader (implied plus size!reader, but it's easy to picture any body type i think)

cw: fatphobia, judgment over food choices, insecurity, swearing

1.1k words

You kept glancing at the clock, wondering if an appropriate amount of time had passed for you to get off the phone. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy talking to your friend - you honestly did - but Remus had just gotten home from work and (no offense to all of your other loved ones), you would much rather spend your evenings with Remus. It didn’t help that he was lounging on your shared bed with a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other, looking too pretty for his own good.

“So yeah, that was pretty fucking annoying.” Your friends bitter laughter came through your phone that was flat on your desk as you fiddled with random items on your shelf.

“Sounds like it.” You saw the break in conversation as a chance to leave. “My stomach hurts.” It wasn't a complete lie. You were getting your period soon, and you had been cramping all day. Not enough to lie in bed, but enough to be a constant distraction.

“Ha! I bet. You’re always eating all that crap.” She scoffed. Your face burned shamefully. You clumsily picked up your phone, rushing to take her off speaker. Before you could manage, she spoke again. “Maybe you’ll finally stop shoveling shit into your body. Lord knows your waistline isn’t reason enough.” You heard Remus’ book hit the nightstand, loud enough to make you wince. You held the phone to your ear and laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah, lord knows…” You trailed off.

“You know I’m not trying to be mean, right?” Like a light switch, her voice took on a sickly sweet tone. “I’m just blunt, you know me. But seriously, I just say these things because I’m your friend.”

“Yeah, I know.” Your voice was quiet, thick with the lump in your throat.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” She laughed again. “I’ll catch you later, okay? I hope you feel better soon.”

“Hopefully.” You smiled tight-lipped. “Talk to you later.” You didn’t wait for her to respond before you hung up, setting your phone down on the desk. You looked up into the mirror on the wall, seeing Remus looking at you severely. You blinked hard, shaking your head before looking down at the desk and pretending to organize something.

“How was work?” You asked, fake chipper.

“Come here.” He ignored your question, patting the bed beside him. He snuffed his cigarette out, only half smoked, and covered the ash tray with a lid.

You inhaled deep and stood up, shamefacedly walking over to him. He reached for you the moment you were at arms-length, tugging you to sit when you didn’t of your own accord. He sighed and you grimaced, face burning again. You thought you could cry.

“Are you gonna look at me, dovey?” He sounded painfully gentle. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, a fake smile

“How was your day?” You tried again, hoping it would stick this time.

“Don’t do that.” He shifted to sit more upright, grabbing your hand in both of his. You tried to look clueless, but it clearly wasn't sticking. He sighed again. “Look, okay. I’m not going to jump around this conversation.” You looked down again. “I just-” He sounded pained, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to respond.

You hated that he had heard your conversation. Partially because he tended to be a bit critical of your friends, even if he didn’t express it. Remus was overly protective in nature, baring his teeth whenever he perceived someone as a threat to his loved ones. The larger insecurity though, was his possible agreement with your friend's statements. You knew your friend wasn’t always wrong in her observations, but it still hurt nonetheless. You also knew you were sensitive, but the things she said still felt slightly, cruel, for a lack of a better word.

“No it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” If there was any other sound in the room it would’ve overtaken your voice. You felt him stiffen slightly before turning to face you more.

“It would seem that I do.” If he was about to reprimand you, he didn't have to sound so gentle. “I never want to come between you and your friends, you know I think it’s important to have your own people you talk to, and all that matters is that you like them. But I- I can’t help but comment now.” His thumb was rubbing gently into the inside of your wrist, feeling the veins there. “I don’t think the way she talks to you is very kind or… healthy. And I know that you say I can be a bit… overprotective.” He said the word like it was poison. “But I just... really don’t like it.”

“She’s just trying to help.” You weren’t sure why you were defending the friend who seemed so determined to slice your self confidence.

“There’s helping, and then there’s being rude.” He couldn’t keep the ire from his tone.

“It’s not rude if it’s correct.” You said, barely above a whisper. You squeezed your eyes shut in a pitiful attempt to not cry.

“It’s not correct though.” He sounded angry now, you cowered in on yourself. “Do you really think that meanly about yourself, lovely girl?” He ducked his head to try to meet your eyes, but you wouldn’t let him.

“I’m not thinking any way about myself.” You argued. “I’m just thinking honestly.” You looked up at him. He looked like he was in pain himself.

“No.” He said firmly. “You’re not going to entertain that anymore. She’s fucking wrong, okay? The way she talks down to you isn’t okay. You’re perfect.” You shook your head. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing your glossy eyes to meet his fierce ones. “You’re perfect, dovey. I don’t give a shit what size you are or what any asshole thinks of it. The only thing I care about is you being happy and you knowing how fucking stunning I find you.” You tried to look down again but he didn’t let you. “Are we clear?”

“Yes.” You said quietly. He nodded, settling down for the moment. Though you know that he will be extra insistent with his affection and compliments for the foreseeable future.

“Alright. Enough of that.” He let his hand fall to your shoulder, then down to your waist. You winced as he felt the curving flesh of your side, but he didn’t stop. “C’mere, baby dove.” He pulled you into his lap before you could stop him.

“I’m gonna crush you.” You said flatly.

“Good.” He huffed. You were going to respond but his lips attached to your neck, right on the spot behind your ear, that he knew made you weak. You sighed. “I love you, dovey.” He kissed the spot again, cutting off your voice. You didn’t mind, though.

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hoshifighting · 4 months ago

Text

woozi as a sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar baby x sugar mommy relationship, recording laber ceo!reader, producer!jihoon, smut, fingering, mention of sex toys & stuff, fucking in front of a window, in your office, in his studio, penetrative sex, marriage, and fanting. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

jihoon was used to the struggle—the late nights in the studio, the endless hours tweaking every sound until it was perfect, and the constant pressure of making hits that never seemed to pay off the way they should. the old CEO made sure of that, always withholding what was owed, dangling the promise of success just out of reach, the guy constantly delayed salaries and left jihoon hanging when the songs he produced didn’t return the money.

but when the label got sold, everything changed, and that’s when you came into the picture.

he didn’t expect you to be any different at first, just another high-powered executive who wouldn’t care about the little guys.

then, one day, while leaving his studio for lunch, he saw you. high heels, a well-tailored dress, and a box in hand, walking toward the building’s garage. he’d never seen you before, but with how polished you looked, he assumed you were an executive from the building next door.

as the elevator doors opened, you stepped in, balancing the box awkwardly. jihoon, always one to lend a hand, offered to help. “need a hand with that?”

you glanced at him, considering for a moment before nodding. “thanks. these heels aren’t exactly helpful.”

he joined you in the elevator, the silence between you comfortable, but his mind was racing with curiosity. as you both reached the garage, he noticed you leading him towards a car that made his heart skip a beat—a fucking mclaren. he didn’t even know people actually drove those in real life, let alone parked them in this garage.

he put the box in the trunk, which was, unsurprisingly, really fucking small. as he stepped back, you smiled at him, a smile that seemed out of place in this concrete underground. “thank you, jihoon.”

his eyes widened. “y-you know me?” he stammered, pointing at himself like an idiot.

you nodded, your expression calm. “yes, i’m new here, but i do know you.”

he nodded back, still processing. “which department are you in?”

you extended your hand, and he shook it, your grip firm, confident. “i’m the new ceo.”

for a moment, jihoon just stood there, staring at you. the new ceo? no fucking way. his brain scrambled to process the information. you, the ceo? the woman who looked like you stepped off the pages of some high-fashion magazine, driving a car that cost more than his entire apartment building?

“i—uh—” he fumbled for words, his usual composure slipping for the first time in a long while. “i didn’t expect... i mean, you...”

you raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in your eyes. “didn’t expect the ceo to be a woman?”

“no, not that!” he rushed to correct himself, heat rising to his face. “i just... didn’t expect someone like you.”

“someone like me?” you echoed, a hint of a challenge in your voice.

“yeah, someone who... actually talks to people and doesn’t act like an asshole,” he finished, his voice quieter, as if testing the waters.

you laughed then, a sound that echoed in the empty garage. “well, let’s just say i have a different approach.”

he nodded, still in a bit of shock. “i can see that.”

“i look forward to working with you, jihoon,” you said, stepping closer, and for a moment, he felt the weight of your gaze, like you were seeing right through him. “i’ve heard a lot about your work.”

“all good things, i hope,” he replied, trying to regain some semblance of cool.

“very good things,” you confirmed, your voice dropping just slightly, enough to make him swallow hard.

you turned to get into your car, and jihoon stood there, still trying to wrap his head around everything. before you drove off, you rolled down the window and called out, “and jihoon?”

“yeah?”

“don’t let the last ceo’s bullshit get to you. you’re worth more than that.”

and you made sure jihoon knew that. almost every day, he’d find a new box waiting in front of his studio. first, it was new producing equipment, then a sleek electric guitar, followed by expensive microphones, headphones, and even a whole computer setup. within a week or two—despite him appearing almost on his knees, begging you to stop showering him with such expensive things—his entire studio was completely renovated.

but you weren't stopping there. if you liked him this much, why not give him a whole new studio? you were already planning to move the company to a bigger, more luxurious building, so why not make sure jihoon’s space matched his talent? when you saw how happy it made him, you realized you were willing to give him anything.

soon, the presents started getting more personal. a high-end watch here, a guitar that had once belonged to a famous musician—a relic he could hardly believe was his. sometimes, you’d send something cute like a teddy bear with Swarovski crystals for eyes.

or when you surprised him with a vip ticket to see his favorite artist—that one was a real game-changer. the joy in his eyes when he got to meet them was unmatched, and in the middle of that fan meeting, with everyone around, he’d grabbed you and kissed you right on the mouth, too caught up in the moment to care. it was instinctual, the way his lips found yours, and it left you stunned, right in the middle of all those people.

later, when you were alone, you asked for another kiss, just to see if it was a fluke. just to see what he’d do, to test if his cold walls would melt. and they did. oh, they did.

he didn’t just kiss you. he pulled you close, his lips pressing against yours with an intensity that had you gasping into his mouth. his hands, usually so precise and controlled in the studio, roamed over your body with an urgency that made your skin tingle.

“you like spoiling me, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and gravelly. before you could respond, one of his hands slipped under your skirt, fingers brushing against your already wet panties. “i should thank you properly.”

he moved you back until you hit the edge of the desk, his hands steadying you as he pulled you up, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. he kissed you deeper, harder, and you could feel the desire rolling off him in waves.

“jihoon—” you started, but your words were cut off as he slid one finger inside you, his touch skilled, confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he added another finger, stretching you, his thumb brushing over your clit with just enough pressure to make you arch into him.

you didn’t even care about the office door or the fact that anyone could walk in. all you could focus on was him—his fingers working you over, bringing you right to the edge. he leaned in, kissing along your neck, your pulse quickening under his lips as he whispered, “let me take care of you, yeah?”

you nodded, unable to find your voice as he continued to finger you, the pleasure building until it was almost unbearable. his free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as you rocked against him, chasing the release that was so close you could taste it.

“jihoon, please,” you gasped, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, needing him.

with one last kiss, he pulled his fingers out, and you whimpered at the loss, but he was already undoing his pants, his eyes locked on yours. “jump up,” he ordered, his voice rough, full of need.

you didn’t hesitate, letting him guide you as you jumped, your legs wrapping around him again as he positioned himself. he didn’t tease, didn’t make you wait. he pushed inside you with one smooth thrust, filling you completely, and the sensation made you both groan.

his hands were firm on your hips, holding you steady as he started to move, his pace hard and fast, like he couldn’t get enough. each thrust sent a shock of pleasure through you, and you clung to him, nails digging into his back, moaning his name like a prayer.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he drove into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot that had you seeing stars.

“jihoon,” you whimpered, your voice high and needy, and he groaned in response, his pace quickening, his grip on you tightening as he chased his own release.

he was relentless, his hips moving in that perfect rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with an assertiveness that left you breathless. you could feel yourself unraveling, the pleasure building until you were right on the edge, teetering, ready to falll.

