#people will always be better than you. people will always be worse than you.

[vunblr]

Plump & Ripe

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Some fluff. Slight Angst. A Pinch of Body Insecurity. Size kink. Use of pet names.

Summary: On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

Word Count: 7.4k.

note: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Plums". It was supposed to be a cute and fluffy fic, but it turned into pure filth instead. I'm sorry -not-

She looked up from the counter, and a welcoming smile instantly spread across her lips when she saw who had made the doorbell chime.

“You’re late. You’re lucky I set this bag aside when the distributor came this morning because they’re all sold out now.” She lifted a small paper bag from the shelf behind her, placing it on the counter between them. The deep violet of the plums peeked through the crinkled opening, and their smooth skins caught the golden light that filtered through the shop’s front windows.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway, a little tense as his fingers fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. “Sorry. Something came up and... couldn’t make it earlier.” He mumbled.

That ‘something’ had been him forcing himself out of bed after three days of avoiding the world. Everything felt heavier these days, his body, his thoughts, even some goddamn things that weren’t so before. But he was here now, and that was better than nothing.

She leaned her elbows on the counter. “No worries. I know you’d never miss plum day on purpose.” She tried to tease warmly.

Right. One of the rare occasions he’d missed plum day was when he went on that stupid mission, the so-called ‘walk in the park’ that turned into a bloodbath of agents and ended with him being taken again by the same people who’d tormented him for nearly 80 years. Only this time, they didn’t just want their precious pet back, they wanted it better.

In five days of captivity, they not only just strapped him to a modernized version of that damned chair. Oh no, they’d injected him with a cocktail of drugs that messed up his body in ways he was still discovering, even a year later. Like his fucked-up metabolism.

His eyes flicked to the bag, and his mouth twitched just slightly. “You know me too well on that aspect,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the bag.

She watched him carefully. “Do you need anything else?”

He hesitated, shifting his gaze to the baskets of apples lined up near the wall. “Yeah… green apples.”

She nodded, moving around the counter to grab a paper bag. As she started picking the crisp, bright green apples, she spoke over her shoulder. “I got a new kind in this week. They’re a mix of green and red, still sour but with a sweet twist. Figured you might like them, so I’m throwing one in for you to try.” She dropped a smaller, two-toned apple into the bag, the colors blending in a swirl of muted red and pale green. “No charge.”

His lips quirked, just for a moment, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him in weeks. “Thanks.” He said gruffly.

She twisted the top of the bag, folding it neatly before placing it on the counter beside the plums. But she didn’t step back, and her fingers lingered on the edge as if debating something. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, worrying the skin.

Always perceptive, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

Her head jerked up, eyes widening. “Huh?”

“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to say something or not.” He crossed his arms, leaning his weight on one leg. “Tell me.”

She huffed a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s... not very appropriate.”

One eyebrow shot up. “I’ve heard worse.”

She bit her lip again before glancing toward the back room. “I was just wondering if you could help me with a couple of crates. The distributor was in a hurry, and he just tossed the merchandise back there. It’s kind of a mess... hard to move around.” She gave a half-shrug, sheepish. I’d do it myself, but they’re actually pretty heavy.”

He followed her gaze, and his expression softened. “That all?”

“Well... yeah,” she admitted, heat creeping up her neck. “You already helped with the shelves last week... and the cooler the week before. I just... I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage or something.”

His features softened even more, as he huffed, twitching his lips in a half-smile. “I wouldn’t help if I didn’t want to. Show the way.”

She gestured to the door behind the counter -the only door, really- and he shot her a look. She shrugged, grinning. “I know, I know. Real hard to find.”

He followed her through the doorway, ducking his head slightly as they entered the cramped back room. His steps faltered as his eyes took in the scene. Stacks of boxes and wooden crates were scattered haphazardly across the floor, some leaning precariously against each other. It was like the distributor had been in a damn race to get out of there.

His mouth pulled into a deep scowl. How the hell did that asshole expect her to move this on her own? Where were the manners nowadays? He grumbled under his breath, weaving between the clutter as he started rearranging the crates into a more orderly stack. He made sure to place the heavier boxes at the bottom, the lighter ones on top, within easy reach for her.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching as the chaos turned into something more manageable. “God, I’ll kidnap you and put you on my bedside table.”

His head snapped up, brows drawing together. “Uh?”

She blinked, a faint heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, it’s just... a saying we have. You know, to cherish something.” She waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment. “Forget it. Thank you, really for always helping.”

He chuckled. “Pretty sure your poor bedside table can’t handle me anyway.” His tone was dry, self-deprecating, like he was almost daring her to argue.

But her brain had short-circuited somewhere around ‘bedside,’ and before she could think better of it, the words just tumbled out: “But my bed sure can.”

He froze, fingers clenching around the edge of a crate. For a second, he didn’t even breathe. “What?”

She cursed inwardly. Did she… did she actually say that aloud? Oh my god. She could feel her soul leaving her body, and her eyes darted down as her brain scrambled for something -anything- that could sound similar. She fumbled, words tripping over themselves. “I- I said... I wondered if... if you can open a can.”

Bucky blinked, his expression shifting from shock to confusion. “A can?”

She nodded furiously, feeling her face burn. “Yeah. A big one. I have... with peaches. And I don’t have an opener, so I thought maybe...” Her eyes flicked to his metal hand, then back to his face.

They stared at each other, the silence was thick and heavy. “You want me to open... a can of peaches.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, even as her face burned. “Yes. A big one.”

He looked at her, then tilted his head, and his lips twitched slightly. “That so?”

“Yup. I figured you’re more than capable and I... really wanted to try them.” Her voice was firmer now, though her face was still in flames.

Bucky watched her for another moment, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to figure her out. Finally, he huffed, low and almost amused. “Alright then. Bring it over.”

She nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to turn away from his piercing gaze. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, and her hands trembled as she rummaged through a cluttered shelf. Eventually, she found the can half-buried behind a jar of jam, with its bright label slightly faded. Two forks were grabbed from a drawer without much thought, and her fingers clenched around them as she tried to calm herself. When she turned back, Bucky was stacking the last of the boxes, his back to her.

Her eyes lingered on his body for a beat too long, and her mind flashed back to her stupid, impulsive words. But my bed sure can. She almost groaned out loud, the embarrassment creeping over her anew. She was never going to live this down.

Clearing her throat, she approached him, holding out the can. “Here. I... uh... figured we could share. Since you’re helping me out and all.”

He turned, and his gaze dropped to the can before lifting to meet hers. His expression was neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something she couldn’t quite place. “Peaches, huh?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. They should be good. Sweet. Soft, too... uh, juicy” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and her face burned all over again. God, why did she have to say it like that?

Bucky just stared at her for a second, flicking his eyes to her lips before his mouth twitched. “Alright.” His voice was a little rougher, a little lower. He took the can from her, popping a metal finger through the lid and curling it, crumpling the metal until it popped off.

He handed it back, licking his finger for a brief moment and she could swear she could have a stroke. “There you go. Good thing at least I’m good as a can opener.”

She furrowed her brow, and the playful glint in her eyes faded. “Don’t do that.”

His shoulders went rigid. What did he do to upset her? “Do what?”

“That,” she said, “Sell yourself short. That... self-deprecation thing you always pull.”

His jaw clenched, and his eyes drifted away from hers. “Just saying the truth.” Almost unconsciously, his gaze dropped to his midsection, to the slight curve that hadn’t been there before. To the proof that his body was failing him, that even with all the enhancements, he was broken.

“Bucky,” she said, with a softer tone but no less resolute. “You’re a damn Avenger. Half the days you come in here, you’re bruised and battered because you fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. You protect them. That’s incredible.” Her hand gestured to the neatly stacked crates behind him. “You’re kind... and good. Don’t diminish yourself.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm but hard expression. He wanted to deflect, to brush it off with a sarcastic remark. It was easier to joke than to acknowledge the weight of her words. But the way she looked at him, made the words stick in his throat. His fingers tightened around the can, and the metal creaked under his grip. “Yeah, well... sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”

She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. “Our own perceptions sometimes lie. Doesn’t make it less true.”

He stared at her, and his defenses faltered. The familiar cynicism was there, clawing at him, but her words were louder. His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always this stubborn?”

She crossed her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “Only when someone I care about is being stupid.”

The air grew still. She seemed to realize what she’d said a second too late, eyes widening before she looked away. “I mean... you know... as a customer. And a... friend.”

He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly as if he was trying to get a better read on her. “A friend to put on your nightstand.”

Her eyes snapped to his, caught off guard by the teasing lilt in his voice. “Sure.”

He leaned against the stacked crates, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw worked, like he was chewing over his next words. For a heartbeat, he thought about letting it slide, about keeping his mouth shut and pretending he hadn’t heard. But the thought of not knowing twisted his gut in a way that made him reckless. “Did you mean it?”

Her heart skipped, the peach suddenly feeling too heavy on her tongue. She forced herself to chew slowly, buying time. “What?”

“The... bed.” His gaze pierced in that way that made her feel stripped bare. “Did you mean it?”

Oh. So he had heard her.

Her mind raced, instincts screaming at her to laugh it off, to deflect with a joke or change the subject. But he just stood there, watching her, waiting. It was infuriating how still he could be, how his silence demanded more than words ever could. His eyes didn’t waver, his face was impassive, but there was something tight in his stance, something almost vulnerable in the way his fingers tapped once against his arm before he caught himself, stilling the movement.

She paused mid-chew, the peach now a lump in her throat. The hell with all. “What if I did?”

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did: his shoulders straightened, and his arms uncrossed just slightly. He took a step closer, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. “Then I’d say... you’d better be sure.”

She swallowed, heat blooming up her neck. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile as he closed the space between them. “I figured.”

His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, like he was giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t move as his fingers brushed her cheek, rough callouses skimming her skin. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and she couldn’t help but lean into it, never breaking the eye contact.

His thumb traced her cheekbone, and his gaze softened as his fingers curled on the back of her neck. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her heartbeats echoing in her ears, but she didn’t dare look away. Not when his eyes were so impossibly blue, locked on hers with a focus that stole her breath.

She parted her lips, in a silent invitation, while her hand found its way to his chest, curling her fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his face so close she could feel his breath on her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his eyes darkened, “Tell me to stop if this is not what you want.” he murmured, but his hand didn’t move.

She shook her head, tightening her fingers on his jacket. “Not a chance.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his lips crashed into hers, firm and demanding, as he fisted her hair and pulled her closer.

She responded instinctively, pressing her body into his as her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck. He groaned against her mouth, circling his vibranium arm on her waist.

The world around her faded, the cluttered storeroom, the lingering scent of the peaches, everything disappeared until there was only him. His warmth, his strength, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak.

She sighed, threading her fingers through his hair, and he responded by deepening the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she ran a hand along his slightly rounded cheek, tracing its curve with her thumb with a tenderness that made something clench on his chest.

“You are so damn handsome.”

His gaze widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features before something else settled in. Cocky 40s Sergeant Barnes wouldn’t have agreed. In fact, he wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing himself like this, heavier, slower, tired.

He swallowed, as the weight of her words pressed against years of ingrained self-doubt. She exhaled, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. “I can see the gears turning inside your head, you know?” Her fingers lingered against his skin, warm and sure. “And, in a courageous and embarrassing -but it seems necessary-confession, I must say that I like this version of you. A lot.”

His body tensed beneath her touch. Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t one of them. People -some- admired him for what he could do. No one ever said they liked him like this.

He searched her face, looking for doubt, for anything that suggested she was just saying it to make him feel better. His throat felt tight. “You don’t have to say that.”

Her brows furrowed, and her fingers pressed just slightly into his skin. “I told you earlier that I mean what I say. You’re a soft wall of muscle.” She bit her lip, as her eyes drifted over his shoulders, his chest, lingering just long enough to make his pulse quicken. “And I like big men, so...”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, utterly at a loss. That... wasn’t what he expected. Not at all.

She felt the heat on her face but didn’t look away, just kept caressing his cheek. “In my eyes, you’re better than when I first knew you.”

His heart skipped, the words settling heavy and warm somewhere behind his ribs. “Better?” His voice was low, rough, like he was forcing the word out. “How?”

Her thumb traced his cheekbone, and she felt all the heat in her body rush to her face again. She looked away, sensing her bravado faltering. “God, you’re going to make me say it. This is so embarrassing.” She took a breath, meeting his gaze again. “Sexier, Bucky. You look better to me because I find your bigger body more than appealing. Manlier. Is that enough clarification for y-”

She didn’t get to finish. His mouth crashed again against hers, more heated and demanding than before, as his fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against his body.

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his lips moving hungrily over hers, and she barely had time to gasp before his tongue slid past her lips, tasting, claiming. Her back hit the wall as his body crowded hers, and she didn’t care, didn’t want space, didn’t want air, didn’t want anything that wasn’t him.

His heart pounded in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. Her words echoed in his mind, looping over and over again. Sexier. Manlier. More than appealing.

A rush of masculine pride coursed his body, fierce and hot, like lightning in his veins. She wanted him like this, wanted him bigger, broader. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that, how deeply her praise soothed the bruised ego he hadn’t even admitted having.

She felt his growing erection pressing against her hip, and she gripped his shoulders, feeling him beneath. There was nothing soft about him, not in the way he kissed her, fierce and unrelenting, not in the way his body surrounded hers, hard and unyielding.

He tore his mouth from hers, with ragged breathing, eyes dark and wild as they bore into hers. “You like this?” His voice was rough, deeper than before, and his words dripped with hunger. “You like me like this?”

She swallowed, her pulse fluttering wildly. “Yes. God, yes.”

His lips curved into a grin, that old cocky sergeant slipping through the cracks of his armor. “Good,” he growled, as his mouth descended on hers again, sliding down his hand to grip her thigh with bruising force as he hitched her leg up around his waist, pressing himself against her. His mouth was at her ear, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent shivers down her spine. “Because I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about fucking you raw under this slutty green apron every damn time you hand me my plums.”

Her brain stuttered, eyes widening as she processed his words.

His hips rolled, grinding his hardon against her tummy, and she felt every inch of his cock, hard and wanting, and god, she couldn’t help it, she whined. A desperate, needy sound that escaped her throat before she could bite it back.

His eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide as his lips curled again into that smirk. “Always with a little extra product, always checking on me.” His teeth scraped her jaw, flicking out his tongue to taste her skin. “Thought you were just sweet, just nice. Turns out you were trying to fatten me up for yourself, huh?” His words were teasing, but his tone was rough and possessive.

He rocked his hips again, a slow, deliberate grind that had her gasping, her fingers digging into his shoulders as heat coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

“Bucky-” Her voice was a breathless plea, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to find words, tried to get a grip on herself, but his mouth was on her neck, sucking a hot, wet mark just above her collarbone, and she was gone, utterly, completely gone.

“You like that, huh?” His teeth grazed her skin again, his metal fingers tightening on her thigh, holding her in place as he ground against her. “Like knowing you drive me crazy? That every time I leave, all I can think about is coming back here, bending you over that counter, and fuck you right there, maybe squishing a fucking orange just to watch the juice dripping down your ass?”

Another whine slipped out, her body arching into his as her hips rolled instinctively to meet his. His words wrapped around her, filthy and raw, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.

His lips trailed up to her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “So tell me, sweetheart... how long have you been thinking about me ruining you right here in your little shop?”

“If... if we’re about to speak on hard numbers...” She tried to tease, but the words came out ragged, crumbling under the hard suck he planted just behind her ear. Her body shuddered, another whimper escaping before she could stop it. “I’d say... the first time you came here. You’d just moved in and didn’t... didn’t even have pans to cook. Remember?”

His mouth paused on her skin, lips curved against her neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Came looking for fruit and you ended up selling me that tray of already cut vegetables to make soup. Lent me that steel jar to boil ’em in.” His tongue flicked over the mark he’d made, soothing the sting before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “I thought you were too damn trusting. What if I didn’t come back?”

She let out a breathless laugh, curling her fingers on his biceps. “I saw your hand. You forgot the gloves that day... and I figured... the Winter Soldier wouldn’t steal a steel jar.” Her lips twitched, and a spark of mischief lit her eyes. “If you did, well, the loss was on me. But if you didn’t...” She trailed off.

His eyes darkened, and his grip tightened on her thigh as he pressed her harder against the wall. “If I didn’t?”

She swallowed, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs. “Then... I would have set some points with a handsome man.”