“come for me,” he whispered, his voice rough, and that was all it took. with one final thrust, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you, leaving you trembling in his arms, your cries muffled against his neck.

jihoon followed right after, his grip on you almost bruising as he came, buried deep inside you, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath ragged and uneven.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “maybe we should do this more often.”

so often, so fucking often, that you couldn’t tell anymore if it was a habit or something more—an obsession, maybe. your office and his studio, the places where this all started, now felt too tame, too boring to fuck in. jihoon had to be more creative, and so did you.

jihoon made sure to fuck you in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of whatever high-rise hotel you were staying in, the city lights sprawling out beneath you as he thrust into you from behind. the last time, some guest from the hotel across the way didn’t appreciate the show, but honestly? you couldn’t have cared less. not with the way jihoon’s hands gripped your hips, his breath hot on your neck, your moans muffled against the glass.

at every award show, he always made sure to dedicate his success to you first. you, who after a long day of work, would head to his studio, where he’d be waiting. there, he’d produce tracks with one hand on the mouse and the other busy finger-fucking you, fast and relentless, as you sat on his lap, struggling to stay composed.

it became a tradition for the two of you to explore sex shops in different countries. you’d pick out new types of condoms, wild flavors, and textures neither of you had seen before. aphrodisiac potions that had the two of you almost ripping each other apart, desperate to feel more, to push further. there were always those little surprises, like thai sex toys that were so intense you couldn’t even look at them without feeling your knees go weak. jihoon loved trying out new things with you, always pushing the boundaries, always finding new ways to make you both lose control.

and you pampered him, oh, how you loved to spoil him. designer clothes, always checking that they wouldn’t irritate his sensitive skin. you introduced him to new experiences all around the world, things he never even knew he wanted until you made it happen. and when you moved his family to a better house, just down the street from where the two of you lived, it felt like you were finally giving him everything he deserved.

you’d met his family a couple of times—sweet people who clearly adored him, and you, by extension. but on the third visit, something changed.

maybe it was the way his mother beamed at you, or the way his father patted your back with such warmth. or maybe it was just the way jihoon looked at you, like you hung the stars just for him. you didn’t even think, you just knew you had to ask.

“will you marry me?”

for a second, everything was silent. jihoon froze, the piece of kimchi still hanging halfway to his mouth. you saw the color drain from his face, his eyes widening like you just told him aliens had landed in the backyard.

“y-you—what?”

you wondered if you’d broken him. then, his knees buckled, and before anyone could react, he was on the floor, out cold.

“jihoon!”

his family already there, fanning him with whatever they could find, pouring water into his mouth like he was a dehydrated athlete at halftime.

“jihoon, wake up!” his mother shouted, disbelief in her voice. “this is not the time to faint!”

“somebody get him water!” his dad shouted, even though he was already holding the glass right in front of jihoon’s face.

“what did you do to him?!” his cousin accused, though you could see the slight amusement in her eyes.

“i just asked him to marry me!” you defended.

jihoon’s father just laughed, shaking his head. “i knew this would happen.”

finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, jihoon’s eyes fluttered open. he looked around at all the concerned faces, then up at you.

“i’m marrying you!” jihoon suddenly gasped, sitting up so quickly that you nearly toppled over. his eyes were wide, pure joy. “yes, i’ll marry you!”

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azlrse · 9 months ago

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➳ unintentionally (a boothill x gn!spouse!reader oneshot)

cw: major angst w/ open ending, reader has a bruise (unintentionally) from their ranger husband, accidental slap (also unintentional), established relationship, married au, lots of apologies and crying present here, ooc boothill (first time writing for him)

a/n: alright, as soon as i saw boothill for the first time, I was like "bet lemme write something for him". he's gonna be ooc cause 1. i didn't play the game yet (cries incompatible tablet) and 2. i am still learning the roots of this game's lore (and him once he's released) lol

!! fic contains sensitive topic, steer clear if this fic ain't your piece of cake !!

"darlin'?" a voice called out in the side of the storage room. "please come out, i-i didn't mean to hit you and im really sorry.." your husband called out for you softly to avoid scaring you further. his constant knocking and coercing you to come out lasted for 5 minutes, making you curl up further within the corner of the walls. "leave me alone.." you meekly spoke, voice still hoarse from your earlier cries as you held your bruised, swollen face.

his constant knocking just faded away as you sobbed, using your free hand to wipe away your snot and tears dripping from your face. if you just steer clear from him and not pestering him because of his anger, you wouldn't be hit and to be screamed by boothil to just leave him alone. you knew that your husband is like a dynamite, ready to explode at any moment due to his occupation. boothill assures you that he will never lay a hand on you, even when the both of you are either arguing or disagreeing over something that's simple and stupid.

but this day, he broke that one promise that kept you safe since the day he asked you out. just because of his anger towards that one outlaw who's on the run for weeks. almost captured but alas, his luck ran out once again as the prisoner kept on taunting him that he will never be caught by him.

boothill, on the other side of the door, won't give up as he waits for you to open the door and letting him treat your bruised lip and swollen cheek. he knows that it's not an excuse for him to let out such anger towards his spouse. guilt kept on creeping through his system, hearing you sobbing telling him to just leave you alone. "im sorry, sugar.." he sadly spoke, reluctantly returning to the sleeping quarters that the both of you shared.

at around 4:30 am, he quietly opens the door of the storage room and looks around to see if you are sleeping soundly; tear stains on your face, a bruised and swollen cheek, and using a rolled towel as your pillow. his heart shattered what he has done to you and knew that he doesn't deserve your forgiveness. he feared that there will be a day that you would leave him all by himself, all because of how he acted towards his own emotions and anger.

boothil scooped you into his arms as your head leaned towards his warm body. he knew that you liked it when you huddled close towards his chest as he placed a chaste kiss on your head. placing you on the shared bed, he cleans your bruises and places an ice pack on the side of you. he stared at your sleeping face for sometime before he murmurs soft apologies to you, even promising that he will never do again.

the soft light from the curtains woke you up from your sleeping slumber after the ordeal last night. 'strange..' you thought to yourself as you saw the ceiling of the bedroom you shared with your husband, not the plain white ceiling from the storage room where you seek safety during your husband's anger episode. you placed a hand on your bruised cheek and felt a small gauze on top of it and a bit of cold from the ice pack he placed on the side of your face last night.

you tried to get off the bed but felt a robotic arm wrapped around your waist. "no, no..." boothill softly murmurs. "five more minutes sugar, needin' you here right now.." a wave of anxiousness just came rushing towards you as you saw your husband on the bed with you, snuggling as he finally woke up from his sleep; his cropped jacket is gone and only had a pair of short as his sleeping attire, his hair smells like newly lit cigarettes from his trip to the saloon yesterday.

if you aren't anxious, you would be flustered of his appearance.

"mornin' sugar.." he softly spoke as he leans in to give you a kiss. afraid, you quickly jumped off the bed and quickly make a beeline for the storage room once again. "w-wait!" his quick reflexes caught your arm. "don't leave me, let's talk it here my love. I know what I did is unacceptable and I'm really sorry for hitting you." Silence looms within the bedroom as you eyes avoided his. "Please.." He pleaded, his eyes soften as guilt crept on his back.

it's up to you to decide of you should stay for him or choosing your own peace...

a/n: not my best work but hopefully you guys liked my take on boothill (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)♡

Do not republish, edit, or repost to other websites. Reblogs and likes are appreciated! 💕

#cw slight violence #cw angst #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr boothill #honkai star rail #hsr angst #boothill x reader #boothill #boothill x you #boothill angst

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megumimania · 5 months ago

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ADDICTED — shoko ieiri

synopsis: a half-drunken bet with gojo means that shoko gives up smoking for a week, so she finds other ways (you) to get her fix.

warnings: shoko and gojo’s night out!, fluff, gojo being stingy and shoko bullying him for it, slightly ooc, mentions of suguru, shoko loves you and your lips more, shoko x fem!reader

it was another night out on the town with shoko and gojo who were on their third bar of the night. shoko nursed a vodka cranberry in one hand and a cigarette in the other whilst gojo was on his third highly syrupy sweet ‘mocktail’.

the atmosphere was lively and the conversation that was mainly fuelled by alcohol and high levels of sugar was non stop. they talked about everything from work, high school crushes to which gojo went on a 20 minute deep dive on the non sorcerer guy he briefly dated in junior year.

gojo would eventually find the guys socials but they were on private. which was a bummer but he still requested.

after a while they settled on the topic of health, shoko’s field of expertise. being in their late twenties meant that their bodies were beginning to pay for the late nights, the boozy nights that only came back in flashes and the constant stress and strain of being a jujutsu sorcerer.

“look what i can do!”

shoko hiccuped before taking a long drag from her cigarette and blowing the smoke out from her nostrils. the sugar rush was definitely hitting gojo as he looked at her in wondrous awe.

“whoa, sho did you eat suguru’s dragon curse because that was pretty cool. you’re like part dragon now!” satoru watched with childlike wonder as the tendrils of smoke dissipated into the dense air of the bar making him cough a little.

the sugar high dulled his senses to the point where he didn’t register the two security guards who wordlessly pointed at the no smoking sign dangling right in front of them. shoko quickly downed the contents of her drink before she was escorted out of the bar.

the cold late night weather sobered shoko and gojo up pretty quickly. even in their hazy minds the damage was being undone with rct. they both felt the quiet thrum of rct healing their battered pancreas and livers, the sensation feeling like unblocking a blocked nose.

shoko lit a cigarette whilst her and satoru walked to the nearest train station. “shokoooo.” he whined, crinkling his nose at the smell of smoke wafting through the air making him feel kinda dizzy.

“i don’t get how you enjoy those cancer sticks do you know—”

“yes i know all about how bad smoking is idiot, i heard all about it in med school.” she takes another drag of her cigarette, already sighing.

as if shoko could take another lecture, remembering the pointed gazes that fellow students used to give her whenever the topic of smoking and lung cancer came up in med school. those seemingly pitiful faces were nice until she remembered that she could drop dead and they wouldn’t care.

satoru was never surprised by her lack of tact, it was almost expected from her. he looked unfazed at her attitude, seemingly lost in deep thought which was something satoru did on a rare occasion. he was a man that was driven by impulse, solely held together by the bare bones of logic.

meanwhile shoko could recognise the cogs turning in his labyrinth of a mind, she wondered what spurred this lapse in thought. before the words could escape his lips shoko had already beat him to it.

“no.”

“what i didn’t even say anything!” he pouted, crossing his arms.

she stopped to face him tapping her foot impatiently, when you knew someone like satoru for this long it wasn’t that hard to gauge what he wanted. shoko gave him a look that said well…speak!

“i’ll give you 500 bucks and that special grade curse you’ve been pestering me about, if you quit smoking for a week.” gojo offered, his eyes twinkling with something akin to amusement.

shoko was lowkey offended at the low sum that he was offering her. for a trust fund nepo baby he was being very stingy right now which made zero sense to her.

in shoko’s eyes if you were rich the last thing you could ever be is stingy, especially in satoru’s case as he was heir to a multi million dollar fortune. plus it wasn’t like she needed the money anyways she just liked seeing him spend it on stupid shit.

“satoru i can’t believe that our 10 years of friendship is only worth 5000 yen to you!” she replied with mock offense, placing a hand on her chest for dramatic effect. she leans in closer to him before talking in a hushed voice.

“satoru are you…b-broke?” she gasps, eyes widening with shock. she knew that would hit him where it hurts. even though gojo repeatedly stated money wasn’t important to him, the tick in his jaw said otherwise.

satoru huffs as he fishes out his wallet from the deep depths of his pockets and pulls out several crisp 10000 yen bills. he wafts them in shoko’s face, to which shoko interprets as a desperate attempt to beat the broke allegations.

“now that i have shown you that i have the funds, do we have a deal?” gojo asks once more and shoko reluctantly obliges, taking her last hit of nicotine before she throws her cigarette away. “deal.” she replies, shaking gojo’s hand.

looking back shoko realises that she signed her own death warrant.

it has been three days since shoko made the fateful decision to give up smoking for a week and the withdrawals are hitting her more harder than she expected. she’s been painfully snappy with everyone ever since, especially with the main source of her distress, gojo.

by this time everyone gathered that the morning’s were the worst possible time to talk to shoko for anything, fearing of the wrath that would incur if you did talk to her. she got all the information through email or text

shoko tried to suppress her need for nicotine, from nicotine patches to chewing gum to eating crunchy foods, shoko felt like she was about to develop tmj from all the chewing she was doing and she honestly had enough of it all, she felt like a damn rabbit.

it wasn’t like she could go out and have a quick little smoke when gojo had bribed all the convenience store owners within a 20 mile radius, telling them not to sell any cigarettes to her.

by day five, shoko found a new way to cope with her withdrawal symptoms. you. kissing your sweet lips was what made this hell of a week much more bearable. at first they were fleeting, a quick kiss here and there before you left for work or one to your shoulder whilst she brushed past you in the kitchen.

if shoko wasn’t snacking or chewing she was kissing you every chance she got. "babee" you whined as you tried to break free of her unusually strong grasp. her strength always came as a shock to you even though you knew she trained with the best of the best before becoming a healer.

"why can't you just give me one more, babe?" she pleaded in that breathy whiny voice she knew that would drive you crazy as her dark brown eyes bored into yours. she was a sight to behold.

her moussy brown hair all tousled up, her flushed expression and her pretty pink puffy lips that was making it even harder for you to stay firm in your decision.

her hands still remained on your waist absentmindedly drawing patterns on your skin. "you know you don't have to go through with this." the way she had been going through the motions just to win a stupid bet that gojo would've let her win anyways was ridiculous.

shoko's lips were pressed into a hard line as she considered your response. you were right. regardless if she had won gojo would’ve caved but unfortunately she was stubborn as hell and wanted to prove a point.

so when day seven came rolling around shoko was ready to gloat in gojo’s as well as the all the naysayers faces who secretly bet that she wouldn’t make it through the week (cough cough meimei),

she strolled around campus trying to find the tall lanky white haired sadist who made her week hell but he was posted on another mission.

defeated, shoko headed back to her office her victory becoming less cool now that the person who she wanted to gloat to wasn’t even here. the staff group-chat sent their congratulations but it wasn’t the same. on her desk there was a card written in gojo’s familiar scrawl which read:

congrats for making it through the week! i hope you stop glaring at me in the hallways now, especially since i haven’t written a will yet lmao. i wish i could see you on your victory lap but duty calls hehe. enjoy your cigarettes! — gojo

shoko found the letter endearing and picked up the box of cigarettes he got for her. mild sevens or now known as mevius cigarettes. it’s not like she cared, she grew up calling them mild sevens and that’s what she’ll forever call them.

she grabbed her emergency lighter from her desk and slipped out the back of the building to have her celebratory cigarette. she was accompanied by a gorgeous sunset that the campus basked in making the school seem less eerie and unsettling. the motion of her pulling out a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling was muscle memory to her.

the first hit of nicotine after a week without it was like a relief, all the pent up tension just sliding off her soldiers with ease with each drag she took. a cloud of smoke left her lips as she sat with her back to the wall.

shoko really treasured these smoke breaks as they were a way to cope with the daily hell she experienced each day. the mangled corpses and curses she handled on the regular being just enough to fuel her nightmares for days.

however it wasn’t the worst sight she’s ever seen.

in retrospect the cigarettes paled in comparison to your sweet lips that she alone had the privilege of kissing each and every day. the dopamine rush she got each time rivalled any drug that she could think of.

shoko’s got a new addiction and it’s one that modern medicine cannot fix or provide a solution to, and it’s you.

#shoko ieiri x reader #ieiri shoko x reader #shoko x black!reader #shoko x you #shoko x reader #jjk shoko #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #shoko x y/n #jujutsu kaisen shoko #shoko ieiri #jjk x reader #shoko fluff #shoko smut #vina writes: jjk #shoko ieri x reader #shoko and gojo’s dynamic is everything 2 me!

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theblueflower05 · 2 years ago

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Just a Little Taste

A/N: Welp. Somehow my breeding/breastfeeding kinks manifested themselves into a story. I wrote this sky high on painkillers and I am a little in love with the whole premise. @tiredmamaissy -I hope more than anything that you enjoy this. You deserve all of the goodness on this site. Your Masterlist is my personal spank bank lol

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: This story is Filthy. Smut with very little plot. Breastfeeding. Pussy Eating. Slight mommy kink if you squint. Very pregnant reader getting pleasured, because pregnant beings can still be sexual. Aged up!Neteyam

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: You’re eight months pregnant with Neteyams child, and after a long day, you both need a little relief. Neteyam x Human! Reader

"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea

Bumble-bee on the scene.

Yeah, I'd give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie"

- See You Again, Tyler the Creator ft Kali Uchis

Life in the village is always busy. Constantly bustling with life and movement as everyone; human scientist, Avatar and Na’vi alike, rush to keep things afloat.

High Camp is so different then Home Tree had been, the rage of war adding a constant edge to long days and restless nights. You miss the comfort of a slow life, of hazy days down in the jungle. The jagged cliffs of the Hallelujah Mountains still don’t quite feel like home to you.

Still, you go about your daily duties.

Being a Pandoran raised human had always given you a different insight, the two massively different cultures you we’re brought up in clashing and mending to create a skill set that was like no other- it had taken many years of painful trial and error to find your place within the Omiticaya, but healing had always come naturally.

Both holistic and surgical alike. You’d spent years shadowing Mo’at and learning the ancient herbal ways of the people, while well as taking advantage of the many PHD toting scientist back at Hell’s Gate. Medicine had no boundaries, was a way for you to feel close to both sides of yourself. To broach the gap between human and clansman.

You find your skills being needed more than ever. The ever constant raids against the RDA means your hands are rarely idle, forever in movement as you tend to the wounded. Some days you sit in the big Healers Tent with Mo’at and the other Taskarem, and others you’re in the makeshift Medi Bay, which is really more of an Avatar Pod Trailer turned OR, with the handful of human surgeons.

The long hours spent on your feet leave you sore and exhausted, but you have to pull your weight.

Even if said weight is far heavier than usual as of late-

“Y/N” you’re broken out of your thoughts by Max- as he enters the trailer with a holo-tab in hand and a concerned look in his dark eyes “What are you still doing here?”

“I was just finishing up inventory- our antibiotic stock is back way up. Jake was right, those helicopter raids were more than worth it” you’d sorted out the tiny vials of vital medicine by hand, not wanting any to be misplaced or mislabeled.

“You don't think maybe you should head home?” He continues and you sigh.

You miss your tent, and the soft bed of furs that lay inside the secure warm flaps. And the man that waits for you inside of the patchwork leather walls-

“I’m fine” you assure. And really, you are.

It's a fact you have to keep reminding people of.

Yes, you’re as big as a Strumbeast, but you are no less competent. No less able bodied.

Pregnancy is one of the most natural parts of life, a base staple in all’s existence. There are plenty of pregnant Omiticaya women who were expected to play their roles, even as the battle raged outside the safety of the mountain cave system.

It was the nature of your pregnancy that was more…fragile then average. Inside your womb grew a child that would be the first of it’s kind. A scientific mystery: no one had even known it was possible for Na’vi and humans to procreate.

And yet all of the evidence now lies under your shirt. Your stomach round and pronounced, full of growing life.

Full of the love between you and the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son.

Neteyam had left his permanent mark on you. Had part of himself growing inside of you. The thoughts we’re enough to make your knees buckle if you focused on them too hard.

“You’ve been here since 6am, you really should get some rest. Take one of the empty bunks if you want. Have you checked your blood pressure-”

You’re a grown woman. You’re not going to huff and puff and roll your eyes, but fuck, do you want to.

Everyone was so overbearing lately.

Norm and Max we’re constantly breathing down your neck; “The baby has a different growth rate then a human child, we need to monitor the way that your body is responding” Followed closely by Jake who watches you with sharp eagle like eyes and Neytiri, who used to all but ignore your presence, constantly checking in on you throughout the day. Mo’at’s always poking and prodigy, and Kiri almost always has her hands on you in some way shape or form.

You are glad for the support, happy that this baby would be so loved.

But really, you missed being treated like the competent, independent woman you knew you we’re.

“My blood pressure is fine. I thought since we ruled out preeclampsia we weren’t going to worry about it anymore” you know that it’s not going to silence his worry, but still. You can try.

Max goes on one of his science mambo jumbo spiels, and by the end of it you’re waddling out of the lab and back to your hut, annoyed as shit but placating your pseudo father figure all the same. Only a month and a half mor of this and then things could go back to normal.

Everything had just…changed so quickly.

You 're a caretaker by nature. Caring for others is easy, feels right. You’d tucked the much older scientists into bed when you we’re just a pre-teen. Made dinners. Looked out for Spider and the other Sully’s-

And the role reversal still didn't quite sit right with you. Your control freak ways didn't do well with not being the one in charge- you’d been stripped of your title so to speak. You we’re supposed to relax into your new role, enjoy being doted over before the nine month’s we’re over.

You and Neteyam’s shared tent is in the centered in the cave, close to his families, but standing on its own. As private as anyone could get in the busy, close quartered camp. The walls of the hut are familiar, adorned with your combined belongings. Cozy and familiar.

You shimmy free of your confining bra, step out of your cargo pants, then toe off your boots, releasing your swollen sock covered feet with a groan before collapsing into your well loved bed, the soft blankets and familiar scent of your mate lulling you into a deep state of peace.

It’s kind of wild how quickly you can fall asleep these days. Growing a little person from scratch tends to burn a lot of energy and the moment you relax, you’re out like a light.

You don't wake up, even when the horns are sounded for the return of the War Party.

Not when Neteyam makes his way through the camp and enters the tent. He’s wearty, grime covered and hunched over. He only softens when he sees you, tucked safely, into his bed. Your eyes still closed and face still scrunched up as he strips out of his battle band and shin covers. He’s quiet, washing off with the large freshwater basin in the corner before making his way over to his much-missed bed mat.

It isn't until he's crawled under the blankets and wiggled his way as close to you as possible that you begin to stir. His large cat like snout nuzzles into the vulnerable crevice of your neck, chuffing hot breaths against the smooth skin.

You’re not upset at him for waking you up, a drowsy half alert smile stretches over your lips as your hands run up his strong back. Gently working the tense muscles.

He gets so greedy when he comes back from the War runs. He needs to be comforted, to be held and you are all too willing to comply.

Everyone else infantiles you now, and yeah, Neteyam could get a little intense and overprotective, but your relationship had always worked because you were the one person in all of Pandora that babied the future chief.

He was such a sweet man, with so much responsibility on his plate. You loved nothing more than holding him in your arms. Letting him release any and all tension because you had him. You, a tiny soft skinned human, were the barrier between him and the ruthless world.

You’d be such a great mother to his children. His hind brain purrs at the thought. That even through all of the controversy, he knows he’d chosen the right mate. Little and fierce, he hopes the baby is just like you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tone hushed in the darkness of the tent. The only light coming from the small dying embers of the firepit in the center of the space. Hypnotic shadows dance along the canvas walls and Neteyam's breathing grows shallow as he sinks into it.

The way you smell. The way your heart beats, strong against his cheek. The way your plump body feels so good under his wandering hands. He hadn't been okay, just moments ago. He was delirious, so sick of the fighting that he felt ill with it.

But how could any of those bad feelings exist when he had you waiting for him? Ready to welcome him into your body, your heart, your mind. He doesn't think he could survive without knowing the solace of your love.

“I’m okay, narlor(beauty). Just missed you” he mutters, still trying to dig his face deeper into your skin. He wants to escape inside of you, you chuckle at his futile attempts to mend you both into one entity. His large palms rest against your bloated belly, tenderly and your heart flutters “Missed you both so much”

Being so loved is overwhelming.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

“I missed you, my sweet baby. I missed you all day” you assure him with the words you know he needs to hear. “Our son here thought it would be fun to jump on his sa’nok’s bladder all day. It was like was playing the wokau(pendulum drum) all day long- I spent hours in running back and forth to the bathroom”

Neteyam's laugh is deep and rich. Thoroughly pleased to listen to your stories of your day, eager to hear every minute detail. Desperate to drown out visions of blood and gun smoke with your voice.

“Ah, you have to be nice to your momma, little one” he chastises the bump, raising your shirt over your head, wanting that flimsy barrier gone. His lips trail over the tight skin of your bulging belly as he speaks to his child.

Your son, still safe inside your soft body, knows his fathers voice already. Recognizes that slightly accented cadence, and squirms inside of you happily.

Neteyam usually speaks strictly in Na’vi to your unborn child-

“He needs to know the language of our people, first and foremost”

-he’ll spend hours whispering his mother tongue into your flesh. It always leaves you boneless and shaking. Feeling so special and cared for. Na’vi, though your second language, is familiar to you. You’re fluent in the language- but fuck. The way your mate speaks it is the most beautiful thing. It’s musical, he tells sprawling stories with his colorful words.