“Sneaky,” he muttered, brushing her lips, a teasing, fleeting touch. “You were setting a trap for me from the start.”

Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to earn her another low, hungry sound from him. “Can you blame me?” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his. “You were brooding and grumpy... and so damn gorgeous.”

His eyes flashed with something wild and primal sparking in them. “And now?” His voice was low and dangerous, his metal fingers flexing on her thigh, holding her in place. “Now that you’ve got me? This bigger, grumpier version?”

She didn’t hesitate, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “Now?” She leaned in, grazing his bottom lip with her teeth before she pulled back. “I’d say It was a pretty good investment.”

His lips were into hers again, swallowing her gasp as his body pressed into hers, heavy and hard and perfect. He kissed her hard, his mouth rough and hungry while rocking his hips against hers, and she moaned, digging her nails into his scalp as she arched into him. He tore his mouth away, with ragged breathing, his eyes pinning her in place as they locked with hers. “Last chance, sugarplum” His voice felt vulnerable beneath the heat. “You want this?”

She held his gaze and pressed herself against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest enticingly. "I want you to ruin me, papa bear"

He froze. Every muscle in his body went taut. His eyes widened, and his pupils blew wide as her words penetrated his fogged brain. “...What did you just call me?”

Her heart plummeted. Oh god. Why? Why did she have to let that slip out now, of all times? She could feel her face heating up, a wave of mortification crashing over her. “Um... uh...” She looked away, curling her fingers nervously into his shoulders. “Too soon?”

For a heartbeat, he was silent, his jaw tight and his chest heaving as he processed it. But then a low, guttural sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a growl. His head dropped to her shoulder, pressing his forehead into her as his body shuddered against hers. “Fuck,”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding so hard she swore he could feel it. “S-sorry. I don’t... I don’t even know where that came from, I-”

He lifted his head, eyes dark, pupils blown. “Don’t.” His voice was rough, firm. “Don’t take it back.”

Her mouth went dry, and her body arched instinctively into him as his grip on her tightened. “You- uh... liked it?”

His lips curled into a feral grin, grazing her earlobe with his teeth before he growled, “You have no idea.” His nose brushed her cheek, his lips a breath away from hers. “Say it again.”

Her heart skipped a beat, face flaming. “I-” She hesitated, but the way his body trembled, the raw need in his eyes, the way he was holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish... it shattered any scruple she had. She leaned in, brushing his lips with hers as she whispered, “Ruin me, Papa Bear.”

He swore under his breath, crashing his mouth into hers again with bruising force. His hands gripped her tighter, possessive, desperate, and she moaned, opening up to him, letting him in. His tongue swept over hers, hungry and demanding, and she melted, her body molding to his as he consumed her.

He broke away just long enough to start tugging at her apron. “Take it off, or I’ll-”

The faint chime of the bell at the front door echoed through the storage room, hitting them like a bucket of cold water. Her eyes widened, and he stilled, with his fingers curled around the knot of her apron. The door to the storage room was wide open, and the front door? Neither of them had bothered to close it since none of this was supposed to happen.

His jaw clenched, and he lifted a finger, pointing at her with a look that could melt steel. “Don’t move.”

She barely had time to blink before he was striding out of the storage room, with his hair slightly mussed and crumpled clothing. He rounded the corner to find an elderly woman standing uncertainly by the counter, clutching her purse tightly in her hands.

His expression softened -just a bit- as he forced a strained smile. “It’s closed.”

The woman’s brows knitted together. “Oh, but I just wanted to-”

“Lemme accompany you out, yes?” He cut in, his voice dripping with forced politeness. “An emergency came up, and she’s... not here. I just stopped by to lock up.” His words were rushed, his body practically blocking the doorway.

“Oh, I see...” The woman glanced around, clearly confused but too polite to question him. “I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, already guiding her toward the door, hovering his hand protectively behind her back as she shuffled out. The door shut with more force than necessary, as the chime echoed sharply in the now-empty store. He twisted the lock, and stood there for a moment, with a rigid back, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.

In a flash, he was back in the storage room, locking his eyes on her with a hunger that made her knees weak. He didn’t say a word as he closed the distance between them, and his fingers went immediately to the buttons of her blouse, his mouth trailing kisses over every newly exposed inch of skin.

He almost groaned when he saw her bra clasp at the front. “You’re a fucking menace,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, before popping the clasp with an impatient flick of his fingers. The fabric fell away, and his mouth and hands were on her before he could think: Palms warm against her bare skin, squeezing just hard enough to make her arch into him, a breathy moan escaping her lips. He latched his mouth to the delicate skin just above her collarbone, swirling his tongue, teeth scraping, tasting the salt of her skin.

She was driving him insane. Every little sound, every shiver, every way her fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer.

Her hands were just as eager, fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. She hesitated for a heartbeat when her fingers grazed his belly, flicking her eyes up to his. But there was no discomfort there, only hunger. Her pupils were blown, her lips parted, her breathing ragged. Her fingers splayed over his stomach, and the warmth of her touch sank into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.

He kissed her harder, deeper, pressing her back against the wall as his body settled heavily against hers, his bigger form pinning her in place. She gasped, hitching her leg around his waist again, pulling him closer, grinding, her hips against his, and he nearly lost it.

His lips trailed lower, over the swell of her breast, and his stubble grazed her sensitive skin as his tongue flicked over an already pert nipple. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there as her body arched beneath him, desperate, needing more. He was only too happy to oblige, closing his mouth around her, suckling greedily as his hand moved to the other, kneading, teasing.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was a broken whisper, as her nails dug into his shoulders and scalp, and her body writhed against his.

He dragged his mouth back up to hers, capturing her lips in another bruising kiss, slipping his hand beneath her skirt, teasing the edge of her panties. “Want papa bear to touch you, sugarplum?” he growled, rough and low, “Want me to prep you open nice and deep and then ruin this little pussy?”

His words made her shiver, and her whole body tensed at the need in his voice. She could barely breathe, could barely think, as her mind spun while his fingers danced along the delicate lace of her panties, teasing, taunting.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. “Yes, please.”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, “That’s my good girl.” His fingers hooked under the fabric, dragging her panties down slowly, deliberately,  grazing his knuckles on the sensitive skin of her thighs. He wanted to savor this, to watch her come apart for him.

He lifted her easily, her back hitting the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist. The feeling of her pussy against his stomach made him swear under his breath, his head dropping to her shoulder again as he struggled to hold on to the last shreds of his self-control.

His metal fingers pressed her hips into the wall, to accompany his body, pinning her in place as his flesh hand slipped between her thighs. She was already soaked, and he groaned, feeling his cock throbbing painfully against his jeans. “So fucking wet for me... all that from just a little talk?”

Her head tipped back, hitting the wall, lips parting in a breathless gasp as his fingers found her clit, circling lazily, teasing only to dip them lower, slipping them inside her, stretching her, pressing his thumb down on her clit.

He watched her face as he started to move his hand, pumping slowly, deliberately, curling just enough to make her shudder. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her hips rocked against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Such a greedy pussy, taking everything I give you.” His teeth grazed her earlobe. “You’re mine now.”

Her body clenched around his fingers, a whimper escaping her lips, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she held on, tightening her muscles as he pushed her closer to the edge.

“Gonna come for me, sugarplum?” His fingers started to move faster, harder, while his thumb circled her clit mercilessly. “Gonna fall apart on my fingers before I even get to ruin you properly?”

Her whole body tensed and her head snapped forward, pressing her forehead into his as she shattered with a force that stole her breath.

“That’s it... that’s my girl,” he whispered, slowing his fingers, easing her down from the high, brushing his lips against hers in a surprisingly tender kiss.

He adjusted his grip on her body, grinding his clothed erection against her, letting her feel how hard he was, how ready. “And now, I gonna give you what you wanted,” he growled.

He slid his fingers out of her and fumbled with the zipper of his pants "look at the mess you did here, all this cream on my zipper." she just moaned and grind herself against the back of his hand, thrilled by being pinned to the wall by his weight alone and his vibranium hand on her asscheek.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was breathy, broken, and her body trembled as his metal hand squeezed her ass, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

He hummed, while his fingers continued to play with the wetness she’d left on his pants, dragging her up his length, letting her feel every ridge, every pulse under his denim. “You’re so needy for me, sugarplum,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “So wet, so… ready.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, her mind was blank with need as he finally spread his thick thighs squatting a little, and sat her on them, tugging down his zipper, and freeing his heavy, leaking cock. He wrapped his hand around himself, and his eyes never left hers as he stroked once, spreading her slickness all over his length. “You see this?” he growled. “This is what you do to me.”

She bit her lip, her eyes locked down, watching him slowly pump himself, zeroed on the pornographic sight of his cock glistening with a mix of their arousal.

Seeing his heated gaze he leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You made this mess... now you’re gonna take responsibility for it”. It was all the warning he did before hooking the back of her knees on his forearms, and pressing his hands on the wall, surging forward, burying the fat head of his cock in her entrance, pushing himself inside her in one slow, stretching thrust.

Her mouth fell open, and a choked moan escaped her lips as he filled her, inch by agonizing inch. Her back arched against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase on his arms, nails digging in as her body stretched to accommodate him.

He was relentless, his eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, every shudder as he sank into her, slow and merciless. “You feel that?” His voice was a rough whisper, his breath hot against her ear.

She could only nod, as he pressed his hips in even deeper, against hers, burying his cock to the hilt. “Bucky... oh God...” Her legs trembled, thighs spread wide over his forearms, helpless to do anything but take everything he gave her.

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, grazing her skin with his teeth as he fought to keep himself in check, to keep from losing himself in the incredible heat of her body. “Fuck... you feel so damn good... driving me crazy, sugarplum.” His words were rough, and breathless, his control slipping with every second he stayed buried inside her.

Her walls quivered around him, tightening instinctively, pulling him in, holding him close. “Bucky... move... please...” she pleaded, trying to roll her hips to create some friction, to ease the maddening stretch.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His fingers almost dug into the bricks, and he began to move in slow, heavy thrusts that made her whole body rock against the wall. Each time he withdrew, she felt the loss, felt the emptiness, and each time he filled her again, her world shattered a little more as she felt his cock stretching her, filling her, owning her. “Oh God...”

He could feel himself losing control, as his thrusts grew harder and faster, pinning her like a ragdoll against the wall, relishing the needy moans and whimpers escaping her lips.

A hand flew to his head tugging his locks as he wrecked her.  “Fuck Papa Bear… you feel so good, so heavy, so… fucking… big, you turn me on so much.” 

Her praise wrapped around him, squeezing him just as tight as her body did, and his head spun with primal satisfaction. He groaned, as his cock throbbed and pulsed inside her flooding her with precum, and growing even harder inside her. “Yeah? You like this thick Bear covering you, pinning you, breeding you full?”

Her head thudded back against the wall, as she tried to tighten her legs against his forearms, to arch her body to join his thrusts, digging her nails into his shoulders. “Yes, yes, god, yes... love feeling you like this, love how big you are...”

“Fuck, sugar” his bruised ego drank her words like a man dying of thirst. Each confession went straight to his cock. He could feel her body yielding to him, taking everything he gave, and it made him lose his rhythm, made him rut into her like an animal, making her back slide up and down the wall with every hard thrust.

He lifted his arms to spread her wide to take him deeper. Her cries only grew louder, more desperate, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “You’re mine now, sugar plum. Fuck, ‘m gonna fuck you so good you’ll never look at another man again... gonna make sure you remember this every time you close your eyes.”

She whimpered as he buried his face in her neck, nipping her sensitive skin. “Bucky... Papa... please... don’t stop...” she pleaded, curling her fingers into his hair.

His mouth curved into a half smile against her throat. “Not planning to, sugarplum.” He rolled his hips, grinding deep, making her back arch and her legs quiver. “Not until you’re dripping with me... not until you’re so full of my cum you can’t stand.”

Her body convulsed, one hand remained fisting his hair and the other dragged her nails on his broad back, “Fuck! Yes, I want it so bad...”

He lost whatever thread of control he had left. His thrusts grew brutal, punishing as his cock stretched her, pounding into her with a force that bordered on savage. He watched her face contort with pleasure, as the base of his cock ground deliciously against her swollen clit. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and her eyes rolled back as he drove into her, harder, faster. “You’re gonna take it all... every drop... you understand?”

She could only nod, her words were lost to the raw, consuming pleasure.

He was so close, muscles tensed to the point of aching, his breath ragged as his cock throbbed, his balls tightened, ready to spill. But he held on, watching her, waiting, needing to see her fall apart first.

“Come on, doll... give it to me... come all over my cock... let me feel it...” he growled, as his wide shoulders caged her in. “Bet you’ve never been this full before. Never had someone this big ruin you like this.”

Her nails raked down his back, desperate, her eyes rolling back as she tried to meet his rhythm but was utterly at his mercy. “F-Fuck, Bucky... so... so big...”

“That’s right,” he rasped, a savage grin flashing across his face. “Too big for this pretty little pussy, huh?” he lifted her higher and marked every word with a harder thrust.

Her entire body seized up before she felt herself shatter, arching against his body and squeezing him, milking him so tight he finally let himself go.

“That’s it... make a mess... make a fucking mess for me, doll... fuck!” his cock jerked, pulsing, as his release came hot and violent, spilling thick ropes of cum inside her. He kept grinding his hips, pressing himself as deep as he could, stirring his load inside her until it was too much to contain. The excess bubbled out around his shaft obscenely, warm and sticky, dripping down her thighs and landing on the floor.

He nipped at her collarbone, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he gently withdrew them from the wall. He eased her thighs down just enough to let her hook them around his waist, and his eyes flicked to an old chair in the corner of the room. Without a word, he began to move with steady steps despite the lingering tremors in his muscles. As he walked them over, each stride pressed him deeper inside her, drawing soft whimpers from her swollen lips.

Reaching the chair, he sank down heavily, the wood creaking beneath their weight. She straddled him, still nesting him deep inside her pussy, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, tangling her fingers on his hair. His hands settled on her hips, keeping her pressed close, unwilling to break their connection just yet.

His head fell back against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let himself breathe. “You feel... too damn good. Could stay like this all day...”

Her fingers started to brush his hair gently. “Then don’t move... Just stay. You made sure that no other clients visited today." She slightly pinched his stubbled full cheek. "And... is not fair you didn’t remove any of your clothes besides your jacket in all this ordeal."

He huffed out a low laugh, that rumbled against her chest. “Yeah? That bother you, sugarplum?” His hands slid up her back, splaying wide as he pressed her tighter against him. “You wanna see all of me?”

Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I think it’s only fair,” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I wanna see what I’ve been getting my hands on... what I’ve been wanting.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to his still-clothed body, darting her tongue out to wet her lips.

His eyes flicked away for a beat, and his shoulders tensed a little. There was a moment, a fleeting second where his hands stilled on her body, where his fingers dug just a little too hard into her waist. Old doubts echoed in his mind, flashing to his reflection in the mirror, the soft curve of his belly, the heft in his chest that wasn’t just only muscle.

But then she moved, running her hands up his chest, her eyes wide, pupils blown as she whispered. “I want to see you, Bucky.”

His heart thudded hard, but he felt himself relax, the tension ebbing away as he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Alright, sugarplum,” he murmured. “You asked for it.”

In one swift motion, he gripped the hem of his shirt, muscles flexing as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. He forced himself to sit there, exposed, waiting for the flicker of judgment, for her gaze to catch on his soft middle, or the faint stretch marks on his hips.

But her eyes were wide with interest as she took him in. Her hands roamed over him, tracing her fingers on his skin, lingering on the scars, the old wounds. She palmed his chest, brushing her thumbs over his hardened nipples, and his muscles jumped under her touch.

“Better?” his voice rough, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her explore him.

She bit her lip, as she kept worshipping him. “Better... but I’m not done yet.” She added as she trailed softly the scarred flesh where his prosthesis joined his body with her tongue.

His cock twitched with interest inside her, still hard, still nestled so deep. His hands gripped hard on her waist and his eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with fire, sugarplum.”

She smirked, rolling her hips slowly and deliberately. “Then burn me up, Papa Bear.”

Taglist: @civilbucky @blythesarchives

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[lilianalovespink]

Your lungs burn.

Your skin does too.

Sweat soaked clothes cling to your skin, cotton made heavy by the sheer amount of it that you've let off in the last hour of training.

But most importantly, there's a lump in your throat that aches worse than any cough ever could've- feeling like that time you had tonsillitis as a child.