There is one English he’s very fond of though. Every time it leaves his plush mouth it makes you grin, sharp. Knowingly.

“Are you gonna be nice to momma, Neteyam?” you question him after a while. His ears quirk, swiveling on his head and his tale flicks once, in obvious excitement.

You know what he’s wanted, ever since he woke you up by nuzzling at your chest. Ever since he peeled off your top and left your heavy breasts bare. Did he think you missed the way his golden gaze would flick to them, eyeing them hungrily.

He needs this as much as you do, but as usual, your sweet boy is too selfless to ask. Won't trouble you with his wants unless you bring it up first.

You reach for his big hand that rests on your belly, and drag it to where you need him. His palm enveloping your tits, the rough callus’s catching on your sensitive nipple just right-

Your pregnancy had been different than regular humanoid pregnancies. Your body worked hard, thrown into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the fast growing fetus in your womb. You’d started lactating months ago, far earlier then normal. Your breasts firm, full with milk. Ready to feed the child that had not yet come into the world.

At first it had been both painful and embarrassing. You had no child to drink what you were producing and the other breastfeeding women in the tribe we’re hesitant to feed their babies your tawtute(human) milk. Already over emotional due to the hormone change, you’d wept at the fact that you had no one to give what your body readily made.

The fact that you couldn't be a bigger part of your community due to your human heritage, combined with the intense pain that came from having backed up ducts had been too much,

Eventually you’d turned to Neteyam, both your eyes and shirt soaking wet. Begged him to help you. And of course, as always, he did.

It should be awkward, or shameful- but connecting with him on any level is something you cherish. Why would this be any different?

“I’m always nice to you, aren't I, love?” Neteyam gruffs as he gently works at the breast in his hands. Its firm and full of milk, his mouth waters “Do they hurt again?”

“Mhmm” you whine pathetically, and you’re not lying. The skin of your chest is now marred by stretch marks and you’d had to stuff precious, hard to come by toilet paper down your bra all day to keep them from spilling over “They’re so full, Nete”

“Oh” He hums, thumbing at your nipple “Poor momma, I’ll help you. Don't worry” his lips are wet against your skin as he kisses his way to your breast, his tongue peeking out to circle your puffy nipple. A pearlescent drop of milk tops the rosy bud and he groans as it hits his taste buds.

He tells you that you taste good, often. The juices of your pussy, your spit soaked kisses. He’s always been greedy for it, his tongue bullying its way into your holes, desperate for your essence. Your milk is just as delicious as the rest of you.

It quickly goes from kitten licking, wide wet stripes against your pebbled nipple to sucking your big breast as far into his mouth as he could. Careful of his fangs as he gorges himself on your flesh.

He’s loudly appreciative as he suckles on your nipple. Grunting and humming and moaning at the flavor. Your arms come around him, cradling his head to your bosom because it feels so good. Having him this close, knowing that he'd do anything to take care of you. That he truly loved the way you tasted-

Many people thought you and Neteyam would never last. It was lust, they’d claim. Curiosity. A childhood friendship that would fizzle out eventually. Na’vi needed Tsaheylu, it was the lifeblood of all their relationships. Why would the much desired future Olo’eyktan stay with you if he couldn't even properly bond you?

While you couldn't deny that there we’re doubt filled moments that you yourself wondered why he’d chosen you and stayed so loyal to you…you still felt your own form of connection to him. While you’d love to make that sacred bond with him, you didn't feel any less close to your mate.

You never thought that you could be so intertwined with another being.

As Neteyam takes his fill from your breast, you massage the base of his Kuru, firm enough that it makes him hiss. You have no special braid of your own, but he’s always been very free with his when it comes to you.

You can do with as you please. Stroke it. Lick it. Massage it. Hell, he’d even let you touch glowing pink tendrils at the end of it before. Let you feel his exposed nerves, so vulnerable and raw in your hands that he had shed tears as you explored.

Nothing was taboo in your relationship. There was no space undiscovered between you.

Your bodies we’re so very different, and yet you knew his like the back of your hand. All of the strong muscles and hard sinew. The cobalt expanse of his skin didn't have one blemish that you haven't memorized. You could point out his striped pattern in a sea of other Na’vi.

And he knows you right back.

Loves to dig his fingers into your doughy hips, into your pillowy thighs. Your wide ass and ample chest. He loves your form, goes crazy for all of your alien curves. He never cared for your human modesty, he’d wanted to part your ass cheeks and stare at plump of your pussy for as long as he could remember. Wanted to strip you of all of those clothes and just stare.

The fact that he gets to do just that, for the rest of your lives, is his favorite, favorite thing.

You watch him eagerly as he slowly nurses. You can't get enough of the sight of him, his hollowed cheeks, the bob of his throat as he swallows your free flowing milk. He's so strong, his muscles flex in the dim light. All of that strength, and yet he’s so very gentle with you, his rough tongue laving at your sore buds every couple minutes. Soothing and tickling you all the same.

You giggle at a particularly quick swipe, letting out a small squeal as Neteyam’s tongue plays with the flesh in his mouth. His eyes peek open, glittering with mirth and low boiling heat as he meets your gaze. Whin his lips split into a smile, a dribble of translucent white milk escapes. Trickles down from the corners of his lips.

Heat pulses between your legs and you know he can smell how aroused you are.

Neteyam has always been able to turn you on without even trying. A well spoken word, or even a pointed look could get you running your thighs together. All desperate to get him alone and put your hands all over him.

You hate that you cant kiss him the way you want to, your Exo Mask, while necessary to your survival can be suck a fucking menace sometimes.

Your thumb traces his lips, the ones you want pressed against your own so bad. You rub the spilled milk from his chin. Cleaning him up in a way that's so simple, and so beyond erotic.

He breaks eye contact first, like he just can't look at you anymore. His brows all scrunched up, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He releases your sloppy nipple, completely covered in his saliva, and presses his face against the damp skin. Making a sound of distress.

Your fingernails skritch at his scalp, tangled in his many braids “What is it, baby?”

“I wanna fuck you so bad. Eywa, do you even smell yourself, Y/N? So good. I have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” You nod, agreeing blindly. He can have whatever he wants.

“Fuck you hard, though. Gotta pound you. I know I shouldn't but it’ll be alright, huh? Won't hurt the baby?” his face is still buried in your skin, you cant even see his expression as he pleads for your pussy. It makes you so hot.

You push at his chest, needing him to get off of you for just a moment. He’s heavy as shit, a dead weight- doesn't really move until you're pouting and demanding for him to just give you a little space.

Enough that you can wiggle out of your panties and spread your thighs wide for him. Your swollen, sticky pussy on display for your mate.

His nostrils flare, and his thin tail whips wildly behind him.

When he swings your thick thighs up onto his broad shoulders, you let out a low, appreciative moan.

“Such a good boy for momma” you praise him the way the people praise the Great Mother. The cradle of your thighs a sanctuary where you both come to worship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp, I should be finishing up Part Three of First Love/Late Spring or plotting out future installments of The Sweetest Sylaung, but here I am writing nursing filth. Lol I truly have zero regrets, this story was so very self fulfilling(even though it partially came from a request). I hope you guys enjoyed though

As mentioned many times before, requests are currently open. Please send in all that good shit. I could use a good distraction from real life!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam sully smut #aged up neteyam #Neteyam x pregnant reader

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wisteriaiswriting · 5 months ago

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Mercs as Parents Headcanons

Words: 2379

Jeremy either takes after his mother and is the absolute top tier caretaker, or just like Spy and can’t do shit for you.

He doesn’t even realize how many skills he has picked up from his Ma growing up.

Will spoil you with everything he can get his hands on. (Tries his best to make sure you don’t grow up similarly to how he did.)

Every chance he gets he’ll bring you along to meet his Ma and brothers, so your Grandma and uncles, alongside any cousins that come along.

Really enjoys going on morning jogs with you, but if that isn’t your thing he’ll play some baseball with you.

***

If he was being honest, cooking wasn’t one of his favourite activities. But if and whenever you asked he never minded, actually excited to do this for you. Reminding him of his Ma, which led him to messaging her for recipes to use in the future, helping him for today's breakfast.

Looking many times at the pancake recipe sent over from her, they were basic buttermilk but there were plenty of toppings stashed away. He managed to get a decent pile finished before another merc entered the kitchen, not needing to turn to know who it was.

“THERE'S THE SMELL OF A CLASSIC AMERICAN BREAKFAST!”

“Yeah, yeah, there ya go pal.”

Reaching over to the plate to grab the top pancakes, ignoring the heat to throw them right at Soldier. Who caught them, cramming the first one into his mouth while tearing the other one apart to give to his raccoons. When it was finished the group of them rushed out, leaving Scout and you together again.

Within minutes the rest of the batter was cooked, the stack of pancakes were separated onto two plates. Sliding them across the table, meaning you had to grab both so they wouldn’t go sliding off. While he dug through the pantry, grabbing any types of syrups and toppings he could find.

Walking back over to you and letting everything drop onto the table, sitting down himself before reaching for the sugar.

“Eat up, don’t want any of ‘em going to waste. Ma would’a whooped any of us kids for wastin’ that!”

Guess you’re American now. Solly will not listen, and doesn’t really care what you say about it.

Keep him away from the kitchen, he cannot make the simplest of meals that are not MRE’s.

Just because he gave you the title of Sergeant doesn’t mean he’ll go easy on you in training, if anything he has you train harder.

Is very quick to get you ‘matching’ uniforms. (He claims it’s a Sergeant’s uniform but there’s really no difference.)

Will gladly get you your own raccoon. (Likely you’ll have to name it as he’ll give it the dumbest and most American name.)

***

The lot of you had just finished eatting dinner, allowing everyone to go off and do whatever they wanted. Which meant Soldier had gone somewhere doing something, either way at the moment you didn’t care what he was doing.

Until a loud, constant knocking started on your door, continuing ‘til you opened the door, finding the very man standing there all proud. In his, now scratched up and bleeding arms was a very unhappy raccoon. It was throwing itself around, screaming or whatever noise raccoons made.

Lieutenant Bites scampered around his feet, screeching back at the one in his arms before rushing into your room.

“SERGEANT, MEET THE NEWEST RECRUIT, UH… What's your name?”

His shouting quieted down for a few seconds to ask it, not that it’ll actually answer him. Only letting go when he noticed something in its mouth, holding it closer to find a finger. Confused until you shouted at him.

“SOLLY, IT BIT OFF YOUR FINGER!”

“OH!”

Not caring as the raccoon ran off into your room as well, rushing to grab the finger and bring him all the way to Medic.

No one is really sure who is caring for who at this point, and you don’t think the two of you know either.

They’re constantly dedicating and giving you drawings and plushies whenever you need them or even just when they feel like it.

Very often visits Engineer about anything and everything really, not that he ever minds the company. (Engineer feels like a very proud grandpa everytime Pyro comes by.)

It’s much easier and better if Pyro doesn’t cook, although they can make any easy to eat / make meals, so you won't ever starve.

If anyone ever tries to mess with you, they’ll have to go through Pyro first.

***

Pyro wanted to colour with someone, and with Engineer busy they wandered around to find you. Their first stop was your room, but with no luck finding you they walked around until they reached the living area. About to launch themselves over when they noticed how you were sitting, hunched over with your head dropped into your hands.

A few seconds passed before they moved again, rushing out of the room all the way back to their own. Grabbing one of their many plushies before returning, slowly approaching you. The familiar sight of Pyro didn’t phase you, nor did them sitting next to you.

What did surprise you was a plushie pushed into your arms.

The soft animal shouldn’t have brought you to tears but it did, wrapping your arms around it while holding it closer to you. Pyro had already placed their colouring book and supplies down, quickly wrapping their arms around you to pull you closer. You felt the cold material of their mask gently sit on your head as a faint, muffled hum could be heard.

He knows he isn’t the ‘parently’ type of man, it definitely didn’t help that everyone else said the same thing.

If you don’t like him drinking he’ll try to slow down, he really does and means well, but considering him and his body it’s quite hard to do.

Whether you ask him or not, at some point he’ll start going on about anything that comes to his mind, which can range from simple Scottish myths and legends to past situations he’s been in.

Is quite reluctant to let you meet his mother at all. (Even if she bullies him, she knows him well. Realizing how much he cares for you, so she cuts you some slack, not Demo though.)

He doesn’t care one bit about where you’re from or what language you speak, he will teach you some Scottish slang, and even some of the language itself.

***

You weren’t sure if the timing of your death was good or not, but either way it meant you didn’t have to walk all the way back to base. Able to have all your weapons and other accessories put away before any of the others returned, expecting Scout to come rushing through the door.

Finding out why when the door opened, seeing Demo slumped on his shoulder, arm thrown aross Scout. Eagerly chatting away while the younger merc barely spoke back, until he saw you.

“Y/N, back already?”

At your name Demo stood on his own, only for a few seconds though, collapsing onto you while using his empty hand to ruffle your hair.

“Y/N, laddie! Did I ever finish tellin’ ye about the…” Taking a quick drink of his scrumpy, “The selkie I ran into, a bit ago?”

Out of all the mercs he actually knows the most due to caring for his sisters.

There are times he will baby you, so you’ll need to let him know when it’s going too far so he backs off.

Most nights, if not all, are spent with him reading you books and reciting russian legends. (If you don’t understand Russian, he’ll spend time trying to translate them for you.)

If he ever finds out you aren’t eating properly he’ll spend hours cooking meals for you everyday if needed. (Proudly makes his mother’s recipes.)

He’s another person who keeps a close eye on your during battles, and tries to keep you near him and Medic.

***

The room was filled with the smell of cooked meat and vegetables, you sat at the dining table while Heavy stood in the kitchen. Soon a bowl was placed infront of you before he walked away again, it was a clear liquid with chopped up meat,

“That is Ukha, soup with fish.” Looking up at him, still waiting for the oven to finish. “This is Shashlik,” When it finally did finish he pulled the tray out, dumping the meat onto two plates. “Meat served on sticks.”

“They’re not on sticks though?”

Laughing at your words, placing the full plates on the table before opening a box next to him, pulling out said sticks.

“Here, sent all the way from Siberia.” Taking the plates to stab multiple bits of meat onto them, sliding the finished meal over to you when he was done. “As I work, eat, you need to grow stronger.”

Dell is probably the best parental figure out of the nine of them.

He gives you all the petnames he can think of. (Alongside Pyro, who has become your new sibling.)

Allows you two to sit and spend time in his workshop while he’s working, but gave you special permission to stay in there without him. (Which is a huge privilege only given to one other person.)

He puts anything of yours at the top of his priority list.

Tries to keep a close eye on you during any fights, if possible he keeps you close to him or his sentry.

Lil extra here - He has given you and Pyro kinda matching petnames. You’re ‘Sugar’ while Pyro is ‘Honey.’

***

Dell was busy working on his next project, which neither you or Pyro currently cared about. Both of you were focused on your drawing, spending nearly half an hour switching colours, even starting over once before finally finishing.

Clapping their hands after standing up, you added your final details as Pyro caught Dell’s attention.

“What’s up Honey?” Pointing back to you as you walked over, holding the paper behind your back. “Sugar?”

Swiftly placing it into his hands, unable to see much of his reaction has his goggles covered his eyes. Soon after he pulled them off, letting you both see his teary eyes.

“Aren’t you two sweet as pie…” All three of you knew how sweet you were, considering your petnames. “C’mere…”

Welcoming you both over into his embrace, carefully placing the drawing safely behind him on his desk.

Special dove privileges, you swear he might also be one with the amount of time he spends cooing over you.

He takes extra care during your surgeries, promising not to mess with anything he doesn’t need to.

Speaking of surgeries, if you ever feel like assisting him in any he will gladly welcome you. (The others are kinda scared though.)

You and Heavy are at the top of his priority list, on and off the battlefield.

He is a massive hypocrite, because if you dare mess one meal he will be on your ass about it.

***

While he was focused on some work, Archimedes had managed to slip out of the infirmary. Not realizing until hours later, when calling out didn’t reveal the bird he rushed around trying to find her.

Eventually he realized she must’ve left the room so he had to go searching, and luckily he didn’t need to search for long. Turning a corner and nearly running into you,

“Ah, Y/N, zere is a small problem…”

“Missing Archimedes?” Holding out your arms as you spoke, “Cause she came looking for me.”

He paused for a few seconds, taking in the sight.

“Aren’t you two just adorable!”

It is petnames galore! At first he might seem embarrassed but quickly embraces them. (Main ones are Roo, Joey, Chick and just adding lil onto them.)

He actually had good (adoptive) parents, so he knows how to do most things.

Doesn’t mean to, but he’s a slight helicopter parent. Keeps you in his scope and all around view.

Will give you a key and free access to his camper van.

***

This man is another massive hypocrite, he makes sure you’re getting enough sleep, eating well and staying healthy. (If you bother him back enough, he will do the same alongside you.)

It wasn’t new to not see Sniper having meals with the team, opting to spend that time in his camper. So he normally came by before it started, but today he was a bit behind. Walking into the room towards the counter, grabbing his plate before making his way back out.

Walking behind you, lightly patting your head.

“Come on, Roo.”

He didn’t wait for you, walking out as you scrambled to grab everything. Finding him standing at the main door to go outside, continuing when you reached him. The walk to his camper was quick but it was a comfortable silence.

Which was cut short when you both got comfortable inside, filling the air with laughter and conversation.

You should feel lucky that Scout isn’t aware of the relation between him and Spy, otherwise there would be a real one sided competition.

Please give him a break, he’s old and is nowhere near good at parental things.

Constantly leaving you all types of gifts in your room whenever you either mention wanting something, or he thinks you might enjoy it.

Gives you every petname he can think of (English and French), and at this point you think he might’ve forgotten your name.

He definitely tries to teach you french, praising you if you pick it up quickly while holding conversations.

***

“Qu'est-ce que j'ai dit sur le fait de surveiller ses arrières?”

"Qu'il faut toujours être sur ses gardes..."

Spy was cut off by the sound of the door opening, looking over to find Scout standing in the doorway. He was clearly unprepared to find Spy in here, willingly talking to you much less.

“What's uh, going on here?”

"Nous pouvons dire qui est le meilleur enfant."

It took you a minute to realize what he was saying, and with a smug look from him it clicked. Sending you into a full blown laughter, while Scout was confused.

“What’s wrong with you two?”

***

"What did I say about watching your back?"

"You always have to be on your guard..."

"We can tell who the best child is."

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gleefullypolin · 7 months ago

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The hypocrisy on fandom's reaction of "fell too soon" for friends to lovers

I find it very RICH on the fandoms reaction to S3 and the he "fell too soon" for Penelope. I mean honestly it is a bit spit in your face fantastic the way certain parts of the fandom are wretching on themselves to make that point.

"He didn't like her in season 1." I'm sorry, Can't hear you over "I'm to escort Miss Featherington to the floor" in EPISODE 1. That's what a friend does when a bitch spills her drink on a girl you were having a polite conversation with. Or how about hanging out with her laughing and gossiping like silly goofballs on the side of the dance floor, didn't see him doing that with other people either. Because they were FRIENDS.

"There was no build up previously to show there was a level of friendship there where he saw her any differently than a sister." Ok children...lets move to Season 2. We can talk about the race track and how they spoke about his travels which was very comfortable and very much NOT like a sister. They had an ease, like people who, oh I don't know, had been communicating personally all summer long via letters. And then lets go to Edwina's night where he shares with her that her letters allowed him to get in touch more with HIMSELF. something also so very personal he would not just share that with anyone. (I'll get to this in another point)

"He just suddenly likes her after he kisses her." Big ball of monkey shit here. Colin Sensitive Bridgerton was getting to know himself back in Season 2. He told Pen as much when he gave her the "You are Pen" line. And yes we all gasped and grabbed our pearls at the You are not a woman line, but it was not meant as an insult. Colin inserts his foot so many times throughout the seasons, you would think he could run a mile with his head. He simply means that she is such a dear friend to him he could not forswear her from his life. He has put her in a different category all together in his life. He makes this point when talking to her about Cousin Jack. He calls her constant and loyal and makes mention that their relationship has been so natural to him. He also just soooooo easily makes mention to HER MOTHER that he's been talking to her about things that would make other women blush. Like he doesn't even see it himself that she's just a totally different place for him. He didn't have to kiss her to like her. He already did.

"It all just felt too rushed." I could go on about how they had conversations about their purpose or lack there of, in season 2, more than once might I add, conversations that you would not normally have with members of the opposite sex. The fact that he has told her and proved that he would look after her, he has called her special to him. He has had feelings for her for seasons. Don't get started about the longing stares, they have been there since season 1. You have to actually open your eyes and look at them. Yes there was the whole infatuation of the Marina thing. Of course there was. But if you look at his mannerisms during the entire thing, it screams at you the difference.

But dare I say the biggest and most annoying hypocrisy of them all is that this build up of 2 seasons of them growing friendship, talking and learning about each other, developing feelings for each other regardless if they know what they mean... suddenly is rushed. BUT when compared to other seasons where a brand new face appears and we are to believe that in a weeks time our beloved character is now madly, deeply in love with this person and YOU BUY THAT WITH ALL THE SUGAR IT COMES WITH! Burning for you and Bane of my existence and all????

At the end of the day...live in your trope. I sat through those seasons. I cried through their HEA, I was happy for them. You can dislike the characters for other reasons. Dislike how they wrote parts of the season, don't like the plot points but don't make the excuses above that don't add up.

If you don't enjoy my trope, fine. But please, in the nicest possible way, shut the fuck up.

#polin #bridgerton #just don't make up dumb reasons to hate things

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horzagobuchul · 3 months ago

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I had so much fun creating the previous one that I decided to keep this story going just to see where she ends up!

Yor stood outside the quaint cake shop, her heart a whirlwind of anticipation and self-awareness. The bell above the door chimed softly as she entered, the familiar scent of freshly baked goods enveloping her senses. Over the past weeks, her visits had become daily rituals, each one deepening her reliance on the sweet escape they offered. Her sweater dress, now a size XXL, clung to her generous curves, persistently riding up and requiring constant adjustments to prevent unintended exposure. Simple movements had become more cumbersome; her muscles strained slightly under the unfamiliar burden of her added weight, and even short walks left her a bit winded.

Approaching the display, her eyes were drawn to a large, exquisitely decorated birthday cake. It wasn't anyone's birthday, but the allure of the cake was irresistible. The shopkeeper noticed her gaze and offered a warm smile. "Planning a celebration?" he inquired.

Feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, Yor replied bashfully, "No special occasion. I'd just like to purchase that cake, please."

"Of course," he said, carefully boxing it up. "Enjoy."

With the sizable box in hand, she exited the shop, acutely aware of the extra effort it took to carry it. Her thighs brushed together more noticeably, and she felt the gentle sway of her expanded hips with each step. Finding a secluded spot in a nearby park, she settled onto a bench, the wood creaking ever so slightly under her weight. She took a moment to catch her breath, her heart beating a tad faster than usual.

Opening the box, she gazed at the cake's intricate designs—the swirls of frosting, the delicate sugar flowers—and felt a surge of both guilt and excitement. As she took the first bite, a wave of euphoria washed over her. The rich flavors danced on her tongue, and a rush of endorphins flooded her system, bringing a profound sense of pleasure that momentarily eclipsed all her worries. Each subsequent bite deepened this sensation, the sweetness providing both comfort and a thrilling indulgence.

Despite having consumed the entire cake, she noticed that she didn't feel as full as one might expect. Months of overeating had expanded her appetite, and her body had grown accustomed to large quantities. There was a paradoxical satisfaction in this realization—a mix of awe and a subtle yearning for more. She recognized the physical pleasure she derived from eating, the way it filled an emotional void she hadn't fully acknowledged.

Yet, intertwined with this pleasure was a thread of guilt. Is this really what I want? she pondered. The societal judgments, the concerned glances from acquaintances, and her own health crossed her mind. But there was also a quiet defiance within her. Embracing her desires felt liberating in a life where so much was controlled and hidden.

As she prepared to leave, Yor stood up slowly, feeling the gentle protest of her muscles. She adjusted her dress once more, the fabric sliding over her skin. The physical sensations—the weight, the softness, the slight exertion—were all part of a complex tapestry of emotions she was only just beginning to understand.

#ai generated #ai #fat #ai art #fat girls #fat anime #weight gain #animation #before & after #stable diffusion #yor forger #spy x family #spy x family fanart

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shxtodxroki · 1 year ago

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𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝙸𝚜...