"'ny more wisdom or are you done, private?"

If you cry now, he'll be kind; understanding. He always is, but that's the problem.

"I'm done captain."

~

'Unable to follow orders without questions, unable to integrate into the team.'

Sincerely and with your entire heart, you wish only the worst upon John Price. You could follow orders, you could work with them- if they let you.

A discomfort of needle like nature pulls through your muscles at that thought, considering that you had in fact voiced it and that the consequence had been the training you usually do over the course of three hours having to get done within an hour, no breaks, no warmups.

The worst part, you thought as you stepped out of the showers, is that in his view, he didn't hate you but rather...think you incompetent; a cocky amateur with too much of their chest puffed out.

You, a little child, a toddler acting rebellious or throwing a tantrum, and him, the sensible adult, strict but 'caring'.

"Shh, I know. This is too much for you. I know."

Leave it to him to make comfort a painful act; one for you to be belittled during, made out to be just another stupid teen in over their head.

Yes, you were younger than your commander, your captain, but no younger than your lieutenant or seargant.

Just not at their rank.

Your transfer to the 141 was abrupt, but by no means unwelcome. You were the best in your recruitment class, you were capable but as price, at the time you thought jokingly, put it, you weren't 'broken in'.

And boy did he have every intention of breaking you.

Training was tough, but doable except-

"You were top of your class? Again."

"There's a reason you're still a private."

"If you can't manage, leave."

And then, whenever you snap at him, show teeth at the hand that constantly strikes you, he's a saint. He's really just putting you what everyone else is going through, why are you this upset? Clearly because you're immature.

If you can hold back your urge to bite bite bite- this man, if you try to ask him stuff it's really a coin flip of what version of Captain John Price you'll get.

"You can't handle it? That's okay. It's okay, hey- no crying. Come here...yeah, that's a good girl."

Or, in case you didn't crawl between his legs like a scared puppy-

"I'm only being hard on you because I thought you wanted to be better. Was I wrong about that? Or do you want to be something other than a private one day?"

The worst part is that, the team seems to see you as a puppy as well- with you literally getting that as a monicker.

Lt. Riley wasn't as cold and mysterious as you expected when you first saw the mask, but he certainly wasn't hellbent on letting you be his buddy, let alone his comrade. He never helped you out unless you asked, but, should you make that mistake, to ask for help, he'll nod and simply guide you aside like you're a sheep and he's your shepherd. Like teaching you wasn't literally his job.

Sgt. MacTavish as well as Sgt. Garrick had initially been warm and inviting, had made you feel like this was your team- until you noticed how they'd leave you out whenever they could. Sure, neither of them were rude but- they weren't proper teammates either.

And then, of course, Captain Price.

What should you say about this man? How horrible he is? Would that do what he's put you through any justice?

As if this alienation from the people you literally had to trust with your life wasn't bad enough, the way they seemed to pity you was worse. Like you were a small child who dropped your candy.

It hurt, badly.

So when Commander Philipp Graves joined for a mission in Los Alamos and was the only one who treated you like you were on one level?

Yeah, you took the bait.

[tootkin-goblin]

And people seems to think that you can just push through the executive disfunction and Be Disciplined about it. Mind over matter! You're the boss of your body!

And in my experience you can... sometimes. But it's traumatic. And the trauma makes it even harder to push through the next time, because the brain is veeeeery good at stopping you from hurting yourself. Ever tried to put your hand on a burning stove? Well it does the same for tasks that seems inconsequential but have been very stressful the last time. Stress is a very hurtful after all.

And so you push through, and it's stressful and traumatic, and the executive disfunction grows. But you're better than that! Mind over matter! You push through again! And again! And again!! Until your body find other ways to stop you. And you wake up one morning and you can't anymore. Your legs won't support you. Your arms stops moving. Your eyes stop seeing. In my case it was a full stop: I would fall asleep anytime I tried to do the task. Literally, consciousness blackout anytime I tried. I know some people who had it worse still.

I might be wrong and it might not be universal, but my experience of executive disfunction is very much one of self-preservation. Not always actually helpful, not always targeted at the right things, sometimes it seems to make no sense at all. But sometimes it's not the task itself, it's the possibility of not succeeding at the task and being punished for it. "I want to draw and I love drawing but I can't" makes a lot more sense when it's actually "I want to draw and share my drawings but the internet is a cold void and I don't know if I will get the comments and the sense of connexion I'm yearning for so the drawing must be perfect to reach other people or else I will be punished with more loneliness"

Burnout is a bitch. Executive disfunction is describing a symptom more than a cause but, at least to me, the cause is trauma.

people who dont experience it cannot comprehend how awful executive dysfunction is. I WANT to do the task, i have the resources TO do the task, i will feel better having DONE the task

but i cant fucking do the task

[what-even-is-thiss]

I’m a person who is infinitely curious about other cultures. Always have been. Hopefully always will be. I like making friends from other places, learning about their politics, their history, junk food, traffic safety laws, literally anything. God willing, one day I will have the means to visit many of these places myself.

I won’t claim that this casual studying of other cultures makes me fully understand these other cultures. It’s difficult to fully comprehend the nuances of Sunday dinner from halfway across the world on a computer screen.

However, I think what I’ve observed from all this is that so many things you see as unquestionable truth are social constructs. And so many people see their social constructs as inherently better.

Like what is the way you cool off your coffee or other hot beverage? I learned once that it’s perfectly normal in some places to pour your drink in between two different mugs to cool it off. Which makes total sense. I started doing that occasionally when I learned that.

In a lot of cultures though you just don’t do that. That’s not how you cool off your coffee. You cool off coffee by blowing on it or waiting or putting milk in it or whatever it is and people will be absolutely disgusted and appalled at you for pouring your drink between two mugs.

Which is really silly, right? There’s a lot of potential different ways to cool off a hot drink but so many people from all over the world learn that some people do it a different way than they do and their first reaction is disgust.

That is so fascinating to me. I don’t know if it’s related to humans’ inherent xenophobia or fear of change or the unknown or what but it’s crazy the things that people see as unshakable truth and the hills that they will die on. People from all over the world react like this to such tiny things.

Manners are another thing people get weird about. Manners are generally arbitrary and have no true objective reason a lot of the time but they’re important because they keep us being civil to each other even in our worst days. Manners are also something that isn’t generally universal and people get so offended when other countries’ manners are different from theirs.

Like in much of the US smiling at strangers you make eye contact with is polite because it indicates you don’t have any ill will towards them. Just accidental eye contact bro have a nice day neighbor.

Other countries get so creeped out about this and swear that Americans are so fake. No way they’re that happy all the time. And no, we’re not. It’s just how our manners work.

Conversely, Americans will go to another country like France or whatever and be like oh nobody smiled at me nobody gave me directions nobody wanted to be friends with me and it’s like yeah French people don’t make friends very fast and they have their own standards of greeting and social customs you weren’t following.

Neither the American or the French approach to politeness is objectively better or worse. They just have different arbitrary rules they’re following to keep everyone civil.

It’s just so fascinating to me that people can’t process these ideas. No, they think. The way I do things must be the correct way. It must be. When like, no. There’s literally billions of people out there not doing things the way your culture does them who are doing like. Mostly fine. It’s all made up anyways. The world isn’t going to end because someone smiled at you or ate their peanuts weird.

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You Protect The Marvel Comics Characters By Punching Someone Who Speaks Badly About Them

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has been insulted more times than he can count. He’s been called a menace, a failure, a joke. He’s used to it, laughs it off even when it cuts deep. But when he hears the sharp crack of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw—when he realizes that you did that for him—his world tilts on its axis.

- “Oh no. Oh no no no.” His first instinct is to grab you, to get you out of there before this turns into something worse. You just punched someone for him. He’s supposed to be the one protecting you, not the other way around. His heart is hammering—part fear, part something softer, warmer.

- He rushes to your side, hands hovering, unsure if he should scold you or kiss you right there in the street. The person you hit is groaning, cradling their face, and Peter is torn between feeling bad for them and wanting to tell them they deserved it. (Because they did. They did.)

- “Okay, that was… something,” he says, eyes darting between you and the stunned crowd. “Not that I don’t appreciate the backup, but—y’know, punching people usually gets me into trouble.” His voice is light, joking, but there’s something else in his gaze—awe, affection, something deeper than words.

- Later, when he’s patching up your knuckles with the gentlest hands, he murmurs, “No one’s ever fought for me like that.” And when he finally meets your gaze, soft and unguarded, you see it—the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most incredible thing in the universe.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark has heard it all. The insults, the backhanded compliments, the jealous jabs from people who will never be him. Normally, he drowns it out with charm and a drink in hand. But then—then—your fist connects with someone’s face, and the world stops.

- For a moment, he just stares. Blinking. Processing. Did you really just punch someone for him? Then, slowly—a slow-spreading, wicked smirk. Because holy hell, that was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

- “Well, well, well.” He steps forward, slipping an arm around your shoulders like you’re some kind of victorious gladiator. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He’s eating this up, reveling in it, in the way you didn’t hesitate, in the way you stood up for him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

- The guy on the ground groans, and Tony glances down, unimpressed. “Next time, try using words, buddy. Or, y’know, just accept that I’m better than you.” Then he turns back to you, tilting his head. “Not that I’m complaining, but—what was that? You got a thing for defending handsome billionaires, or am I just lucky?”

- Later, when the adrenaline fades, he brushes a knuckle over your bruised hand, voice quieter. “No one ever does that for me.” And it’s not teasing anymore, not deflection—just something real. Something raw. And for once, Tony Stark is at a loss for words.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers has always fought his own battles. From the alleys of Brooklyn to the battlefields of war, he’s used to standing his ground—used to taking the hits for the people he loves. But this? This is something else entirely.

- One second, he’s turning the other cheek, trying to walk away from the insult. The next, there’s the sharp, unmistakable sound of impact—your fist driving straight into the jaw of the person who dared speak ill of him.

- “Hey—!” His hands are on you immediately, pulling you back before things escalate, before this turns into something worse. But his heart—his heart is a drumbeat against his ribs, because you fought for him. He should tell you it was reckless, that you didn’t have to, but all he can do is stare at you, his throat tight with something he can’t name.

- “That wasn’t necessary,” he says, but there’s no scolding in his voice, only something soft, something incredibly fond. Because no one ever fights for him. Not like that. Not without hesitation.

- Later, when you’re sitting together, nursing your sore hand, he finally murmurs, “Thank you.” And when he looks at you, there’s a warmth in his blue eyes that says more than words ever could—a depth of feeling that leaves you breathless.

Thor aka. God of Thunder

- Thor is used to insults. They roll off his back like rain on a battlefield, drowned out by the thunder in his veins. But when he hears the crack of your fist colliding with flesh— when he realizes you have struck someone in his name— he does not laugh. He is in awe.

- “By the gods!” His voice is both a boom of delight and a whisper of reverence. He steps toward you, eyes shining with something almost worshipful. You are fire, you are fury, you are glorious.

- And then he throws his head back and laughs, loud and full of joy. “A mighty warrior indeed! You honor me, my lady.” He clasps your hand, ignoring the bruises blooming on your knuckles, lifting it as though you have just won a great battle.

- The fool who insulted him scrambles away, but Thor does not spare them a glance. No, his attention is entirely on you. On this magnificent, fearless mortal who would strike in his name. And suddenly, the air around you feels different. Charged. Alive.

- Later, when the revelry has died down, he turns to you, voice softer. “You are… remarkable.” And when he looks at you, it is with the kind of devotion that only gods can give.

Loki aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is no stranger to cruelty. Words have been his weapons, his shields, his burdens. But when someone speaks ill of him— when they dare to drag his name through the dirt—he expects only one thing: to be alone in the aftermath.

- And then you hit them. Hard.

- He blinks. Once. Twice. Shock flickers across his face, unreadable and raw. He watches as you stand, fists clenched, gaze burning with something primal, something protective. And for the first time in centuries, Loki does not know what to say.

- “You—” His voice is different. Lower. There is no mockery, no amusement, only a sharp, jagged edge of something he does not let himself feel. You have fought for him. Him. And the realization shakes him.

- Later, when you’re alone, he traces the bruises on your knuckles with something dangerously close to reverence. “You are a fool,” he whispers, but his fingers linger, his breath unsteady. “A reckless, maddening fool.” And then, softer—so quiet you almost don’t hear it—“And I think I am doomed to love you for it.”

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton is used to being underestimated. People see the bow, the lack of powers, and assume he’s less. They talk about him like he’s a joke, like he doesn’t belong among gods and super-soldiers. He lets it roll off his back—until you don’t.

- The sound of your fist cracking against a jaw cuts through the noise of the bar, and suddenly, the air is electric. You did that for him. Not because he asked, not because you had to—but because someone insulted him, and that was unacceptable to you.

- “Whoa—hey, hey, hold up!” Clint is beside you in an instant, half-laughing, half-terrified. His hands hover near yours, concern flickering in his sharp blue eyes. You’re pissed. It’s kind of the best thing he’s ever seen.

- The guy on the floor is groaning, but Clint isn’t paying attention to them anymore. No, his focus is on you—on your clenched fists, the fire still burning in your gaze. You’re beautiful like this, fierce and unwavering, and he’s absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

- Later, when he’s wrapping your bruised knuckles in an old bandana, he grins, soft and lopsided. “You know, I usually do the whole reckless, getting-into-fights thing. But I gotta say—kinda nice having someone in my corner for once.” And the way he looks at you then? Like you hung the goddamn stars.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff has been called a monster, a traitor, a woman who can never be trusted. She’s lived a life of whispers behind her back, of sideways glances and careful distance. She’s learned to endure it. But she never expected you to lash out in her defense.

- The impact of your punch is sharp, decisive— a clean, perfect strike that she would have been proud of. And yet, it startles her. Not because you hit them, but because you lost control for her.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice is smooth, but there’s something unreadable in her expression—something unfamiliar. She’s used to people fighting beside her, but no one has ever fought for her. Not like this.

- She grips your wrist before you can throw another punch, thumb grazing the pulse point there. “Look at me,” she murmurs. And when you do, she sees it—the fire in you, the defiance, the unwavering loyalty. And it does something to her, something she can’t quite name.

- Later, in the quiet of a dimly lit room, she traces the bruise on your knuckles with the barest touch. “You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, lips curving slightly. And for the first time in a long time, she thinks—maybe she wants to be protected, too.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes knows what people say about him. A killer. A weapon. A man who should have died decades ago. He doesn’t argue. He knows what he’s done. He doesn’t expect anyone to defend him.

- But then—you do. And not with words. With fists.

- The moment your knuckles connect with skin, he’s there. He’s fast, instinctive, grabbing you by the wrist before you can swing again. His heart is pounding. Not out of fear—but something deeper, something he can’t afford to name.

- “Why did you do that?” His voice is rough, almost accusing. But you don’t waver. You stand your ground, breathing heavy, eyes blazing with defiance. It hits him then—no one has ever done this for him. Not Steve, not anyone.

- Later, he sits beside you in the quiet, his metal fingers ghosting over your bruised knuckles. “You don’t have to fight for me,” he murmurs, voice almost broken. And when you reply—“Then who will?”—he feels something shift in his chest, something old and aching and terrifyingly new.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock hears the insult before it’s even fully formed—the venom in the voice, the disdain dripping from every syllable. He’s heard it before, about his blindness, about his law career, about the devil that lurks beneath the surface. He expects to ignore it.

- What he doesn’t expect is the sharp, sudden sound of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw.

- His head tilts slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He felt you coil before the strike, heard your heartbeat spike. You didn’t hesitate. And God help him, that does something to him.

- “That wasn’t very lawyerly of you.” He steps close, voice low and teasing, but there’s something else there too—something reverent. His fingers brush against yours, light as a whisper, like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance.

- Later, in the sanctity of his apartment, he takes your injured hand in his own, running careful fingertips over bruised skin. “I don’t need saving,” he murmurs, though the way his breath hitches when you squeeze his hand says otherwise. And when you reply—“Too bad. You’ve got me anyway.”—his world tilts, just a little.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle is a ghost, a monster, a cautionary tale. He’s used to people spitting his name like it’s a curse. He doesn’t care. He’s beyond caring.

- But then you punch someone in the face for speaking ill of him—and everything stops.

- The guy drops like a stone, groaning, and Frank… laughs. It’s not a soft sound. It’s dark, rough, something almost dangerous. He steps forward, crowding into your space, looking down at you like you’re something holy and terrible and his.