Warnings: Swearing

Dating Satoru Gojo is butterfly kisses all the time. He first heard of the concept online somewhere, immediately rushing over to you like an eager little puppy to try it out, and now he’s constantly giggling as he softly flutters his eyelashes against your skin, adoring this newfound, gentle form of affection he can share with you.

Dating Satoru Gojo is multiple mistletoe hidden in every room of your house when December rolls around if you celebrate Christmas or want to partake in the tradition, since he just can’t resist taking the chance to surprise you with a quick kiss whenever the opportunity presents itself

Dating Satoru Gojo is bringing home a small sweet treat for him whenever you go out, because you just can’t resist the way his face lights up when you treat him to yet another candy bar or sugary pastry, and him repaying you by always spoiling you and buying you whatever you set your sights on when the two of you go out together without you even having to ask

Dating Satoru Gojo is him shoving his gross, sweaty feet into your face when you’re unsuspectingly trying to relax on the couch on your day off, and cackling as you shove him off the couch and lecture his (endearingly) annoying ass once he’s fallen to the floor wheezing

Dating Satoru Gojo is his large frame curling into a minuscule ball as he rests in your lap on his bad days. It’s hard for him to talk about his fears, his sadness, his stress and his guilt, even with you, but he still seeks comfort in your touch. He relishes in the fact that he can just be sad or be stressed, and you’ll be there to run your gentle fingers through his hair and press sweet kisses to his face to soothe him

Dating Satoru Gojo is never hearing your real name from his lips. Not once, even during arguments. Sweets, honey, baby and especially babe are constants in his vocabulary, even the occasional pookie or sugar when he feels like messing with you, but never your name. Pet names are your boyfriend’s pride and joy in this relationship

Dating Satoru Gojo is him going all-out for every birthday, every anniversary, every special day. He hates the fact that his job takes up so much of his time, despises that he can’t spend every waking second with you and constantly show you the love he knows you deserve, so he tries to make up for it as best as he can on special occasions. He never, ever forgets, filling the whole day with plans catered to what he knows you’ll want to do most, and surprises you with gifts he knows you’ve had your eye on while showing off just how much attention he pays to your wants and needs

Dating Satoru Gojo is him replacing the sugar with salt if you drink morning tea/coffee, then giggling like a madman as you chase him around the house in a grumpy, sleep-deprived state. Don’t worry, he makes it up with a replacement cup of coffee/tea, homemade breakfast and plenty of cuddles afterwards

Dating Satoru Gojo is clothes being left everywhere around your apartment. For some reason Satoru can not seem to manage to get them into the dirty laundry hamper most of the time no matter how hard he tries to remember, especially considering he comes home dead tired and incredibly sore from work a lot of the time and just tosses his clothes anywhere he can as he climbs into bed with you and passes out. He’ll always pick them up and place them properly in the hamper when you ask him to, coupled with an apology, though, and any time you put his clothes away for him he’s sure to notice and thank you for your kindness and understanding

Dating Satoru Gojo is needing a fan in the bedroom as you sleep during the warmer months, because his body just runs so hot it’s like he’s a furnace but he can’t sleep without cuddling you :’( He needs to know you’re there, that you’re safe and that he can protect you even in his sleep, so you find compromise in keeping a fan running on your side of the bed to keep you from overheating as you cuddle with your human heater during the evening hours

And dating Satoru Gojo is, most of all, loving him with your full heart and soul, your entire being. It’s knowing how little love he’s felt through his life, how desperately he craves it without him even saying a word, and doing everything in your power to fill that void, to let your love seep into every crack and crevice of his body and soul as you embrace and adore him as your soulmate, your one and only <3

A/N: Idk where this came from lol I literally just had the thought about the butterfly kisses randomly the other day and thought it was too cute, and then that spiraled into this </3 I love Gojo sm I just want to write about him all the time but I’ve mainly been focused on trying to get caught up with Flufftober amidst the 30,000 projects that have all been/are due in school over these few weeks :’) I hope you guys enjoyed this though, and my requests are currently open so if you have any requests feel free to send them my way!

If you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, you can fill out this form here! Thank you for your support <3

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midnightarcheress · 9 months ago

Text

Simon lives up to the nickname.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader 2 | gold rush masterlist.

every time you set a foot out of the house, he’s there. surely, a few steps behind, just like the orders say, but he’s there, hauntingly following you like a true ghost. lurking in the darkness or making himself known in broad daylight, he takes the job seriously, glaring at the people on the street who even dare to glance at you. it’s even worse when fans stop you for an autograph or a picture, towering by your side and meticulously watching every move made in your direction, getting ready to pounce at any minute.

the first few days were weird. he could sense how disconcerted you acted in his presence, even while flashing him a smile and saying a sugary ‘good morning’. maybe it was his size, maybe it was the mask, maybe it was the fact that a man was actively following you nearly every second of the day. the last thing he wanted was to frighten you.

after a few weeks though, he noticed you getting accustomed to his company. he watched from behind how your back wasn't as tense, how you stopped glancing over your shoulder to check if he was still there, how you weren’t jumping anymore when he’d get closer, how you even tried to make small talk, despite his grunt-like answers.

Simon didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t have been more wrong about you. you weren’t a pretentious rich brat as he expected. you were always polite, always smiling, always treating everyone in your way with nothing but kindness, something he wasn’t used to seeing. he reasoned that it was just your job as a very public person, after all, you had an image to uphold and he’d never actually seen you without the constant risk of being photographed and blasted online.

but in that moment, he couldn’t help the genuine concern for your safety starting to fill his chest and surpass the mere contract bond. he would catch himself staring at you for a little too long as you walked together, eyes attentively chasing the sway of your hips in each movement of your legs, the delicate way your finger held a pen whilst signing your name, your beaming irises whenever a child recognized you. he couldn’t bear the idea of being acknowledged on the street for his acts like you do.

“just ignore them.” you say, looking over your shoulder and noticing him stopping on his tracks on the pavement. for Simon, dealing with the paparazzi has been the most difficult part. military training comes in both an advantage and disadvantage, as his sniper eyes bust them from a mile away, spotting the greedy lens with intense precision, no matter how well-hidden they think they are. but the hard task is to keep his anger and itch to rip the camera apart at bay, when all they want is to snap you in bad light and sell it to the first rubbish magazine.

he grumbles, muttering cuss words under his breath. “you’ll get used to it.” the sympathetic tone of your voice eases a bit of his annoyance, going back into walking right behind you.

the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills his nostrils as he opens the door of a small cafe for you to come in, rapidly scanning the room for threats. at that point, he already had your order memorised by heart. medium iced americano, no sugar. too bitter of an option for someone who looked so sweet, despite being accompanied by whatever muffin the store had left.

“Ghost?”

his crossed arms tense up when you call for him, brows knitting together as he assesses the situation for any problem that may have appeared in the seconds he stood distracted by the waving of your hair under the air conditioning breeze. “mhm? what is it?”

“i asked you if you want anything.”

his knee-jerk reaction is to say a hasty no, thanks, but he’s finding it harder and harder to deny your offerings each day, when the small curve of your lips as you patiently wait for his response is so tempting. think faster. “uh, guess i could go for a tea. earl grey.”

you nod and hand the barista your card, quickly paying for the order and standing by the counter. he remains a few steps back, waiting for the drinks with you. as soon as it’s ready, you hand him the cup of tea, fingers gently grazing over his, sending lightning sparks on his skin. keep to yourself, Simon.

he shakes the feeling away and opens the door again, catching your eyes flicking to the silver pendant around his neck. once again, old habits die hard. he still wears his dog tags, the glinting metal serving as a constant reminder that he’s Simon Riley civilian, but will always be Simon Riley soldier.

“military?” you question, stepping back to match his pace and walk by his side, curious eyes searching for his hardened gaze.

“yes.” his voice is sharp, settled in not prolonging the conversation.

you hum, turning your head back to the horizon, “that explains your skill set.” only then he shifts to see your face, raised eyebrows and question marks oozing out of his head. you chuckle, amused by his confused expression, “i got a file on you too, Simon.”

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arvandus · 10 months ago

Text

A Cup of Affection (Part 1)

Pairing: Barbatos x f!reader

Content warnings: cisfem!reader; short-coded reader (or tall Barbatos, you pick!); reader's hair is able to be tucked behind the ear/brushed aside, but no further description provided; a lil’ steamy toward the end but no actual smut (that’ll be in part 2 *evil laugh*); reader loves sweets/sweet drinks; not proofread (watch me edit spelling/grammar errors later after this has been reblogged....)

**MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT**

(divider credit goes to @benkeibear)

It was the worst thing he could have ever heard uttered from your lips.

“I think I’d actually prefer coffee today, if that’s okay.”

Barbatos stared at you dumfounded as if you’d grown a second head. You flustered under his gaze, your fingers fidgeting and eyes dropping.

“I mean, if it’s not too much trouble,” you stuttered. Your next words came out in a rush. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your tea! It’s just... I used to drink it all the time back home, and I’m feel a little nostalgic for it.”

Ah, you were so cute when you got flustered... Barbatos could feel his resolve fracture just the slightest, and he tightened his mental control, like sealing a crack in a teacup.

Diavolo laughed. “There’s no need to worry. Barbatos’s coffee is just as divine as his tea. I’m sure it’ll be no trouble at all. Besides, he just went to the market yesterday and restocked the kitchens. Isn’t that right?”

Diavolo looked at him expectantly, innocence in his eyes, and yet Barbatos knew better. The corners of Barbatos’s mouth quirked just the slightest in stiff acknowledgement as he made mental notes to increase the young lord’s workload for the next day or two....

“Yes, young master. Although, had I known the coffee would be offered to guests, I would have purchased more of a selection.”

“I’m sure whatever you have is fine, Barbatos. I’m not very picky...” you reply encouragingly with a warm smile.

Barbatos stared at you for a moment and returned the expression with more warmth than he’d given the young prince. “You’re very gracious, Y/N.”

Diavolo clapped his hands together excitedly. “Lovely! With all of this talk of coffee, I believe I’d like one as well. It’s been some time since I’ve enjoyed a cup.”

How quickly one’s control over a situation can shift...

The butler bowed low. “Of course, my lord. I will prepare it immediately.” He straightened his stiff spine and stared at you, although he kept his gaze at the space between your eyes so as not to give away the heat he’d undoubtedly feel when looking directly into your dark pupils. “Is it safe to assume you enjoy your coffee like you enjoy your tea?”

You giggled, the sound of it making Barbatos’s skin tingle. “You mean more sugar and cream than coffee? Yes, please.”

Great. Just great.

Barbatos’s smile remained firm, yet he could feel its fakeness in the way the muscles at the corner of his mouth cramped. He hoped you couldn’t see it.

With a bow he retreated. As soon as he was out of your line of sight, his mask vanished, transforming from smile to frown.

You wanted coffee.

There was only one, large, glaring problem. The only coffee in the entire castle was Hell Coffee.

It was Diavolo’s favorite, his enjoyment of the acidic, bitter taste a constant, warm reminder of Barbatos’s fatherly affection. He only requested it when he required reassurance after a particularly difficult day, when Barbatos’s honest feedback and praise on a job well done weren’t enough. Barbatos had no need for any other type of coffee, especially since he himself was renowned for his teas and cakes. No one ever, in their right mind, would request coffee when offered Barbatos’s tea.

With each step, the calm butler began to lose more and more of his composure until he nearly slammed the door open upon his entry to the kitchen.

The three Little Ds in the room startled at his entrance. One stirred a large, steaming stock pot, one washed the dishes, and the other was chopping vegetables.

Little D Two, who stirred the pot, saluted him. “Hi, boss!”

Barbatos glared. “Out.”

The Little Ds wasted no time in rushing through the door. But before Number Two could make it, Barbatos’s sharp tone caught him.

“Not you, Number Two. You stay.”

Number Two began to visibly shake, his small hand scratching at his head. “A-Are you sure, boss? You look like you wanna be alone...”

Barbatos did not have to repeat himself; instead, he pinned the Little D with a stern look.

The Little D began to return to the center of the kitchen where Barbatos stood.

“Close the door,” Barbatos ordered. Little D obeyed and then returned to his side.

Barbatos put his hands on the kitchen island and stared down at its wooden, weathered surface.

“She wants coffee,” he muttered.

“What was that boss? I couldn’t hear ya...” Number Two replied, inching closer.

“I said she wants coffee.” Barbatos repeated as he looked up, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Who does?” Number Two asked.

Barbatos clenched his jaw for a moment before averting his gaze and answering. “Solomon’s apprentice.”

He’d hoped referring to you by your title would ease the wildness of his pulse, give him the much-needed distance between his head and his heart.

It did not.

Number Two perked up. “Well, that’s no big deal! We have coffee, don’t we?” He began shuffling through the cupboards. “Where is it, where is it. Ah, here it is!” He held it up in victory and placed it in front of Barbatos.

Barbatos glared daggers at it.

Why would anyone ever invent such a thing, anyway?

Hell indeed...

“We can’t use this,” he muttered.

“What?? Sure we can! It’s Hell Coffee, we make it all the-Ohhh.”

Number Two grew very still and Barbatos’s jaw clenched.

The silence stretched an uncomfortable length of time as Number Two fidgeted. Finally, he drifted in front of the butler, hovering above the busy countertop.

“So, you, uhhh-”

“Shut up,” Barbatos ordered through clenched teeth. “Not another word.”

But Number Two didn’t know the meaning of the word. “I mean,” he continued, “it can’t be that bad, right?? Some people like it bitter...”

“Well she doesn’t. You do recall how she takes her tea, do you not?”

Two fidgeted some more, his nervousness worsening. “Ah, right. Good point. But how bitter can it get, really?”

“I’d prefer not to find out,” Barbatos replied. “No, this will not do. There must be another way.”

“Can’t we just drown it out with cream and sugar?” Number Two asked as he began rummaging through the fridge.

“The purpose of Hell Coffee is to communicate fondness, Number Two. The magic of that cannot be undone so easily.”

‘There wouldn’t be enough sugar and cream in the entire Devildom to drown out that bitterness...’ Barbatos thought.

Panic curled his fingers into fists, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Time was wasting. He had to return to you soon or you and the young master begin to grow suspicious.

But then, Barbatos had an idea. “Tell me, Number Two. What are your feelings towards the apprentice?”

“Huh? My feelings? I mean, she’s nice and she helps me out once in a while...” The Little D answered distractedly as he continued to rummage through ingredients.

“Perfect,” Barbatos replied. “You will make it, then.”

There was a loud thump as Number Two hit his head on the inside of the fridge. He popped out, his little black hand lifting his hat to rub a sore spot. “Me?!”

“Yes.”

“I can’t make Hell Coffee!”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never done it before!”

“It’s not difficult.”

“But what if it comes out awful? I don’t even think Hell Coffee is supposed to work on Little Ds!”

“All the better reason for you to be the one to make it. Come now. Diavolo requested a cup as well. I shall make the first, and then I will guide you through the steps so you may make the second.”

----

Diavolo talked, but you were having difficulty focusing on his words as you felt the minutes tick by.

Perhaps you’d made a mistake...

In all honesty, you weren’t sure what to expect. All you knew was that Hell Coffee was the only coffee available in the castle, a little nugget of knowledge that Lucifer had given to you when he’d told the story of Diavolo attempting to make him the coffee himself.

As soon as you learned that little tidbit of info, your mind immediately went to Barbatos. Sweet, handsome Barbatos. Barbatos who’s presence made your skin hum, who’s soft smile and deep chuckle made your gut twist in the most lovely way. Barbatos who’s eyes seemed to read you like a book every time you looked into them, and yet gave away nothing short of amusement in return.

He was such a tea enthusiast that you’d never questioned the lack of coffee on his elegant and detailed menu. But now the thought of Barbatos making you Hell Coffee wouldn’t leave your mind.

After all, how else were you supposed to find out how he felt about you? Ask him? Like a normal person?? Definitely not; the very idea was laughable. You’d rather take his rejection through small sips of coffee rather than hear the words uttered from his mouth.

Because that’s what you were certain would happen. The acidity would be mild, the beverage more sugar than coffee. It wasn’t like the royal butler harbored any feelings for you, right? Sure, there was respect and friendship, but that was it.

So then why.... why were you so nervous? Why did hope flutter in your chest like a trapped bird?

Silly.

Anxiety twisted deep in your stomach, crushing your appetite and making your small desserts taste like ash.

But a moment later, he appeared, an ornate silver tray in his steady gloved hands, with two delicate teacups of steaming dark liquid. He set the tray down and began to prepare them to yours and Diavolo’s liking. The close proximity made the delicious scent tickle your nose, and you inhaled and let out a happy sigh.

Barbatos was unmoved, his eyes kept to the teacups as he handed Diavolo his beverage first, and then yours.

Diavolo thanked him with a happy smile and took the first sip and winced. “Ah, as bitter as ever Barbatos. Glad to know you haven’t tired of me yet.”

“An impossibility, young master,” he replied smoothly.

You watched the exchange as you carefully brought the beverage to your lips and sipped.

Your heart sank instantly, the sweet tang clinging to your tongue. It crushed your hope, silenced the unspoken confessions and washed them away to a place where they’d be left to slowly die.

“And how do you like yours?” Barbatos inquired, his neutral smile hiding any emotions worth noticing.

Or, as you’d just now discovered, where none lurked.

He respected you it seemed, had some basic level of fondness since the coffee still tasted of coffee, of course. But it lacked the sharp, bitter bite that you’d hoped for, the one you’d experienced whenever one of the brothers made you coffee at the house.

You forced a small smile even as you felt your disappointment coalesce in your throat like a stone. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Barbatos.”

Barbatos gave a polite nod and his posture eased ever so slightly. His satisfaction of your reaction to your bland, sugary cup only drove the painful truth home further, a nail into your heart.

Barbatos didn’t love you.

----

Diavolo stared at the empty teacups in thought as Barbatos began clearing the table. “She seemed... disappointed, didn’t she?”

Barbatos glanced at him and then averted his eyes. “Did she?”

“She certainly left quickly enough after the coffee.”

“I’m sure she simply has many errands to run,” Barbatos replied. “The brothers and Solomon keep her nearly as busy as me.”

Diavolo stared at him for a long moment, then let out a gentle hum.

Barbatos graced his unspoken need for further attention with a lengthy side-eye. “Yes, young master?”

Diavolo’s mouth quirked up slightly at the corner. “Nothing... I just... I was certain that her cup would have been more bitter.”

Barbatos straightened up, the tray of now used dishes in his hand, his own mouth quirking up in return. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Diavolor raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “You do know I can tell when someone is lying to me, Barbatos. Even you.”

Barbatos’s smirk vanished as quickly as it came, his walls up instantly. “I have not forgotten, my lord. As such, perhaps you should cease pursuing this topic.”

“Have it your way...” Diavolo muttered.

Barbatos bowed. “If you’ll excuse me...”

He turned towards the castle, his eyes downcast on the half-drank cup of coffee you’d left behind. As he began to walk back, Diavolo’s quiet voice followed him.

“You’re making a mistake.”

----

Diavolo’s words lingered in Barbatos’s mind following him into the next day, and the day after that. It haunted him endlessly, making its appearance at the most inopportune times. While balancing the budget, monitoring Lord Diavolo’s progress on his pile of paperwork, while running errands... he was far too busy to be so, so.... distracted.

Barbatos whole-heartedly disagreed with the young prince’s assessment. In fact, in all honesty, Barbatos hardly ever made any mistakes at all, at least not anymore. He was far too careful for such reckless behavior. Which was why Barbatos had a million and one reasons not to confess his feelings to you. Between Devildom politics, his duties, and your mortality just to name a few, the cons far outweighed the pros... or so he tried to tell himself.

Even so, he couldn’t deny how you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, or the way your smile brightened in his presence... or the way you always managed to find a reason to cross paths with him at least a couple times a week...

Barbatos shook his head to himself. No. Best not to go there...

And yet...

‘You’re making a mistake.’

----

The truth of those words didn’t fully solidify until he ran into you at the market a couple of weeks later. Barbatos had already noticed how he seemed to be crossing paths with you less than usual. He already suspected you were avoiding him, putting distance between your heart and him. He’d accepted it, a consequence of his own choices.

That is, until he saw the look in your eyes; the way you couldn’t quite hide the hurt fast enough behind your smile, the way your lips curled in artificial joy at seeing him. Your words were brief and cordial, but he could tell you were eager to disentangle from his presence.

He’d watched your retreating back with his breath lodged like spikes in his lungs, the longing to grab your wrist and pull you back to him making his fingers twitch.

Barbatos had hoped that preventing an impromptu confession with cursed coffee would have allowed him to keep you at arm’s length, to keep his affections for you separate from yours.

But this felt less like separation and every bit like entanglement. You weren’t just drifting farther away from him like two separate objects with nothing but empty space between. It felt more like ripping, a tearing of intertangled roots. It was painful and left an ache in his chest where your presence had made a home.

Perhaps the young lord was right....

----

Even so, Barbatos was as stubborn as he was prideful. He filled himself with distractions to ease the pain, waiting for time to work its magic and ease the empty longing for both of you.

Another two weeks passed before Diavolo took matters into his own hands.

The prince entered the kitchen to see every single surface filled with extravagant desserts and warm breads. Little D’s were at every counter and stove, while Barbatos stood at the island in the center with a piping bag in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Are we having a celebration?” Diavolo asked jovially.

“No, young master,” Barbatos replied.

“Then what is the reason for the feast?”

“I have been making modifications to my recipes to perfect my menu.”

“You mean the menu you’ve already perfected three times this week?” Diavolo crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with one particular sorcerer’s apprentice, would it?”

Barbatos’s hand flexed on the piping bag and a large glob shot out onto the cake he was decorating. He glanced briefly at Diavolo. “Of course not.”

“Then I’m guessing that it’s just a coincidence that you’ve chosen her favorite color as your decorating inspiration....”

Barbatos blanched and his eyes looked up from his work to take in the state of the kitchen.

Damn it, he was right... cupcakes, cakes, tarts, danishes, marbled bread, muffins... everything he’d made was somehow tied back to you. Colors, flavors, textures... it was as if he’d gotten lost in his thoughts and his hands had written out apologies in the form of desserts rather than letters.

“Perhaps we should talk about this...” Diavolo suggested. His amber eyes took in the exhausted Little D’s. “Okay, break time everyone!”

A roar of cheers erupted throughout the kitchen, and a swarm of dark little bodies vacated the space in record time.

“Young master, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t override my authority within the kitchen,” Barbatos chided as he eyed all of the unfinished work.

“My dear friend, work them any harder, and they’ll all go on strike, and then where will we be?” Diavolo closed the door behind him and made himself comfortable against the island, a pastry in his hand. Barbatos returned to piping the decoration onto the cake that was nearly complete. “You should talk to her, Barbatos.”

Barbatos froze and finally let out a heavy sigh in defeat as he set the piping bag down. He braced his hands against the weathered edge of the counter. “I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“It is not so simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

Barbatos chuckled. “I sometimes envy your youthful, reckless optimism...”

“You’ve been sulking ever since that day with the hell coffee.”

Barbatos scoffed and straightened his spine in reproach. “I do not sulk.”

“Like a teenager with a broken heart ,” Diavolo pressed with an arrogant tilt of his chin and mischief in his smile.

Barbatos narrowed his eyes. “If you have enough time to watch me so closely, then perhaps you can explain to me why you’re still so behind on your work.”

“Maybe I’m too distracted watching you clean the castle top to bottom and baking enough sweets to satiate even Beel’s bottomless gut.”

His words got under the butler’s skin and so he started straightening up the space, gathering crumbs of dough and flour into piles, wiping up blotches of icing from the wood grain. “It is work that must be done my lord, nothing more nothing less.” Then he muttered, “A teenager? Really? You do realize I’m far older than you.”

“Yes, and how many of those years have you been alone?”

“I am not alone, young master. I have you, I have the Little Ds...”

“You know what I mean. When was the last time you fell in love?”

Barbatos froze, his vision blurring. He blinked and it refocused.

Yes... how long had it been?

“Look,” Diavolo said, “all I’m saying is that perhaps this is one area that you’re a little bit... rusty in.”

Barbatos was silent for a long moment, before giving a soft sigh and turning to lean against the counter the same as Diavolo. “My lack of a love life isn’t the issue. I can’t afford to jeopardize your position as prince by allowing myself to become emotionally involved with a human. And not just any human, but Solomon’s apprentice. Many demons still haven’t forgotten how he’d singlehandedly opposed the Devildom centuries ago. I am your most trusted confidant, and as such I must err on the side of caution in all of my dealings.”

Diavolo’s eyes widened. “Is that why you’ve been doing this?”