- “You got a mean right hook, sweetheart.” His voice is low, amused, but there’s something else there—something molten, something raw. He doesn’t say it, but he’s never had someone do this for him. Never had someone choose him so recklessly, so violently.

- Later, when you’re both alone, he leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes dark. “You don’t fight my battles.” His voice is a growl, but there’s no real anger behind it. And when you meet his gaze, unyielding, he exhales sharply. Because if anyone in this world deserved someone like you fighting for them—he knows it sure as hell ain’t him. But he wants it anyway.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector is used to being called insane. A broken mind, a fractured man, a violent, unhinged vigilante. The whispers follow him everywhere, behind his back and to his face. He doesn’t defend himself—because what would be the point?

- But then, you do. And not just with words. With your fists. The impact is sharp, the sound of bone on bone cutting through the murmur of the street like a gunshot. The moment is frozen. And Marc? He stares.

- He should pull you away, should tell you not to waste your breath, should laugh it off like it doesn’t matter. But he can’t. Because no one has ever done this for him. Not for Marc Spector. Not for the man beneath the mask.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is low, but there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it. His gloved fingers graze your bruised knuckles, and the moonlight catches in his dark eyes—like he’s seeing something holy.

- Later, he watches you from across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. You stood up for him. You fought for him. And now, all he can think about is how much he wants to fight for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm is used to the attention. The praise, the criticism, the headlines that reduce him to nothing more than a pretty face and a flame. He shrugs it off. Pretends it doesn’t sting.

- But then, he hears your voice—furious, unwavering, like a flame catching oxygen. And before he can turn, you swing. The guy stumbles back, clutching their jaw, and the entire room erupts.

- “Oh. My. God.” Johnny is somehow both horrified and absolutely delighted. He stares at you like you just set the whole world on fire. Because you did. And you did it for him.

- “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he grins, stepping closer. There’s something in his voice—something deep, awed, almost breathless. Because no one has ever burned quite like you.

- Later, when the adrenaline wears off, he’s grinning like an idiot, watching you ice your knuckles. And when you catch him staring, he just shrugs. “What? It’s kinda hot when you punch people for me.”

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has heard every insult in the book. Detached. Cold. Unfeeling. They don’t understand how his mind works, how his thoughts stretch beyond the present moment, beyond normal comprehension. He’s used to it.

- But you? You aren’t. The second someone spits out something vile, dismissive, cruel, your fist is already flying before Reed can even process what’s happening.

- “Oh.” That’s all he says at first, blinking as if recalibrating. He hadn’t expected—this. You. Your anger, your unwavering defense, the fire in your eyes. It’s an equation he hadn’t considered. And now, he can’t stop solving for it.

- “Violence isn’t necessary,” he murmurs, but he’s already taking your hand, stretching his fingers around your bruised knuckles, memorizing the shape of your loyalty.

- Later, he watches you—studying, calculating, analyzing. But for once, the question isn’t why. It’s how he ever lived without you.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t need protecting. She’s spent her life clawing her way out of trouble, slipping through shadows, dodging every snare. She laughs in the face of danger, purrs at the edge of chaos.

- But then—you hit someone. For her. And everything stops.

- She should be amused. Should smirk and tease and call you reckless. But instead—she just stares. Because no one, not once in her life, has ever thrown a punch for her. Not like this.

- “Darling, you really are full of surprises.” She steps close, a slow, predatory movement, her fingers tilting your chin up. There’s something wicked in her smirk—but her eyes? Her eyes are soft.

- Later, she finds herself watching you more than she should. Running a gloved hand over your bruised knuckles, feeling something dangerously close to devotion. And for the first time, Felicia Hardy wonders what it would be like to be caught.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange is used to arrogance. His own, and the world’s. He’s used to people whispering behind his back, questioning, doubting, scoffing. He doesn’t care. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

- But when someone speaks ill of him in front of you? You react before he does. The crack of your fist against their jaw is startlingly satisfying. And suddenly, the entire universe shifts.

- “You—” He stops himself. Adjusts his cloak. Exhales sharply. He should be chastising you, telling you to hold your temper, to rise above it. But instead, he’s looking at you like you just rewrote the laws of reality.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is careful, but his fingers are gentle when they brush against your bruised knuckles. He’s spent a lifetime mastering control—so why does it slip when you’re around?

- Later, he finds himself summoning bandages with magic, hands lingering longer than necessary. And when you smirk, teasing—“Was that a thank you, Doctor?”—he only hums, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. Because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind needing you.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is used to disrespect. The surface world dares to look down on him, on Atlantis, on the very ocean that sustains their miserable existence. He tolerates it only because he must. But when someone speaks ill of him in your presence, they are met with something he does not expect—your fist.

- The blow lands sharply, flesh against bone, a declaration of war in its own right. Namor watches, silver eyes narrowing, his body rigid with something unnameable. It is not anger. No, anger is familiar. This? This is something else.

- “You strike for me?” His voice is velvet over steel, laced with the kind of dangerous curiosity that comes before a storm. His people have fought wars in his name. But this? This is different. This is you.

- He moves toward you, slow, deliberate, fingers tilting your chin up. There is no hesitation when he speaks next. “You are worthy of a crown.” And the way he says it—it is not a compliment. It is a fact.

- Later, the sea sings your name. And though he will not say it outright, he watches you differently now—like a king who has found the one thing worth more than his throne.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has been called many things. Freak. Monster. Hellspawn. He doesn’t care—not anymore. He’s spent too long carrying his curse, dragging his soul behind him like a dying star.

- But then you hit someone. For him. Your knuckles split skin, the sound echoing in the dim light of the bar, and for the first time in a long time, Johnny forgets how to breathe.

- “Shit.” The word is barely a breath. You turn to him, fist still clenched, shoulders tight with fury, and Johnny? Johnny just stares. Because no one, not in his entire damn life, has ever thrown a punch in his name.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, but there’s something dangerous behind his voice—something that flickers like an ember waiting to catch. He should stop this, should tell you he’s not worth it. But instead, his fingers brush over your bruised knuckles like a prayer.

- Later, he watches you from his bike, the engine growling beneath him, his heart doing the same. And when he finally speaks, voice rough, almost shy, it’s only to say: “Next time, lemme do the hitting.”

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock has heard it all before. Loser. Washed-up. Parasite. He grits his teeth and lets it slide, because what else is new? Venom, on the other hand, is far less patient.

- But before either of them can react—you do. Your fist cracks against the jaw of the one who dared to insult him, and suddenly, everything goes still.

- “Did you just—?” Eddie’s eyes go wide. Venom, however, purrs with delight.

- “They are ours,” the symbiote rumbles, voice sliding through Eddie’s skull like liquid night. “They fight for us.” Eddie wants to argue, to tell Venom to shut up, but he can’t, because he’s too busy watching you, heart pounding, something terrifying and warm curling in his chest.

- Later, he doesn’t bring it up—but Venom does. “We like them,” the voice whispers, thick with amusement. Eddie doesn’t respond. He just glances at you, hands tightening into fists, and thinks: Yeah. We do.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa has faced enemies greater than words. He has fought battles with his hands, his mind, his heart. He does not concern himself with petty insults.

- But you do. The second you hear someone speak his name with disrespect, your body moves before your mind does. The punch lands with precision, trained and true—a warrior’s strike.

- He should chastise you. Should remind you that his reputation needs no defense. But when he looks at you—fire in your eyes, your breath sharp, your hands still clenched—he feels something stir beneath his ribs.

- “Impressive,” he murmurs, stepping closer. He does not touch you, not yet, but the space between you hums with electricity. He sees you differently now—not just as an ally. As something more.

- Later, as he watches you spar in the Wakandan training grounds, his mind drifts back to that moment. You fought for him. And T’Challa? T’Challa is not used to losing battles—but he is certain he is about to lose this one.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is used to being hated. She does not care. She exists between life and death, between shadow and steel. She does not need protection.

- But then, you hit someone. For her. And Elektra? She does not know what to do with that.

- She watches as the body crumples to the floor, watches as you shake out your fist, anger still radiating from every inch of you. Something slow and dark unfurls in her chest.

- “Foolish,” she murmurs, stepping forward. But her voice is soft. Her fingers graze your wrist, her eyes searching yours for something she refuses to name. “But… admirable.”

- Later, she finds herself lingering near you more than usual, watching, waiting. You fought for her. And Elektra Natchios has spent her entire life surviving—but now, she wonders what it would be like to be worth saving.

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Don't hold my hand, jackass. I would not exist if my parents hadn't fled their home country either. Not grandparents, just parents.

But that was a completely different scenario than this. They were fleeing war. I'm not gonna compare what my parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents went through to this. It's not the same. Maybe with your grandparents, it was more similar, if I had to guess, with it being Poland and all.

Sorry, what I'm saying is I don't need hand holding, I exist in a country that doesn't want me here because of the color of my skin. I face this reality every time I step outside.

Moving on. Mutual aid is useful all the time. There's no better time like the present. And I never said anything about building a future. I said a better end. I know things will still be bad, but simply doing nothing is worse.

The places where you'll be treated as full human beings are already within your grasp. No matter where you go in the world, transphobia will be there. Unless you build those places and you can't do that if you always run. Look I grew up in a town infested with racists. One time when I was a teenager I got jumped by boneheads while walking home after a punk show. They kicked my head into a car door. I still have a bald spot from it. You know what my reaction was as soon as I healed? Getting my friends together and beating the fuck out of them every time we saw them, til we stopped seeing them. We didn't always win the fights, but we always stood our ground. I found a place where I was safe from racist violence by making it. Did I defeat racism? No. But did I find a place where it wasn't tolerated and I was treated as a full human being? Yeah, I would say so.

The way I show support is by mailing half of my next batch of homebrew to my friends in Texas. Only half cus I'm in the midwest, and shit is bad for us here too. The way I show support is by putting my Texas friends in contact with all the networks I've built over my last 20 years in anarchyland. Finding you a place to stay wouldn't be possible without building networks. Unless you had money to just buy stuff, which I do not. Mutual aid is double sided, it's I help you and in turn you also help. That's what makes it mutual. Teaching people to fight back, let's them teach others.

You don't have to be a martyr for revolution because I'm not talking revolution. The revolution isn't coming, we are all we have.

But I respect autonomy. If ya wanna run, you do you. But imma prioritize helping those that choose to stay & fight.

[wcnderlnds]

don't look back [part two] | kwon ji-yong (g dragon)

・❥・ summary: after walking out on jiyong, you were heartbroken hiding away in your house until you get an unexpected visitor on your doorstep. ・❥・word count: 1.6k ・❥・warnings: nothing, really! angst and fluff ・❥・ authors note: this is part two to a collab with my best friend and the ultimate g dragon lover @ldydeath <3 PART ONE HERE

Weeks had passed since the last conversation with Jiyong. The second you had given him his ring back, you’d walked away and never turned back. The way he’d treated you, the way he’d talked to you — it wasn’t okay. Maybe leaving had been an overreaction but he had hurt you. Tour was stressful and Jiyong always put so much pressure on himself but all you had wanted was to be there for him. Instead, it had turned into the worst trip of your life. What had meant to be a happy few weeks with the love of your life had turned into you losing him.  There were no words to describe the ache in your heart. It was like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it into little pieces. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece it back together. Only one person could but you hadn’t heard a word from him since that day.

Your friends had told you he was miserable — working himself to the bone so that he didn’t have to think about what he’d lost. The second he stopped was the second he realised his life was worthless without you in it. What could he do, though? He has been awful to you when all you had done was care about him. He didn’t mean it; you had caught him on a really bad day and he’d let his emotions get the better of him. He’d never forgive himself for how he’d treated you.

As the days passed it only became more and more evident to you how badly you needed him. He was a part of you, a part of everything you held so dear and close. It felt like something was missing, emptiness consuming your every thought. The idea of flying to wherever he was and trying to talk to him had floated around in your head but you couldn’t. What if he didn’t want to see you? It could end up like last time and make everything so much worse. Actually, maybe you had done that by giving him the ring back. Now all you could do was sit and get lost in your own pit of self loathing and misery. Time heals all wounds — that’s what everyone said but you weren’t sure it would heal this one.

Cocooning yourself in your blankets on the couch surrounded by all your favourite snacks had become your routine. Thank the stars that work had decided you could keep working from home. There was no way you were in any fit state to go into the office and be face to face with anyone. In fact, when you had come home, you’d taken those first few days off which was unusual for you. There was nothing that usually stopped you but apparently a broken heart could tear even the strongest people down.

There was a knock on the door which caused your head to snap up instantly. Who could that even be? As far as you knew you weren’t expecting anything and most people knew not to bother you right now. The first thought was to ignore it so you kept your eyes glued to the television screen until the knock sounded again. Okay, whoever it was they were being persistent. Very reluctantly, you got to your feet, holding your hoodie – well, it was actually Jiyong’s that you’d stolen weeks ago to sleep in while he was gone – tight to you, the sleeves coming past your hands.

Opening the door, your eyes almost comically widened at the person stood in front of you.

Jiyong.

There he stood, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, shyly glancing at you. All it took was one look at him to know that he was nervous, more so than usual. He was the last person you had expected to show up on the doorstep. Sure, it was your shared place – you both lived there and he could’ve easily let himself in but he still had tour dates left overseas. He shouldn’t be here. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took in his appearance. The dark bags under his eyes showed that he wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t taking care of himself and that hurt more than anything else. All you ever wanted was the best for him despite everything that happened.

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t help the quiet question falling from your lips. 

“...I needed to see you,” he took a step forward, his shaky hands holding out the flowers for you. “I know it’s stupid and flowers aren’t going to make up for everything I said but…”

Gently, you took them from his hand, your fingers lightly brushing against his; that spark that always ignited whenever you touched him shooting through your body. “They’re beautiful.”

Silence fell between you, the air thick with tension. There was so much to say, so many things that had been left unspoken. Your eyes found the ring that he still had on his pinky finger. At least he hadn’t taken it off or got rid of it. 

“I’m so-”

“You can come in. It’s your place, too.”

You didn’t mean to cut him off but you couldn’t hear the words ‘I’m sorry’. Anyone could say them but it didn’t make them true. Actions and words spoke louder than a simple phrase. Turning your back, you headed towards the kitchen to place the flowers down. Once they were on the counter, you were about to grab a vase to place them in but Jiyong’s fingers wrapped around your arm softly, turning you to face him. Your breath caught in your throat as you almost pressed against his chest. It had been so long since you’d been this close to him. Every nerve ending was on fire, it was hard to not reach out and caress him especially with that sad frown plastered on his face.

“Nothing will ever make up for what I said to you and I’m so, so sorry that I acted the way I did. That isn’t me – you know it isn’t. If there's one thing in this world that I know, it’s that I love you. I want a life with you. Everything I have is meaningless without you by my side and I messed that up. I hurt your feelings, I said things that I didn’t mean. I was just… in a bad place. I should’ve talked to you instead of pushing you away but I did the worst thing imaginable. I’ll spend forever making it up to you if I have to,” his words were rushed, quiet. The emotion weighed heavy in them, you could see how much he meant them, how much pain he was in just by the look in his eyes.

“You basically said what I was giving you wasn’t good enough, Jiyong. I was giving you everything and so much more and if that’s not good enough, I don’t know what is. I love you so much but is that enough for you?” Tears had started to fall without you even realising. It only made it worse when Jiyong stepped closer, the pad of his thumb brushing away the tears from your cheeks. “I want to be with you but I need to know that it’s enough. That I’m enough.”

“You are enough. You are more than enough. I’m just an idiot. I was caught up in my own head and letting the bad thoughts win. How you make me feel, what you give to me? It’s always been enough. Please trust me when I say that. I want to be with you. I want a life with you. I want to marry you, give you everything you deserve.”

Knowing Jiyong for as long as you had, you could tell when he was lying and right now? He was more than telling the truth. He was bearing his heart and soul, putting all his feelings out there. Being vulnerable was hard for anyone but especially for Jiyong so to see him standing there trying, it made it a little better. Just a little. There was still a long way to go yet.

“I wish you’d just talk to me when you get those thoughts. Stop hiding in yourself. I’m here for you. I don’t care if we’re in different countries or timezones, you can always call me. I need you to keep being open with me like this. If things are going to work with us again then we need an open line of communication and honesty.”