“I am your butler first and foremost, young master. You will always be my top priority.”

Diavolo blew air out of his cheeks and leaned his head back to stare at the intricate ceiling. “I see. I appreciate the concern, friend. However, I believe, in this instance, it’s important that you put a little more faith in me to be able to keep the nobles in line. Regardless of their opinions, I am the law of this land, and my position is final. Besides, she’s already intricately tied up in Devildom affairs considering she has pacts with all of the brothers.”

“All the more reason to be cautious,” Barbatos replied.

“Screw that,” Diavolo scoffed.

Barbatos gasped. “My lord!”

“After all you’ve done for me, what kind of a prince would I be if I let the fear of the masses take away your chance at happiness?” Diavolo said firmly. “You deserve to be happy too, Barbatos. Now please, for the love of my father, get out of this damn kitchen and go apologize to her.”

Barbatos stared at the prince with wide eyes, before bowing low. “Yes, young master.”

Before Barbatos crossed the threshold, Diavolo called out with a chuckle in his voice. “You should ask her for coffee when you get there...”

Barbatos gave a soft laugh. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have to.

----

For all of the inspiration and reassurance Diavolo had provided, Barbatos could feel his resolve slip more and more the closer he got to the front door of the House of Lamentation.

Would you turn him away? Run away to your room and allow the brothers to host him instead? What if you weren’t even home? What if you were with Solomon?

A sharp stab of jealousy reared its head and he forced it back down.

That certainly wouldn’t do him any good, now would it?

He walked up the steps and rang the doorbell as he held his breath.

A silent prayer of gratitude and dread echoed through his mind as you answered the door. You froze when you saw him, eyes wide, your breath caught in your chest.

“Barbatos,” you said dumbly. “What are you doing here?”

You clamped your mouth shut as you realized how rude you sounded, and all Barbatos could think about was how cute you were...

“I...” he started, and then froze. He couldn’t say the real reason for his arrival, not on the doorstep where anyone could hear. “I came to inspect the House of Lamentation for any infestations.”

Your shoulder slumped slightly in disappointment. “Oh. Okay, come in.”

He bowed graciously. “Thank you.”

As he stepped into the large foyer, you fidgeted nervously. He stared the gesture and fought the blush that threatened to creep across his pale cheeks. “Where are the brothers?” he asked.

“They aren’t here right now. Diavolo called them to a student council meeting.”

Barbatos’s eyes widened. “Oh. I see...”

He wasn’t sure whether he should thank him or punish him...

He stared down at you as his heart pounded wildly. “So you are by yourself then?”

“For a little bit,” you replied with a small smile. “I must admit the quiet is nice once in a while...”

Barbatos’s own lips curled gently. “Then I promise I’ll be brief.”

“W-would you like some tea?” you asked expectantly.

Barbatos hesitated, Diavolo’s words once again coming alive in his mind.

Ask her for coffee.

But Barbatos forced the suggestion aside.

“Yes, tea would be lovely.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.” You retreated toward the kitchen, and Barbatos sat in a nearby chair.

----

Tea, tea, tea.....

You opened the cannister that sat on the counter and stared at it with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Empty.

No, that can’t be right... you always had tea.

With your brow furrowed, you rummaged through the lower pantry.

Nothing. Not a single tea bag.

No, no, no....

Dread started from your toes and crept up like invisible fingers brushing against sensitive skin.

You had hoped to make this as painless as possible; give Barbatos his tea, allow him to do his inspection, and then send him on his way. But already things were going awry.

You hummed to yourself with a furrowed brow as you dug out any and all drink options. Water, milk, juice, soda... none of those seemed suitable for Barbatos.

You went back to the cupboards, moving items around as you searched. Your hand wrapped around a familiar bag and you pulled it out with trepidation.

Coffee.

You stared at the bag of Hell Coffee with narrowed eyes as if it was the reason for the lack of tea within the kitchen.

No. Absolutely fucking not. You’d already made that mistake once before and you’d regretted it ever since.

Panic filled your veins and you fought back the burning sensation in your eyes.

There had to be something....

Your eyes spotted the upper cabinet that was so often out of your reach. It often housed excess demonus when Lucifer’s own cabinets were full in his office.

Maybe... just maybe....

Who knows, maybe Lucifer had received some tea as a gift from Barbatos and put it up with the rest of the demonus?

You grabbed the stool that had become your best friend within the Devildom-sized kitchen and stepped up.

----

Barbatos sat and fiddled with his clothing, adjusting the uniform repeatedly. It felt awfully tight today, the house feeling particularly warm.

The minutes ticked by, time stretched, and Barbatos grew more and more restless. He checked the time. The tall grandfather clock chimed its gong.

Finally, Barbatos got tired of waiting. Perhaps you’d run out the back door, leaving him alone in the house...

He chuckled to himself. You would never....

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen. When he pushed through the double doors, he froze as he stared at the sight before him.

The kitchen was chaos, cupboards open and various contents spread out on the counter.

And you, you were on a stool, precariously balanced, as the upper half of your body vanished inside a high cabinet.

“No, no, this can’t be happening...” you muttered, unaware of Barbatos’s presence. He could hear the anxiety laced in your tone, the tension tight around your vocal chords. You were desperately searching for something.

It was almost comical, watching you stand on your tippy-toes, and it’d been so long since Barbatos saw you up close, that he paused to cherish the view. His eyes followed the curves and lines of your body, his lips slightly parted.

That is, until you started to wobble...

You could feel the balance shift, felt the scrape of the wood beneath your feet give way to nothing.

That split second of panic, of knowing you were falling, was interrupted by strong hands and lean arms wrapping around your waist, catching your weight against a firm, tall body.

The impact of your body against Barbatos’s forced his own back against the closed lower cupboard, but he held firm, keeping your feet from touching the floor. Your arms were around his neck instantly, survival instinct forcing you against him as if he were a tree.

Time felt frozen for a moment as your heart pounded with adrenaline.

You knew immediately who’d caught you. After all, there was only one other person in the house with you.

Not to mention you could smell the scent of sugar clinging to his uniform, could smell the tea on his breath as his own heart pounded beneath yours.

You were torn between embarrassment and desire, your eyes closed as you clung to him. But then you remembered the hell coffee from weeks ago, recalled that neutral smile he’d worn when you drank it, and your heart broke all over again.

Slowly you loosened your hold around his neck and pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“I... thank you.”

His green eyes stared back, his skin flushed, although you were sure it was due to the haste in which he had to have moved to catch you. Barbatos held you for a moment longer than he needed to before slowly setting you down on unsteady legs.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. Then his eyes looked up past your head at the kitchen behind you. “Might I inquire as to what’s happening?”

You opened your mouth hoping to find a believable lie there, but there was none. Only simple truth came forth, clumsy and blunt. “We don’t have any tea.”

“Oh...” Barbatos looked down at you. “So you’ve decided to reorganize your kitchen.”

The emotion pounding in your chest finally gained enough strength to work their way up your throat and brim your eyes with tears.

“I... I only have coffee. And, and water, and juice, and soda, and...”

Barbatos watched the panic overtake you and he took your hand in his, his thumb gently rubbing across the back of your hand.

“Coffee will be fine.”

What he had hoped would assuage your fear only seemed to heighten it, causing the tears to finally break loose, running wet tracks down your cheeks. You refused to look at him, instead focusing on the details of his uniform.

“B-but... I only have Hell Coffee....”

Realization dawned on Barbatos’s face, and then his expression softened. “I see... then let us make some.”

He began to step to the side to go around you but you clutched his hand tightly, halting his retreat. “No, you don’t understand. It’s...” Barbatos waited patiently as you found your words. Finally, your voice came through soft and timid. “It’s going to be too bitter.”

A soft smile spread across his lips. “I think in this case I am willing to make an exception.”

Confusion furrowed your brow as he led you over to the counter with your fingers intertwined. “I... I don’t understand.... I thought...”

“Y/N, I have a confession to make... and an apology as well.”

A few minutes later and the sound of laughter is filling the kitchen with the scent of coffee in rich in the air.

“So you really bullied Number Two into making it??” you laughed.

Barbatos gave you a reproachful look. “Bullying is a strong term, Y/N... but yes, I suppose I did.”

“Well now I know how Two feels about me, I guess...”

“And you know how I feel about you, too,” Barbatos replied with a small smile.

“Wellll,” you hummed, “Yes, but...” you stared at the two cups of fresh coffee sitting in front of each of you. “I still want to try it...”

It was Barbatos’s suggestion to make each other’s cup, to assuage any lingering doubts.

“Then let us proceed,” he replied.

With your eyes locked you both picked up your cups and took a tentative sip.

Sharp, deep bitterness greeted your tongue and your face soured. Barbatos’s cup seemed to be no better, as he attempted to stifle a cough.

“Oh...” he mustered. “Oh goodness, that’s...”

“Truly awful,” you replied with a chuckle. “In the best way, of course.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” he laughed. He took another sip and you watched in amusement as his winced.

You sipped yours again as well, and forced it down with your eyes squeezed shut.

“Do... do we have to finish the whole thing?” you asked.

“It’s customary to do so... not finishing it implies you’re unwilling to fully accept the other person’s affections.”

You frowned into your cup with a pout. “Silly Devildom customs...” you forced another sip. “Blegh.”

Barbatos grinned, his cheeks warm as he watched you. “Perhaps, however...” he said, “we can call a truce.”

“Don’t toy with my emotions, Barbatos,” you teased.

His expression sobered from one of amusement to calm affection. “I promise, never again.”

Your skin felt hot and you averted your eyes down into your cup. His hand came forward, and you felt him tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I am truly sorry for deceiving you,” he said softly. “It was a poor decision and one I’ll always regret.”

Your gaze returned to lock with his, and suddenly you’re keenly aware of his close proximity and of the emptiness of the large house.

Barbatos’s hand lingered gently on your jawline, his fingers tucked behind your ear. His eyes flickered to your lips before returning to your eyes again.

Then he closed the distance and kissed you, his lips soft and tender against yours. You melted into it, melted into him, your fingers twining into the jacket of his uniform.

He pulled away slightly and you stared at each other. Then he kissed you again, his lips firmer, more confident. His hand went from your jaw to your waist, pulling you close against him as your arms wound around his neck. The desire written into his touch, his lips, emboldened you to open your mouth slightly and swipe your tongue against his lips. Barbatos’s lips curled into a smirk against yours, a deep chuckle vibrating in his chest. He acquiesced to your silent plea and opened his mouth, his tongue meeting yours.

Your body awakened at the warmth and taste of him, the acrid coffee still sharp on his tongue. You pressed yourself harder against him, and his body pivoted until you were pinned between himself and the counter, your coffee cups long since forgotten and growing cold while your body grew hotter.

Finally, Barbatos broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours as his hands tightened on your hips. “You’re going to make me behave improperly if you continue to torture me so.”

He was taller than you, much taller; you barely came up to his shoulder. It made the buckle of his belt press against your stomach.

And below that...

Heat pooled in your core, desire heavy in your gaze.

“Oh no, not improper,” you teased, your hands on his hips in return as you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Barbatos chuckled as he cupped your cheek. “What a troublemaker... however,” - he forced his body to separate from yours - “I would like to perhaps court you before repurposing your kitchen.”

You pouted your lip in disappointment, and Barbatos stared at the gesture with flushed cheeks. His thumb came up and brushed against your protruding lower lip. “Don’t do that,” he chided.

You grinned and playfully nibbled at his thumb, trapping it between your teeth. His eyes darkened. He leaned in to kiss you again, but your words halted his approach just as his lips started to brush yours.

“How about dessert?” you asked against his mouth. “Our coffee was so bitter, we deserve something sweet.”

Barbatos froze and gave a frustrated chuckle. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”

You grinned. “Maybe...”

“Hmm,” he hummed. Then he leaned closer to you until his lips brushed your ear. “Sounds like fun...”

Your legs felt like jelly, your heart pounding so fiercely you were sure it was going to jump from your chest into his.

But then Barbatos pulled away, putting distance between you. “Fortunately for you, I happen to have a wide variety of desserts waiting in the kitchen at the castle. So,” he extended his hand to and bowed, “if you’ll accompany me...”

You smiled and took his hand. “I’d be happy to.”

“Wonderful. Let us take a shortcut.”

Barbatos opened a doorway out of thin air, and with your hand linked with his, guided you through.

Part 2 (link coming soon!)

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