“I will, I swear from now on, I will. What happened will never happen again. I promise to you, baby. If I ever treat you that way again, I’ll get Youngbae to beat me up.”

That caused you to giggle a little. The tension slowly easing from the room, a feeling of ease once again settling between you. “He is the third best fighter after all.”

Jiyong smiled, a real smile, one of his hands slowly sliding down to rest on your hip. “Does this mean I have another chance?”

“Yeah, I love you Kwon Jiyong but mess up again and that’s it.”

He didn’t say another word but instead he dropped down to one knee, taking the ring off his pinky finger as he held your hand. The stupidest grin was plastered on his tired face as he looked up at you. “Will you marry this stupid idiot?”

“Yes, now get up, you idiot,” you laughed, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his for the first time in weeks. His arms winded around you, pulling you flush against him. A sigh of content passed his lips, his eyes closing as he let himself get lost in you. This was where he was always meant to be. With you and he’d make sure to never, ever mess that up again.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama

[daylighted]

( AFTERCARE ) . . .ㅤㅤFIVE !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ─ ㅤㅤㅤㅤTHE new rock band in town has some nerve, causing mayhem in the venue next to your studio every night. but how do you stay MAD at the lead singer when he looks at you like that ?

PART FIVE. can't we keep it in the dark ?ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes fictional bandmates. fictional locations. yearning if u squint. bandmate lore & hints also if u squint. maybe improper ballet terminology.

ㅤㅤㅤ─ word count: 3.2k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprev partㅤㅤㅤ.ㅤㅤㅤmasterlistㅤㅤㅤ.ㅤㅤㅤnext partㅤㅤㅤ.

ㅤNIGHT rolls across the texas sky and drapes the academy in sunset-gold. you hadn’t bothered to leave, not when it would come down to you turning around and coming right back. 

every year, laurel academy hosts at least one big event for the upper class and their flaunts of wealth. the best ones, you thought, were the ones that gave back to the community, though more often than not they were just excuses to get dressed up and pool their money back into themselves. 

a charity event, this time. christmas was coming quickly, and it always looked good on the high dollars of dallas to make efforts to provide less fortunate children with gifts and clothing. god forbid they put that same energy in all year to those struggling, but you weren’t in charge of anything regarding that. 

that was why you had to be there at all. dean geralds wanted their principal dancer there to draw in sponsors for the impending winter ballet. who better to do it than aurora herself?

it was the last place you wanted to be. you already spent all of your free time there, and all of your busy time, too. being forced to socialize and butter up people that were already aware that they had the upperhand was not your favorite thing to do.

at least lindsey would be there with you. she was a laurel alum, and since destiny was an official affiliated studio, it made her just as welcome to attend as you were. 

you didn’t get a chance to look at the table arrangements until it had already started. your very strict, very serious schedule didn’t suddenly grant you reprieve just because an event ran into it. 

orchestral music played over the speakers in the corners of the large space, creating a peaceful atmosphere and ambiance in the rest of the chaos. people in suits and long dresses talked and glided amongst each other, glasses of red in their fingertips. golden lights hung low from the ceiling, spaced between the intricate designs on the paneling.

it was like being transported back a century, except for the music coming from someone’s aux cord, and the chatter centered around modern issues arising in the lovely city of dallas. everyone abided by the black tie dress code, their voices low and hushed — except for them.

seeing them there, on a worse day, could have pushed you over the edge you constantly teetered on. powerless did not fit in here; not with their inked skin, their piercings, and the booming voices that drew the attention of everyone else in the grand space every time they spoke.

this was your space. it was bad enough that jensen infiltrated it earlier, forcing you to now have to share your stage with him. all of this was overstepping to a degree that you couldn’t properly explain. the band wasn’t doing anything, and somehow, that made it worse. they’d already staked a claim on the one thing you had away from them, and didn’t care about your protests.

“isn’t that jensen from next door?” lindsey asks, her presence next to you so suddenly making you nearly jump out of your heels. she laughs, her fingers closing around your shoulder to steady you on your feet. “relax. just me.”

you were already staring in the direction that she was meaning, but your eyes narrow in at the sight of him. “yeah. and his band.” jensen was in a white button-up with no blazer, reggie was in a black button-up, steven had a black button-up with the sleeves cut off, and noa… looked beautiful, unfortunately. you turn with a raised eyebrow, tilting your head to the side to look up at her properly. “how do you know his name?”

lindsey shrugs. “i like to learn the names of the people infiltrating my space.”

when you glance back over at jensen and his group, you startle again. his eyes are on you. he makes no effort, either, to hide how his gaze travels up and down your body. his hands fold in front of him, fingers clasped together to fidget with the rings he wore.

of course you track the movement. and, of course, his smirk widens when he catches it. 

“they look like fish out of water here, don’t they?” lindsey asks you, her voice a low hum. 

you knew they did. you’d gotten to see firsthand how inexperienced one of them was when it came to intermingling with the ballet world. somehow, though, jensen still got what he wanted in the end.

you turn away from him just as you see jensen beginning to approach the both of you, forfeiting from whatever game that he’d intentionally sucked you into. 

“i’m gonna go find my seat,” you tell her, giving her a small smile when she finally drags her own attention away from the band and to you, “any idea of where i’m supposed to go?”

the entirety of the floor was scattered with cream clothed circular tables, most attended to and some empty. name cards were propped in front of each unattended seat. it was going to be nothing short of finding a needle in a haystack, looking for where you’d been placed.

lindsey’s smile tightens, but never fully leaves her face. you didn’t know why, exactly, she was being like this: outside of laurel’s walls and down at the studio, she loved you. the cruel competitive world of dance was simply ruthless, it seemed. “laurel should have put on swan lake instead of sleeping beauty. you’d have been a great black swan.” 

it was so unexpected of an answer that you huff out a laugh. “what?” 

the look in her eyes is gone in a split second. “no, actually. still as white of a swan as ever.” she nods toward the other side of the ballroom, at one of the fully empty tables. “over there, i think. i’m stuck on the boring side of the tracks.” 

nothing she says clears up any of your initial confusion, but you follow lindsey’s gesture. you are adamant in your refusal to look at any of jensen’s band, still lingering on one side of the table you were sitting at. thankfully, he hadn’t been walking up to you at all, having disappeared the moment you shut him out.

no part of you wished for him to have come up, anyways. it didn’t. you didn’t like him, didn’t need someone like him around you, and he made it obvious how he viewed you.

it’s comical, in a way, if it were happening to anyone but you. the first placard you pick up is dean geralds’, which makes sense. of course she’d want to keep an eye on the student she had in attendance alongside her. the second one you look at makes your lips drop into a baffled sort of frown. 

steven daniels. the bassist of the band tormenting your life? what kind of luck was this? you hadn’t even really had a choice in coming here, and now this? maybe this wasn’t really your table, and lindsey was mistaken. you seriously hoped so. 

this was just a table of people you hated, and your school’s dean. maybe she assigned herself to watch over the four of them and keep them from ruining the event. that would make sense, wouldn’t it? they certainly needed it. 

the card you pick up next is scrawled in the same font as the rest, but somehow it is infinitely worse to read. your name stares right back at you. 

the next placard you could read easily, because the name was seared into your brain like a brand, no matter how many other thoughts you tried to pile atop it to bury it. 

jensen ackles.

the last thing you wanted was to be sat right next to the man who made you come backstage of some abandoned venue, and some druggie you’d never even met yet.

the band isn’t paying attention to you. they’re, as always, wrapped up in their own world, not paying any mind to the people surrounding them. so it’s easy to reach your hand over to the seat on jensen’s left and snatch up the card, seeing who it is and if it’d be fine to swap yourself with them.

noa trevor.

that’s wonderful. you hadn’t even properly met her or steven yet — thankfully — and now you had to spend an evening sat at a table with her, and jensen, and her maybe-boyfriend, you didn’t know and didn’t care to, and—

yeah, reggie was on her left. you could see it from where you stood. this was you, and the dean, and a rock band that didn’t belong here. you set noa’s card down with an aggravated huff, your head swiveling farther to the left again to stare at them. 

powerless. what a dumb name. they weren’t powerless at all. they had plenty of control over you, even with how much you hated it. 

“well, well, aren’t you so lucky?” 

jensen’s voice is like ice water on your warm skin. you tense instantly, your fingers curling into the tablecloth beneath your hands. you refuse to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze when you say, “why? because i’m stuck between tweedledee and tweedledum?” 

his laugh is a huff of a thing, rocking the chair he was propped up against back and forth on its hind legs. “well, that is damn good luck, yeah,” jensen says, patting his palm on the metal backing, “but i’m talkin’ about the dean posted up across from you.” 

every word out of his mouth has always felt like a personal attack or grievance. you must physically react to his words, because when you meet his eyes, his head is tipped back in a cackle. 

“why the hell would i care that i’m stuck at a table with you and your little posse and my school’s headmaster?” 

jensen leans in close enough for you to smell the alcohol on his breath, intermingling with the smoke smell he always seemed to sport. “that woman’s the only thing that’s gonna keep me from puttin’ my hand up your dress.”

your face flushes without your consent. instinctively, you make a move to rear him in the ribs with your elbow, but he takes the hit in stride. “that’s not funny.”

“no, it’s not.” jensen tugs his seat back, dropping into it with his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “i was lookin’ forward to findin’ out what kind of panties you have on for me tonight.”

for him. you never did anything for jensen ackles. the fact that you made the conscious decision to wear your prettiest pair with the intent of swinging by destiny dance after this event had nothing to do with this. or anything, for that matter. 

you didn’t care about him. he was a thorn in your side, lodged deep enough between your ribs that all of your efforts to pry it out only pushed it in deeper.

“c’mon, sit down.” his palm claps the metallic back of your chair next to him. “you’re makin’ me anxious, hoverin’ like this.”

you do not sit because he told you to. you sit because steven starts on his path in your direction, and you especially don’t want to talk to him. jensen may have been your personal thorn, but the rest of the band were like livewires in your mind — sparking at and stinging the fingers of everyone they touched. 

“our little tutu totin’ ballerina in her prime.” steven clasps his hands together on top of the table, the ink trailing up and down his arms capturing your attention first so you didn’t need to meet his eyes. “very nice seeing you, aurora.” 

the denial is on the tip of your tongue. that’s not your name, and these people were not allowed to wield what you did and what roles you took on like insults against you. 

instead, jensen interrupts before you can fend for yourself. “stand down, stevie boy.” jensen’s fingers curl around the front leg of your seat, tugging you towards him. “this one’s spoken for.”

your jaw drops in a soundless scoff. “i’m not—”

steven grabs the leg of your chair on his side, jerking you back towards him. “i’m spoken for too. what’s that gotta do with anything?” he holds his free hand out over the tabletop, an overly sweet grin on his mouth. “hi, aurora. my name is steven.” 

“stand down, steven.” jensen’s yank is harsher this time, making your otherwise steady balance wobble with the force of it. your hand finds his bicep for stability, and all you can do is pretend the dryness in your mouth is from irritation and not anything else. “we’re on our best behavior tonight. i already fought tooth and nail to get us here.”

“yeah, you’re welcome, by the way.” you let go of his arm with a forceful huff, crossing your arms across your chest. “neighbors. we’re not neighbors.”

“you live at that little dance studio, i live at the venue next door…” jensen tuts, spreading his hands in gesture. “sounds a lot like we’re neighbors.”

your lips curl into a sneer. “i do not live there.”

“i don’t either.” 

you stare at him for a millisecond before you huff, “fine.” 

“fine.” jensen snorts, shaking his head, even though you can see his dimples in your peripheral vision. 

a female voice cuts in before you can get the last word in. “well, aren’t you two just adorable?” somehow, this embarrassment burns worse than the embarassment of being yanked back and forth like a toy between two arguing children. it takes you a second to properly meet her eyes, but noa smiles when you do. “i’m noa.”

you already knew that, but she seems sweet, and despite the discomfort curling in your stomach like a vice, she did provide a reprieve from the literal back-and-forth you’d gotten caught up in. 

“hi.” it’s weak, but there wasn’t much else to say, was there? these people were not your friends. “do you want to trade seats? i know you’re…” you were assuming, from earlier contexts, that steven was her boyfriend, but it wasn’t your place to comment.

noa picks up the trail of your sentence and laughs. “no. you can keep him.”

“trouble in paradise again?” jensen asks her again, and just like that, you’re off the hook. you breathe a sigh of relief, even though you’re still locked in the middle of their business with no escape. 

reggie sits beside noa, sipping a flute of champagne with a little cocktail straw. he’s entirely zoned out, eyes red enough to prove that no, he was not going to switch seats with you, either. he probably didn’t even know what planet he was on right now. 

“that’s bullshit, noa, and you know it.” steven’s voice is too harsh in the soft spoken ballroom, not that the quarreling couple or jensen, nagging it on, seemed to care. “i was high. it doesn’t count.”

jensen leans back in his chair with a low whistle. “did you come? that’s how i’d count it, personally.”

you’re eavesdropping, but there’s nothing else you can do. looking up means facing all of the important people in dallas and the important people to your dance career and letting them know that yes, laurel’s principle dancer is with these guys. 

steven scoffs. “it was goddamn jasmine.” even you recognize that name, and all of your familiarity in the rock genre boiled down to metallica and kiss. jasmine piqued your interest because women rockstars were like diamonds. “of course i came.”

jensen’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, gnawing at the chapped skin on them. “tried to give you an out, stevie,” he says, hands raised in defense, “you’re the one diggin’ yourself deeper now.” 

his eyes turn to meet yours, his thick arms crossing over his broad chest. “you’re starin’, lovebug.”

“i’m killing you all with my mind.”

jensen’s eyebrows raise as he laughs this time. “yeah?” he grabs the beer bottle in front of him and tips it up in acknowledgement. “that’s a little harsh, but i can respect the honesty.”

you didn’t drink. you stayed far away from anything that could affect your capabilities and stride. you so, so desperately wished you had something now to get you through this. 

“here.” you blink, and suddenly jensen is right next to you again. close enough that his nose brushes your cheekbone, his palm coming up to cup against the other side of your face. your first instinct is to stumble back away from him, but his touch firms. “you’ve got somethin’…”

he trails off, his thumb brushing something off of your cheekbone. more than likely a fleck of mascara, considering how hastily you’d gotten ready to make it in time. 

it’s so oddly intimate, having him this close. you want to move away but you can’t force yourself to, not when his hand is on your face and you’re close enough that your noses touch. 

somehow, this jensen feels different than any version you’d met so far. the world disappears into a blur of too loud voices at your table and orchestra music in the speakers. it’s just you, caught in the web of his eyes, and him, undressing every layer of clothes from you with nothing but his gaze. inevitably, he’d find the panties you wore that were definitely just for him. 

“you’re beautiful.” they’re the last words you expect jensen to say, and so they ricochet through your veins like lightning. 

you press your lips together to try and stifle the smile, only to completely fail. “you’re crazy.”

“i can be.” jensen’s eyes drop down to the curve of your lips, and you watch as his pupils darken. “i can be worse, though. i can always be worse.”

you’d seen him be worse. felt him as he spread you open and broke through the cracks of your defenses. the part of you that was just as crazy as him almost wondered what it’d be like to be laid out beneath—

“i trust dallas’ best are behaving themselves?” the dean’s voice cracks in your ears like a bursting firework. you straighten so quickly that you miss, entirely, the way jensen doesn’t move an inch. “not giving my best dancer too much trouble, are we?”

“of course not.” steven, with a smile that gives away the truth that, yes, they were plenty of trouble to you.

“should we be?” noa, fluttering her eyelashes at the older woman she was talking to, the same mock innocence in her voice as her boyfriend.

“dallas’ best…” reggie, mumbling to himself, his gaze flicking between the three of his bandmates like he can’t believe that was used to describe them.

jensen is the last to address it, and his eyes never leave your side profile, either. even when the heat of his gaze burns into your skin, you don’t turn to meet them again. “i think she likes a little trouble.” 

he’s right. and that’s exactly why you needed to shut this down.

ㅤㅤA/N everyone clap RN for me updating this after 3 months i'm serious !!!! this taglist is a mess if u want taken off / added pls lmk but i just took the old aftercare taglist & added as many of my pookies as the tumblr autofill told me to when u type every letter on the alphabet. so if i missed u ... blame tumblr not me ok i'm innocent !!!!

tags! @whyyouegg @stereotypicalbarbie @depressionbarbie2023 @cassiecourtemanche @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl2 @goldenmaknaes @arcannaa @fitxgrld @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @beausling @jensenacklesballsack @bluemerakis @soldiersgirl @rositaslabyrinth @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @angelblqde @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @collywobblvs @bitchykittenconnoisseur @bejeweledinterludes @misatxox

[separatist-apologist]

This … Ferye and Lucien have one of the most realistic friendship and relationship in this books especially knowing their foundation. People are always like Ferye is a bad friend to Lucien or Lucien is a bad friend to Ferye but how about they both had moments where they were bad and good to each other, and that’s okay, sometimes friendships are like that but at the base of it you can tell there is no toxicity.

She ate with that friendship and I think she wants to pull it with Nesta and Azriel but I don’t know if it hits as good.

Also don’t quote me but worst friendship being the batboys😭😂 wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole. Also Tamlin and Lucien are pretty close seconds. I don’t think SJM knows how to write male friendships. Power dynamics are always off.

Anon you said the one thing I am always privately ranting about this to @the-lonelybarricade. Lucien saying, "you were always a better friend to me than blah blah blah" is not the author stating it as fact, it is a man riddled with self-loathing and his own failures saying that because he is DROWNING!!! IN!!!! HIS!!!!! GUILT!!!!!!! OVER!!!! THINGS!!!! OUTSIDE!!!! HIS!!!! CONTROL!!!!! what is not CLICKING???? In Acomaf we are LITERALLY in his head via Feyre and she EXPLICITLY tells us all this and then all character analysis flies out the window when it's time to use critical thinking.

He is blaming himself for what happened in Hybern and his inability to stop it!!! For not recognizing what, in retrospect, feels like an obvious trap!! SJM is very much all tell, no show, so I'm not sure why this is always gets pulled out of context to prove Lucien was the better friend.

You're exactly right- they both have intensely shitty moments to one another, coupled with FIERCE loyalty. "Lucien is also Feyre's abuser" SHUT UP. "Feyre was worse than anything Lucien did for making fun of the Boe" SHUT UP. Shes JEALOUS. He's also being ABUSED. Its all he KNOWS, his whole life is dodging and managing being abused.

When Lucien thinks Feyre is being held captive against her will, he TRACKS HER DOWN to try and save her. He BEGS her to come home. And when Lucien realizes Feyre is about to destroy spring, he could have done ANTYHING to stop her. Literally ANYTHING. Tamlin trusts him implicitly- Lucien could have warned him. He literally watches her orchestrate these moments and says nothing.

When he wants to go through Summer vs Autumn for good ass reason, and she explains its too dangerous for her in Summer, he takes her into Autumn despite the inherent risk to himself. Feyre delays her own leaving Spring, when she knows the faebane is about to render her ability to winnow inert, because she realizes Lucien isn't able to free himself from Ianthe and needs her help.

They are complex, their friendship fraught and complicated but they love each other deeply. He didn't leave Spring and Tamlin just for Elain- he left for Feyre, too. He doesn't have to do anything for Rhys's court in order to be near Elain, he chooses to because he also loves Feyre.

[trustme3-13]

I know I'm always in the minority of this one, but being too cold is worse than being too hot. Yes I know it's easy to put more clothes on if you're cold, but when you're a paraplegic like me and can't feel your legs and feet, being cold is so much of a bigger issue. No amount of socks will keep my feet warm enough in freezing/below freezing/ negative temps. When it is cold outside and I'm out in it for any amount of time I am always worried if my feet and legs are warm enough. I've never had hypothermia but when it gets extremely cold out and I'm out in it, I worry. I don't have to worry about anything like that when it's hot out. Also it always makes me chuckle that the people who prefer being cold over being warm tend to be worried about losing power in the winter than in the summer. Winter and cold weather is more brutal than warm weather. Winter weather increases the likelihood of having cracked, dry skin which in and of itself is not fun. I don't have to worry about that in the summer. Cold weather can also bring snow and ice, which can be deadly if you are out in it, in your car, or the possibility of getting snowed in if you live somewhere that gets a lot of snow. Also, sicknesses like the flu and common cold are more prevalent in colder weather. And I know growing up, whenever the weather went into the low negatives at night, my family and I would have to worry about pipes freezing and bursting, and that's something you don't want to deal with during the winter. You don't have to worry about all that when it's warm out and that's why warm weather is better than cold and I will die on this hill.

i gotta know this one

[very-gay-poet]

Scapegoats:

Scapegoats are a person or a group of people that are blamed for anything bad happening in a space (a country, state, town, family, etc).

In between the first and second World War, Germany had a terrible economy, so bad that parents regularly gave their children stacks of money to play with instead of toys. Soon, Jews were to blame for the economic crisis, with the help of Hitlers campaign. He pointed out a demographic for people to blame so they don’t start blaming the government.

I also want to highlight that in 2023 alone, there were almost 10,000 reports of antisemitic incidents in the US, comparing that to just the year before, 2022, with around 3,700 reports from the US, and under 2000 reports in 2008. Over the course of just a year, the oppresion of jewish people had risen at over 100% in just a year. Antisemitism beliefs are rising again, Jewish people are being met with hostility again, and it’ll just keep on getting worse if we do nothing about it. Especially with Elon Musk's little “stim” at Trump's inauguration. I’m no conspiracy theorist but It feels like him doing the Nazi Salute, Trump signing an executive order to make it legal to discriminate against people and canceling all D.E.I programs (also mentioning that the KKK were spotted recruiting people in Kentucky) seems to be a whistle to Neo-Nazis to let them know that they’ll get away with whatever they do, and give them the confidence to be more bold than they already are.

I don’t believe that this is a coincidence, and, I really hope I’m wrong here, I don’t believe that these people (Trump, Elon) are above antisemitism, saying it’s for not promoting christian values or something stupid like that. I’ll be getting into weaponizing religion later, but I feel that this is important to mention, considering that the stats mentioned above were of 2023, God knows what that number was in 2024 and I don’t think we’ll be getting the true number anytime soon. This is all my personal speculation so take this with a bit of salt, but I find it concerning with how we’re all calling the right and Elon Nazis and Trump a Hitler reincarnate (which is justified don't get me wrong), but aren’t mentioning all the antisemitism as a result of the rise this type of bigotry. Jews were the main target of the Nazi party, don’t forget that.

So the next time you hear that the reason why people can’t get a house is because immigrants are taking them, the Chinese made COVID 19, minorities are taking jobs away because they tick a diversity box, remember who's truly to blame. The Chinese didn’t kill all the people who died during COVID, your government did, because they didn’t take COVID seriously as they should’ve, saw the consequences, and don’t want the responsibility that comes with it. They base it on preexisting stigma to magnify it, many Asian people in America were treated with more hostility than ever during COVID, because the American Government needed someone to blame, and what better than a group that aren’t white and are "commies".

It’s acceptable discrimination so that no one will turn an eye on what the government really wants to do; be discriminatory. They base it on their own prejudice so they can get away with bills and laws further normalizing the prejudice in the country, and thus get away with it. We’re already starting to see this now, with the plane crash; Trump blaming diversity and “the right people not being hired”, is the perfect cover story to take away rights of minority workers, and publish it as acceptable discrimination. Remember, not being hired because of your race (including skin colour) , religion, gender identity, sexual orientation, pregnancy, national origin, age, or disability, is illegal, unless they have an agenda to push and have an excuse to make it “the right thing to do”.

If you find yourself feeling hatred for a certain group– ask yourself: will anyone benefit from this anger? The answer is always no. No one benefits from prejudice or discrimination. No one, except the rich pigs at the top. America is already turning into a plutocracy and it hasn’t even been a year yet, so remember: if you’re not already a billionaire, you’re never gonna be a billionaire, so don’t act like you ever will. Division is their favorite game, don’t let them win it.

this is a snipit from an essay I'm writing that's taking longer than I thought it would. So now I'm going to post some snipits of it in hopes that it can help people.

[lizardsfromspace]

Feels like a whole middle stage of consolidation in modern capitalism is being gradually forgotten. We've simplified things to "we had retail, then we had online monopolies" and left out the part - except for Wal-Mart - where big box chains took over retail

So much of nostalgia for brick-and-mortar revolves around those big chains; Toys 'R' Us and Barnes & Noble and Blockbuster Video etc. But those were the Amazons of their day: the force that drove smaller, indie stores out of business by sheer volume. Toys 'R' Us closing can't be an existential threat to the toy store itself if it hadn't first caused all the local toy stores to close.

Blockbuster gets the worst of it bc I guarantee many of the people nostalgic for Blockbuster now would've hated it then, and yet it's become synonymous with video rental itself. To have nostalgia for video rental is to have nostalgia for Blockbuster...the corporate monopoly that drove all the fun mom-and-pop video shops out of business, and replaced them with a space whose main promise was that they'd have a hundred copies of each and every major studio film, that seeing the latest mediocre action flick would always be possible. Did you know Blockbuster censored content? Not just in the indirect way where they killed off the nascent NC-17 rating by refusing to stock NC-17 & unrated films, but they would demand cuts to content within films. Blockbuster would also just refuse to stock films, like The Last Temptation of Christ, and if you lived somewhere where Blockbuster had pushed out all competition...well, then you just didn't get to see it.

But if you were a 90s kid you probably don't have any memory of indie video stores, and you probably weren't aware of the controversy of how they treated films for adults (hell, I doubt the blockbuster-loving non-cinephile adults in my life were aware of it), so Blockbuster is the video store, just like how Toys 'R' Us is the toy store. Heck, I remember going to game stores that weren't Gamestop & being disappointed when all of them turned into Gamestops or closed, and yet I know the generation after me has only ever known a world of Gamestop and whenever the walking corpse that is Gamestop shambles into its final grave they'll be just as nostalgic for it

(the censorship makes it even funnier when people laud how Blockbuster had a "wide selection" and that video rental stores were better than streaming and we should go back. Like I'm sorry Netflix sucks but the idea that it would be Good to ditch an era where you're just a few clicks away from watching any film ever bc it's *worse* in terms of accessibility and we were truly free when we had to choose from a video rental monopoly that had a single shelf for "Foreign" & a single shelf for "Classics" & that had the capability to make films they disapproved of unavailable entirely is bonkers. I can watch thousands of movies on a whim and they're putting out boutique Blu-Rays of the most obscure 80s slashers, this is a golden age of media accessibility & anyone insisting it's worse is plain nuts. Okay it's only a golden age if you have a good adblocker and VPN, but)

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi, I just read wandering Babies and I was wondering if I could maybe get a part two maybe a few months to year later, if not it's all good.

.⋆｡Stationary Family｡⋆.

Negan x plus size reader

Though he no longer had power or the fear of people around him, Negan felt like he was the top of the fucking world.

Warnings: mom!reader, I fucked with the timeline a bit (as always), pregnant!reader, fluff, mentions of the war and walkers, dad!Negan, no use of Y/N, vague mention of pegging and trying for a baby, suggestive WC: 1.6k Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Wandering Babies (part 1)

The ache in his back was getting worse by the second, but Negan was in no position to complain, at least not out loud. His hands seemed permanently caked in mud, the back of his neck perpetually sunburnt as he toiled away in the gardens of Alexandria. This was his penance, a redemption via servitude to the people he had tormented who had given him mercy at his weakest moment. 

He knew he deserved worse, so he kept his mouth firmly shut as he winched with earth painful twinge up his back.

“Daddy!” But that made it all better. Negan let out a groan of pain as he stood up, his joints screaming after being in the same position for hours. The sun hovered just above the horizon, painting the walled town in a golden light and silhouetted against the main square was the reason he kept working as hard as he did.

“Hi girls!” He called back. Immediately, the older two kids took off running, weaving their way through the rows of crops expertly all while their mother lazily trailed behind them, hand in hand with their youngest who was not yet confident enough to walk around Alexandria without one of his parent’s holding his hand.

Isabella, the faster of the twins, slammed into his open arms, her bubbly laugh instantly relieving the pain of the day. Negan’s grip was firm around his girl, breathing in the clean smell of her soap. “I wanted to hug daddy first!” Lucia wiggled her little body into the small space between his bent legs, sighing happily as she too got to wrap herself up in his warmth for the first time that day.

Though their weight pulled on his already strained back, he held them tighter still, gratefully sending out another than you to the universe for letting him keep the small family he had somehow swindled his way into. 

“Girls! Let daddy take a second to breathe before you smother him and I have to clean him up… again.” The sensually curvaceous shadow that fell over him suddenly gave the man a second wind. Arms tightening around the girls, he shot up, dragging their giggling bodies into the air and then he was stood above her— the absolute fucking love of his life.

“Now now mama, I happen to remember that you like cleaning me up. May I remind you of that wonderful jacuzzi tub with the 12 separate jets. Huh, baby?” Her lips curled into an almost vicious frown but Negan saw just how her eyes sparkled and he would bet his left fucking arm that there was a a nice little heat crawling up her neck.

“You are a dirty pervert.” She scolded as she pulled barely four year old onto her wide hip, his chunky hand clinging to the buttons of her shirt.

“What’s a pervert mama?” Lucia blurted out. Negan responded by skillfully flipping her little body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, sending her into another fit of screaming giggles. He knew he was gonna pay for that later, in more ways than one.

“And how is my favourite little man?” Tomas grinned at his father, proudly showing off his pearly whites. 

“I made buns!” Negan’s greying brow lifted as his lips turned up. She knew exactly what he wanted to say next and she was not going to indulge him. 

“And some spaghetti for dinner. The girls made the sauce.” The smile that graced her face made her glow in the last dredges of sunlight, her heart laid out plainly before him like it was the day the girls had first called him dad, the first time she let him take care of her. 

“Then c’mon, daddy’s fudging hungry!” 

——————

“Roll over.” Dinner was done, baths had and then the bathroom floor mopped, and all the children were now peacefully sleeping in their beds. Negan had all but collapsed onto the mattress, his aching muscles screaming in relief.

“Baby, you know I love you and find you sexy as shit but I don’t do the whole ‘taking it’ route.” He obeyed anyway, his face burying into the pillows on her side of the bed. “‘Sides, don’t think I could get the big guy up right now if I tried.” 

The bed dipped around his hips as a weight settled just below his ass. “Eh, more like just above average guy.” Warm hands pressed against his shoulder blades, keeping him from flipping back over in protest.

“Now that’s just fucking mean baby.” She hummed under her breath.

“Jesus, your back is like a bag of rocks.” Her thumbs dug against the sinewy muscle along his spine, drawing a strained groan from the man between her legs. Negan curled his fingers into the duvet as she hit a particularly sore spot.

“Yeah well, it’s not like I get a fucking day off.” The comforting weight of her body leveraged forwards, forcing his bare chest deeper into their mattress and the air from his lungs. The pressure was so blissfully perfect that all he could do was release a moan she had only ever heard before when it was him above her.

Her chuckle vibrated through his skin. “You’ve been working so hard, handsome. I’m sure I could get Michonne to swing a couple days to rest. I can grab a couple extra shifts on watch and in inventory to make up for it.” 

“No.” His hand landed on the soft fat of her thigh and gave it a warning squeeze. “This is my punishment. And I’m supposed to be taking care of you and the kids, especially since…” His voice trailed off. Negan turned his head, his brown eyes gazing up at the woman who had given him purpose and light.

Her smile was gentle. “Since what babe? Since we’re fucking raw every chance we get so you can get another little prince or princess to spoil?” A blush bloomed across his stubbled cheeks.

“Good lord woman, when did you get so fucking vulgar?” With one last deep press against the base of his spine, releasing the pops that had been sitting in between his vertebrae for the last five hours, she lifted herself off of him and dropped onto the bed next to him, their heads brushing each other.

“Oh that’s nothing compared to the shit you’ve said while you were inside me.” She threw a plump leg over his hips, pulling herself even closer to him in a way that he used to dream about. His arm wrapped around her waist, thanking her with a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.

A solemn expression pulled at her lips and eyebrows. “Just, don’t forget that you do have people who love you. Your redemption had already been earned and then some in our eyes, you just have to believe us.” Her fingers ran through his salt and pepper hair as a familiar comfort coiled around them in the small bubble of their bed.

Negan knew that he could break his back every day for the next century and never make up for the things he had done, the death and fear that came from his hand. In this moment, however, all he could think of was the family that had so captured him, shifted his soul so wholly that he could not even recognise his younger self. Lucia— his shy girl who grew more confident and bright with each compliment she was paid, Isabella— his competitive spirit who wanted nothing more than to make her family proud, and his sweet, curious little Tomas who was still a mama’s boy at heart, but never gave up the chance to help his father.

And their wonderful, intoxicating, stubborn, gorgeous, confusing mother who made sure to remind him every second that she could, that she had picked him, even after all the shit he had done, and that she loved him enough to risk her very life to give him another baby to love and raise with her.

“You are a fucking goddess.” Her lips fit effortlessly against his own. She sighed happily as he leaned against her, his tongue brushing against her bottom lip. The kiss deepened though it would not go any further than that, at least for that night. Negan mused briefly that maybe if he got both of them up early enough in the morning that they could take advantage of the nice big shower in the master bathroom.

“And you are a fucking sap.” She gasped for air. “Who would’ve thought that the big bad leader of the Saviours would end up living with the single mom of three who had somehow ended up in a place she shouldn’t be?” Her nails scratched his scalp, sending a pleasured tingle throughout his body.

“I did. Every night after the moment I met you, I wished and hoped for it— for this: us and the kids somewhere peaceful and safe.” She said nothing after that and he didn’t need her to. This was more than enough, to know that his kids were just a couple doors away and the woman who was something more than just a wife to him was cradled in his arms with a promise of a future he had always craved nestled somewhere in the universe.

Their goodnight was a gentle kiss and another soft smile. 

She would tell him tomorrow about the little surprise the kids had planned for him after they were told her secret after she would beg the Alexandrian council for a break for both of them. After all, they loved her babies, so they would obviously have to warm up to Negan if she had another one on the way.

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Game of Flirts

Part 1

A/N: GUYYYYYS, I am GAGGED. I loved writing this so much, I'll be releasing all parts this week! I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I have! I am a sucker for this man.

Hawks was always a smooth talker, he knew how to ruffle feathers and get reactions from people with his outlandish comments. He thought you would be no different, oh was he wrong. You were about to turn the tables on him.

Pro Hero Hawks x Pro Hero Reader

Keigo Takami—better known as Hawks, Japan’s Number Two Pro Hero—wasn’t used to losing.

He was fast, he was smart, and he was devastatingly charming.

At least, that’s what he thought—until he met you.

You, who had the audacity to turn his own game against him.

You, who lived to see him squirm.

You, who had him completely, utterly, hopelessly flustered.

And what was worse?

You knew it.

It had all started as a simple game.

Hawks was a natural flirt—it was effortless, second nature. And when you first started working together, he had assumed you’d be just like everyone else—blushing at his winks, stammering at his smooth lines, melting under his unmatched charisma.

Easy.

Or so he thought.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to flirt back.

And not just flirt back—but do it so much better than him.

It had started with small things—little counters to his usual routine.

Like the first time he had leaned against your desk with a cocky grin, wings flaring just slightly, and purred, “So, what’s a gorgeous hero like you doing in a stuffy old office like this?”

You hadn’t even blinked.

Instead, you had tilted your head, dragged your gaze slowly down his frame, and smirked.

“I dunno, Hawks,” you mused, voice smooth and dangerous. “What’s a pretty boy like you doing getting all up in my space?”

He had choked.

Actually choked.

And the worst part?

You had just laughed, patted his shoulder, and walked away like it was nothing.

And just like that, the game was on.

The next few weeks had been absolute hell.

Keigo had spent his entire life being smooth, being in control—but you had thrown him so off balance that he could barely function.

You turned every single one of his flirty comments into something ten times worse—flipping the script, making him the blushing mess instead of you.

Like the time he had purred in your ear during a mission briefing, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep an eye on you out there.”

And without missing a beat, you had turned to him, smirked, and purred right back, “I’d rather you keep your hands on me, handsome.”

He had malfunctioned completely, wings flaring wildly behind him as his brain short-circuited.

You had winked.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you had walked away, swaying your hips just to taunt him.

Keigo had actually had to take a lap around the building to cool off.

It was infuriating.

It was exhilarating.

It was driving him insane.

The worst part?

He knew exactly where this was headed.

Because this wasn’t just flirting anymore.

It was so much more than that.

It was the way you smiled at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

It was the way he watched you work, completely captivated by your focus.

It was the way his heart skipped a beat every single time you touched his arm, his shoulder—anywhere.

It was the way he ached for more.

And you knew.

Oh, you knew.

Because every time his breath hitched, every time his cheeks flushed, every time his wings twitched with pent-up frustration, you would just smirk—as if to say:

I got you again, bird boy.

And goddammit, you did.

Every.

Single.

Time.

One night, after a long day of flustering him to the brink of insanity, you were sitting on the agency rooftop together, enjoying the cool breeze.

Keigo let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing his face. “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

You grinned, That usual grin that made his heart soar,leaning back on your hands. “That a promise?”

He groaned, tilting his head back. “Oh my god.”

You laughed, and god help him, he loved that sound.

After a beat, you nudged his knee with yours. “We both know where this is going, Hawks.”

Keigo inhaled sharply, wings tensing.

Because yeah.

Yeah, he knew.

He knew that you were meant to be his. That was inevitable.

But this—this flirty, teasing, ridiculous phase—was so much fun.

So instead of agreeing, instead of finally giving in, he just smirked, rolling his shoulders.

“Eh,” he said breezily. “Maybe I just like keeping you on your toes.”

You laughed again, and this time, you leaned in, your face dangerously close to his, your lips just shy of touching his own. Finger placed under his chin.

He stopped breathing.

“Oh, Hawks,” you murmured, voice low and syrupy sweet. “We both know I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger.”

His entire body erupted in flames.

And then, with a wink, you pulled back, stretched, and stood up.

“See ya tomorrow, bird boy,” you called over your shoulder.

And Keigo Takami, Number Two Pro Hero, untouchable flirt, smooth talker extraordinaire, sat there speechless, his wings flared behind him, his body on fire with frustration, his entire soul screaming for you.

He groaned, falling back against the rooftop with a dramatic sigh.He was so, so screwed.

Tag List:

@peachesvault @fallen-w1ngs @katsusoul @tipheeweefee @2kool4skoolll

[appleaali]

spiderman!art who’s always stopping by your fire escape after patrol cause he wants to see something good (you). after fighting bad guys and all that stuff cause even if he won’t admit it cause he wants to seem cool (hes not) he hates violence i mean who wouldn’t? even if he is a superhero who fights bad guys all the time aka violence he still hates it !! cause it means that there always be violence no matter how many bad people he puts away, there will always be more and sometimes its worse than the others. so sure while it might seem sorta pathetic (patrick might have once told him that) seeing you makes him feel better cause he knows no matter how much violence there is in new york he still has you, his one good thing.

[jeminie-rising]

onigiris for valentine's

[ Inumaki Toge x Reader ]

link to AO3: [ onigiris for valentine's by JEMINIE ]

summary: "Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair."

Or, it's valentine's day and you give everyone a bag of cookies with ribbons of their favourite colours apart from Inumaki. He then realises that his ribbon was actually in your hair all along.

warnings: Inumaki Toge uses sign language, Soft Inumaki, Inumaki says more than just rice balls ingredients, fluff, toge and reader being complete idiots in love, no smut!, they're both so in love, Not actually unrequited love (they just shy), Yuuta is so supportive, love confessions (finally), slow burn

characters: inumaki toge, The Inumaki Clan, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara, Zen'in Maki, Panda, Yuta Okkotsu

word count: 6,623

authors note: hi, i know i know. It's the end of February and why am i posting a Valentine's themed one shot?

WELL BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!

sorry, i wasn't in the mood to write about love during the month of my ex's birthday lmao. so not only was i late, but this one shot might not be as good as i would have hoped. I shall come back in the future to fix it, hopefully

In the meantime though, ENJOY xx

and reminder:

sign language in this fanfic, like in all the others, is based on japanese sign language, not ASL.

this is part 3 of the Holidays with Toge series but can 100% be read on its own

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Don’t wait for someday. She’s thinking the same thing as you. - kids that fly

It has been weeks since New Year’s Eve. January seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and even worse, it seems like nothing really has changed. Not the classes they took, not the amount of times Itadori begged for you to help him out with English, not the missions you took up with your classmates, and not the way Inumaki treated you.

You started to believe everything that has happened was a figment of your imagination. His little trick and tease during the countdown to the very last second of last year, was nothing more than his way to pull a joke out of you. It’s not that it was something out of the ordinary. He liked to pull pranks on people with Panda all the time. Something Maki had to deal with every day, being the only other classmate they had that was present. Unfortunately for her, the mysterious fourth second year was always absent, making her the only and biggest target of Inumaki and Panda’s annoying plans.

But exactly because of it, they moved on from Maki and started widening their target to the first years. They started with Itadori, quite the gullible one and easier to get forgiveness from. A safe bet, you’d say. They managed to make him believe he was invisible for an entire afternoon. Even miraculously got help from Megumi, who did not want to get involved. But because it came natural for him to ignore Itadori, he indirectly added to the two’s bit.

They managed to pull one on you too. But in comparison, your prank seemed quite mellower. One day, mid-january, you came back to your room after class only to see it filled up with Christmas decorations when you were sure you put them down just the previous week. Even then, you were certain that you never really owned Santa curtains and elves bedsheets. It took you a whole two days to bring down everything.

Up to this day, you weren’t sure how it was that they entered your room. 

“I can hear you both snickering there,” Maki warned the two solidified prankers of the school, “if this is one other prank you’re planning you will–”

“It’s not!” Panda was quick to defend himself, “Toge was just making a joke.”

“If you two have so much time to joke around then might as well use that to train the first years.”

You and Nobara couldn’t help but smile at that idea. Training with a second year other than Maki? Definitely! 

Maki was a force of nature. She may not have any cursed energy but she made up for it with raw skills and talent. Nobara swore she would take ten Pandas over one Maki any day. And that she did. Maki wasn’t even done sparring with her before she ran towards Panda to start their training. You only looked at her, a little bit of betrayal in your face for leaving you behind.

Maki looked at you expectantly, now that Nobara was gone, you were next.

“I, actually–”

“Hey, guys!”

Everyone turned around but only the second years reacted to the newcomer. 

“Who is that?” Itadori asked, almost appalled, as soon as he saw Maki actually smile.

Megumi, who was the only one from the first years who has been in the school long enough to know, smiled proudly as he answered Itadori, “That’s Yuuta Okkotsu, the last of the second years of the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Te–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nobara interrupted him. “That’s the last of our upperclassmen then?”

“I guess...?”

With a groan Nobara let down her shoulders, “ugh, so there’s really no handsome guy in this entire school uh?”

“Hey!” Itadori pouted, but Nobara was already waving her hand, shooing him away.

“I think he’s kinda cute,” you admitted.

“Yeah, in a sick Victorian kid way,” Nobara was looking at Okkotsu from the midfield with the rest of her classmates. He was quite far from them, but she could already observe him without problems from where she stood. “He looks like he’s ready to go at any time, are we really sure he’s a special grade?” 

Megumi scoffed at her question. There was little to underestimate about Yuuta Okkotsu, and his grade was not one of them.

“Hey guys come here!” Panda waved for the first years, “let me introduce you to Yuuta Okkotsu, our classmate and friend.”

Everyone gave a small nod, all with their own reasons as to not make the first step, but overall, the cursed energy he emanated from that distance was enough to keep them away.

“Don’t worry, he’s not gonna bite,” Panda reassured them.

“Not him anyways,” Maki added, making Inumaki chuckle.

“Hello, I’m Yuji Itadori!” The pink haired boy was the first to introduce himself, you couldn’t help but wonder if he trusted Panda enough to do it or he really was just that kind of guy to not care about his own safety. The times you went on missions with him made you think it was the latter.

“Nobara Kugisaki,” she simply said, studying him with her gaze. She only let a beat pass before she added, “You’re really a special grade sorcerer?”

Yuuta could only smile at her, and with the most casual tone he answered her, “uh, yeah, I am.”

“He doesn’t look like one, does he?” Maki snickered, knowing exactly what hid behind the false appearances.

“I guess…” Nobara continued, still quite skeptical. Her reply mostly being for his appearances. “Well, my friend here thinks differently.”

Your eyes widened, “I didn’t say anything!”

“You said he was kinda cute!��� Nobara reminded you. Your eyes were almost falling out of your eye sockets.

You were not the only one. Everyone present was quite taken aback by that comment. Not really expecting that at the moment. Yuuta couldn’t help but glance towards Inumaki, the boy’s face was half hidden, but he knew his friend enough to notice that little frown between his brows forming.

“And I guess you must be [name], right?” Yuuta tried his best to break the ice that was formed. You frowned at him, confused as to how he could possibly know your name. Catching on your reaction he continued, “Sorry if that sounded weird. I was away for missions, but my friends kept me updated about everything and everyone… Inumaki especially talked to me, so of course I’d know of you.” 

“Oh, well, yeah that’s me,” you chuckled, then turned towards Inumaki, his gaze was avoiding yours. He spoke about you? You quickly shook the newly forming delusions away. He must speak of every single one of you.

That’s just the kind of person Inumaki Toge was in your eyes. Sweet, kind, considerate, and so loving and caring about other people. To the point where he would limit his entire life to a few ingredients just to make it a little bit safer for everyone around him.

“Why are you here anyways, Yuuta?”

“Well, I wasn’t around for Christmas and New Years, at least on Valentine's Day I could spend it with my other single friends!” Yuuta cheered.

“Single?” Panda asked skeptically before whispering, “Is that safe to say for you?”

Yuuta could only chuckle, but you, Nobara, and Itadori were left confused. Itadori was the only one mouthful enough to bother to ask, “does Okkotsu-senpai have a girlfriend?” Others hesitated to answer, and when they did Itadori was quick to add thinking he got it wrong, “or boyfriend? …Partner, perhaps? …lover?”

“Yuuutaaa,” a screeching voice came out of nowhere bringing the three first years ready for combat, sensing the cursed energy around them becoming heavier out of nowhere.

“Calm down,” Maki warned, and you weren’t sure if she was referring to you first years who were instinctively in fighting positions, or Yuuta and whatever entity that was slowly appearing from behind him.

Everything within you, every training combat and exercise was pushing you over the edge to attack, but you hesitated. You pulled yourself and your instincts back, knowing well that if it was an enemy, your second years would be the first to react. With a deep breath, you calmed yourself down.

“Rika, it’s okay,” Yuuta was… reassuring the creature?

You frowned. Unsure how to react and even less sure what to think. Was that what made him a special grade? Was that even a cursed technique?

“Yuutaaa, why are they flirting with youuu?” 

The voice seemed to reverb until your bones, chilling your spine. But the tone seemed like that of a child throwing a tantrum, something about it seemed odd. It wasn’t until Panda started explaining the situation that Nobara placed her hammer back in her belt and Itadori let go of his tight fists.

“Sorry for having spooked you,” Yuuta apologised quickly after the explanation.

“It’s alright!” Itadori was the first to smile at him, “I understand your predicament.”

“Predicament uh, big words from you,” Megumi scoffed. “Trying to impress or something?” 

“Shut up,” Itadori gritted his teeth.

The second years all laughed, and Yuuta went back to the topic he was hoping to have since he came, “anyways, I was hoping we could all do something for the fourteenth? It’s a Friday so we all could go do something after classes…”

“I think that’s a fun idea!” Itadori cheered at the thought of being able to go out with his friends, “Maybe we can watch a movie?”

“I would love that!” Yuuta smiled fondly at the pink haired boy, “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the movies…”

“I’m going if we’re not watching one of those weird movies with long ass titles you like,” Nobara sighed.

“I heard they’re making a release of rom-com movies for the week of Valentines,” you brought up the ad you recently searched. It was in your plans to invite Inumaki for a date, but you knew that was never going to happen. This group activity could be the closest thing you could get to seeing him during Valentine’s day.

“Perfect!” Itadori looked through his phone to buy tickets for everyone before anyone could even agree on coming.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You were a coward.

Or at least that’s what you have been thinking of. Hiding behind the opportunity of hanging out with everyone to avoid confessing your love and asking Inumaki on a date. Both Panda and Nobara have been cheering for you since the winter holidays to take a step, and you were sure that this Valentine’s was going to be your perfect opportunity. However, it all went to smoke when Yuuta came around (you pathetically excused yourself). Or maybe he gave you the opportunity to see Toge on Valentine’s day without having to confess your feelings. 

With this new motivation you thought of what you could possibly do to make the day a little bit more special for him. Maybe a Valentine’s gift was going to be enough? Or was that too forward?

You thought of giving him chocolate. But only giving him while giving others nothing felt kind of weird. So you started making everyone some cookies, something different from his but still made from the heart. But by the time you made everyone a pack of cookies, you noticed how his chocolates paled in comparison to homemade cookies. Sure you didn’t want his gift to stand out, but now it seemed like it was too little.

You racked your brain over what else you could do, but before you realised it, the first few rays of sun came through the window and you knew you had no more time to do anything else. You still had to prepare to go to class and fix the kitchen. With a calming breath, you told yourself that you’d have time during the lunch break. So without battling yourself over it for longer, you quickly cleaned the utensils and counter you used.

You almost didn’t make it to class in time, but fortunately, your training as a sorcerer was helpful to you in more ways than just fighting curses. Classes that day went smoothly. Well, not smoothly, more like they were just background noise for all the thoughts you were getting for later than day.  

“Hey let’s have lunch at th–”

“Sorry but I have to do something right now!” You said running away already, giving them no time to say anything. 

“Where is she going?” Panda asked, confused to see you running away.

It wasn’t often that everyone would have lunch together. Usually it was first years with first years, and second years among themselves. Often everyone would have their lunch alone too as they had their own things going on. But that was one of the rare times when Okkotsu was home from his long term missions, so they all decided to take advantage of that by spending more time together.

“We don't know either…” Itadori admitted.

“Girl things?” Megumi offered it as an excuse but he honestly didn’t care much. Compared to Itadori, he trusted you to do stuff on your own without getting in too much trouble.

Inumaki stayed quiet, not even offering an ingredient as an addition to the conversation as he usually does. The only one noticing his gaze fixed on you running away towards the dorm rooms was Yuuta.

“She’s probably okay,” he reassured his friend by putting a hand on his shoulder. “She doesn’t seem the kind of person to go through troubles by herself.”

“Tuna tuna,” the boy replied, his gaze lowering to the chocolate he hid in his pocket.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Other than your absence, the break went quickly and without a hitch. Everyone had a laugh sharing stories with each other. While for the afternoon classes, you were, once again, tardy, but nothing too outrageous to get the teachers to complain. Their annoyance seemed dissipated thanks to the sweet smell that came from the big paper bag you had with you.

Itadori couldn’t help himself, he had to ask about it. He leaned to the side and whispered closer to you, “What do you have there?”

“It’s just a little gift,” you giggled to yourself.

“It’s for Inumaki-senpai, isn’t it?” Nobara leaned in to join the conversation.

“Aww dang,” Itadori pouted back into his seat, his groan a little too loud catching a stern look from their teacher. He lowered his voice again, hoping it would be low enough to not be reprimanded despite knowing he could be heard anyways, “I wanted something too…”

“Just wait for later!” You tried to keep your voice low.

Patience wasn’t one of Itadori’s virtues. He kept poking at you during class, after class, on the way to the cinema, and when they were in line to claim their tickets. The others weren’t phased by anything at this point, especially when it came to Itadori, but Yuuta was new to the bunch.

“You guys seem like a good pair,” he said, smiling at you and Itadori. There was only a beat, before he realised his choice of word and had to add, “I meant that as a like platonic pair –like good friends–”

“Yeah,” Itadori laughed, “I imagined.”

“But what are you guys doing?” He asked, “Is this a normal occurrence?”

“More than you’d think,” Maki sighed. 

“It would stop if you could finally spill the beans,” Nobara poked at you. “What are you hiding?”

You looked at the remaining line for the movies. There was still quite a line, pairs of people for the most part, and those that weren’t were a group of girls celebrating in pink –galentines, you thought. There would be enough time before your group’s turn so you decided to take the opportunity at your grasp.

Putting down the paper bag, you started grabbing the elaborated pink bags tied each with a different coloured ribbon. Analysing the colours of the ribbons, you started to distribute them to all the different members of the group.

The green one to Maki. You assumed she’d prefer a darker chocolate flavour, given how much she enjoyed coffee in the early mornings. Similarly to Megumi’s, which was tied with a teal ribbon, who received coffee flavoured cookies from you.

In your hand you still had a red ribbon confection and there was no question to who it would go to. Even Nobara was eagerly looking at the bag with her favourite colour. The girl grabbed it from your hand before you could even offer it to her. Soft and chunky cookies inside, just like she likes them. Similar to hers, but bigger in size, was Panda’s. His bag was also the biggest one among the ones she held. A black ribbon wrapped around it tightly. 

After giving Panda his bag, there were only two more remaining. Yuji awaited his turn impatiently, his feet marching in place as a way to stimulate his eagerness. You almost wanted to keep his bag to tease him, but his face made you guilty enough to give his next. A bag adorned with a pink ribbon, and different flavoured cookies inside to reflect his chaotic nature. 

“Yaaay! Nothing beats homemade cookies!” He celebrated them above everyone’s head the moment he had them in hand.

Everyone chuckled at the boy, his enthusiasm contagious to everyone. But it wasn’t enough to keep Toge distracted for long. He looked at the last bag you held in hand, and could smell the sweet sweet cookies that fought their way out of the white ribbon.

“And this one…” you held the bag in front of you, “is for you!”

It wasn’t only Inumaki who was speechless, but among everyone was Yuuta, who hesitantly reached out for the bag you were handing him, “Me…? I–I wasn’t expecting anything… we–”

“Of course you get some too!” You laughed as if it was an obvious thing.

“Uh… how about Inumaki-senpai?” Itadori pointed out what everyone was thinking.

At his question, a dust of pink blush, similar to his ribbon, tainted your cheeks. You were trying to avoid doing this in front of everyone, but with everyone’s eyes on you, you had no choice. You opened up your purse, instead of the paper bag, hesitantly, hoping for an escape. And there it was, like the Gods answered your prayer.

“Next!” The lady called out for them.

This was enough to grab everyone’s attention to the cashier lady. In between busy choosing the movies and which seats to take, you took this opportunity to grab the purple tupperware from your purse and push it against Inumaki’s side.

“For you,” you whispered. “Happy valentines, Inumaki-senpai.”

You didn’t even let him say anything before you rushed your way after the other first years, who were arguing if it was better to have all seats in one row or take two rows of equal numbers.

“She gave you… tupperware?” Panda peaked over Inumaki’s shoulder, “Are the cookies inside?”

Inumaki could only shrug his shoulders. Some part of him wanted to have a cute bag with a ribbon too, but he shoved that feeling aside. He was about to eat cookies you prepared for him, who cared what they came into?

He carefully opened the tub but instead of the sweet smell of cookies he smelt the familiar scent of… onigiri?

The two looked at the tupperware container holding two rows of onigiris carefully placed over purple sheer paper. There was a moment of silence between them as they stared at the rice balls, before Panda started laughing dropping on the floor, catching the attention of people around them.

The silver haired boy could only frown and send a kick to his friend, “Bonito flakes!”

But the panda only laughed more at the unintended pun, “t-that’s right! There are bonito flakes –This may be the best prank ever!”

Toge looked back at the tupperware to notice one of the onigiris to have bonito flakes on top of it. That wasn’t common to have from store-bought onigiris –these were home-made, he concluded. With one look he searched for you among the first years, unsure truly how to react or feel about the gift he received. Although, once found the little bow on your head amongst the others, his doubts were somehow cleared. 

How could he not have noticed before? 

“What’s your favourite colour, senpai?” You once asked him once when the flowers were blooming and offered a various range of colours for him to pick on without having to speak out loud.

Inumaki looked pensive for a bit. Then pointed at a violet that was by her hand, “tuna mayo.”

You followed his finger with your gaze. For a second you thought he referred to your new set of nails, but then noticed the violet in between your pinky and ring finger. 

“Violet?” You asked to clarify.

He gave a single nod, “Salmon.”

“It’s a pretty colour!” You affirmed, “they’re similar to your eyes…”

Inumaki was once again grateful for the collar that hid his face and his red. Hoping to change the attention from himself to you, he pointed his finger back at you, “mustard?”

“Me?” You asked before thinking about it. You aren’t sure why you had to think about it. You knew what your favourite colour was. It has always been white. The infinite possibilities white could hold is far too alluring for you to not have it as your favourite colour. But after seeing the purple in Inumaki’s eyes, you hesitated for a bit. What were possibilities compared to the certainty that you found in him? “W-white,” you finally admitted after a moment too long.

Inumaki looked up at the sky, his gaze pensive and they looked farther away than where you ever could, but then he pointed at the clouds. You could only nod, smiling at him. 

“Yes, like the clouds.”

He then looked down at the ground. Picking a single daisy, he offered it to you. 

“Yes, like daisies.” You reached out for it and twirled it between your two fingers, “and mongolias… and jasmines –my favourite!”

Inumaki looked at you, his head tilted, “Mustard?”

“Yeah, I love Jasmines, they smell like comfort!”

Inumaki seemed to think about something for a bit, then brought his hand to his hair, he grabbed a few strands from his bangs and looked at it making cross eyes you giggled at. Then he looked through his bangs and directly at you, “Mustard?”

You frowned slightly unsure if you understood him correctly. This seemed to not translate to you in his ingredients, so he shifted his body towards you and clearly showed his hands. Back then, he was already studying sign language from the book you have gifted him on his birthday. He was still quite choppy on his sign language but he was getting the hang on it quicker than you did.

You knew his intentions and with a focused eye, you followed his hands as he unzipped his collar down. A sign of vulnerability from him, you learned. You tried to not get entranced by the snake fangs by each side of his mouth and forced your eyes to follow his hands instead. With all his fingers together he twisted the tips of them against each other. Colour.

“Colour?” You repeated his sign out loud and he gave you a nod.

He then pointed his pointer to his teeth showing his own fangs. The small smile he formed as he signed and flicked his finger, made you almost forget what he was trying to say. You shook your head trying to regain focus, but poor Toge assumed you didn’t know that particular sign and looked up instead to point at a new cloud. Then back to your daisy that still rested between your fingers. 

You nodded and repeated the sign for the colour white by grinning your teeth out and flick your pointer finger against it. “White,” you spoke out before bringing your two fingers at each side of your cheek as you dropped your hand down, your two fingers met at the tip of your chin. “I like the colour white.” Before a pause you added without sign language, “My favourite.”

He couldn’t avoid a smile at your words. He pointed at you before repeating your own sign. You. Bringing his fingers to his chins, highlighting his snake eyes, and dropping his hand to meet his two fingers to the tip of his chin. Like. Then he pointed at his forehead.

“Y-You…” You gaped before finally realising, “...r hair.”

He nodded and you could not keep in a smile, “yes, I do like your hair colour.”

White was your favourite colour. That was not something Toge would forget anytime soon. That was the colour of his hair, the colour of the flowers you smelt like, the colour of endless possibility. Ever since that afternoon at the field of flowers with you, he has seen the colour in a different way. 

He looked at your ribbon again, the one that held your hair together, but it wasn’t white like it usually would be to match your uniform, it was purple instead. His favourite colour. The same colour as the paper that held all his onigiri safe. Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair.

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The movie was a hit. Everyone fell in love with the characters as much as they fell in love with each other. Itadori in particular was ecstatic over the ending.

“I can’t believe she wasn’t dead after all!” He jumped as everyone followed on the way back home, “I still don’t understand how it happened…”

“Of course you don’t, simpleton,” Megumi commented a few steps behind.

“It wasn’t said in the movie!” Itadori fought him.

“There are implications!” Megumi scoffed.

As the two argued between themselves you couldn’t help but laugh. It was nice to have a moment with them like that. With studying and missions, it was hard to find a time where everyone could act like normal kids –as normal as a sorcerer could get anyways. Having a literal panda walk with you guys didn’t really keep the attention away from the group. You could only guess the things going on inside people’s heads. But you assumed, just like you did when you met him for the first time, that people thought he was just one of those people who liked to get into anthropomorphic animal costumes. 

You looked behind you to check on the said friend, beside him, of course, there was Inumaki who already had his eyes on you. You knew it was too late, but you still looked away and hoped he didn’t pay mind to you. After giving him his valentine's gift, you weren’t sure how he would react, but he hasn’t said anything and that made you more anxious.

“You should make a move,” Yuuta approached him after witnessing the very short interaction.

“Tuna?”

“You never know when it’s too late,” the boy shrugged. “Sorcerers like us don’t have the privilege of time.”

Toge couldn’t look away from his friend. He was right, with all the missions you both had to go through, even more now after Sukuna’s return, there were no promises of a tomorrow. He only had today and his feelings. And with nothing more than that, the boy gave his friend a thankful wave as he caught up to you, who walked ahead of them.

You, in turn, hoped for any kind of reaction for your gift, a comment, a sign. You weren’t really expecting a grand thank you, but nothing seemed a bit too much. Sure you walked away the moment you passed the gift, but part of you was hoping for even a nod from the distance. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you knew it was him.

“Kelp,” he greeted you with a gentle nod.

“Hey, did you enjoy the movie?” You asked, hoping that the question would lead him astray from the thought of your onigiris. But it only did so much as he nodded again.

“Tuna tuna,” he changed the subject again, pointing at your purple ribbon.

You followed his hand, something you found yourself accustomed to at that point. “Ah yes, it’s new, do you like it?”

He paused before nodding at you, “salmon.”

“Seems like you hesitated there,” you chuckled, teasing him, but it didn’t seem to budge him at all.

“Onigiri,” you heard him say, that new word made you almost snap your head towards him in surprise. You weren’t quite sure if he meant that literally or if he was using new food-related words to communicate his thoughts. With a slight frown you tried to look for the answer in his subtle expressions.

“Onigiri…?”

He nodded, grabbing the tupperware you gave him from his bag, “onigiri.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yes, onigiri.”

He then placed the tupperware back into his bag, allowing him to use his hands for signs. You watch him as he placed his left hand flat over a pointer finger directed towards you. With one single movement, he pointed towards you. Why?“Why onigiris?” you asked clarifying, he hummed at your interpretation. “Well, I thought you’d like to have onigiris, I just assumed they were your favourites since you chose the ingredients to be your vocabulary… Did I get it wrong?” “Bonito flakes!” Your worried expression made him shake his head as quickly as he could, hoping to shoo away your doubts. “Tuna mayo.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. The sound of your light laughter was too soft for Inumaki to hear over the chatter of the people around. Especially with Itadori having a full conversation with Nobara right in front of you. He had it in mind to curse them to shut up for a second, just to hear your giggle better. But he quickly moved that bad idea aside when you spoke again. “Each of them have different ingredients inside, I made one of each of the ones you mention the most –There are two of tuna mayo, your favourite.”

Toge could only smile fondly at your words, his chest fluttering with affection towards you, even more than before. He thought about the savoury snacks he had in his backpack, and then of all the cookies and chocolates that were being exchanged throughout the nation at that moment, and he felt like he had the best deal out of all of them. You didn’t simply give him chocolate, like he initially would have wished for, but took time to think about what he would have liked most and actually make it. He puffed his chest lightly at the new treasure he held in his bag, eager to take a taste of them as soon as he could.

“Do you like it?” You asked, looking at him, as you all walked down the street, now closer to your school, “Maybe I should have given you cookies too…”

“Bonito flakes!”

“So you’re okay with it?”

He smiled at you, and he looked around before placing a hand on your shoulder. You looked at him in slight surprise, but his gaze was directed towards Panda, “Tuna tuna.”

The friend smiled at him and gave him a single nod, as the others continued to walk away. You saw Panda pulling Itadori away by his hood. Something about wanting to watch being mumbled away. Without Itadori and the rest, there was a soft silence around you, realising how much quieter things were when it was only you and Inumaki. Nothing awkward, just peaceful. But what did warrant for such quiet and for your friends to go ahead without you both? Your delusions were already jumping everywhere, and you had to push them away before you could get ahead of yourself.

Your gaze turned back to Toge, who had his eyes already on you. “Is there something wrong?” You asked unsure. You felt like there was something to be said, but couldn’t bring yourself to take the first step to leading the conversation.

He shook his head, before zipping down his collar. You were quite sure that he was going to use Sign again, so you followed his hands closely to focus. But to your surprise, he brought his fingers to your chin and gently pulled your face up to meet his eyes. 

This simple gesture was enough to cause you to sweat cold. You fidgeted with your fingers hoping to distract yourself from his, that were still on your chin. 

“Inumaki-senpai?” You asked hoping he would finally get to the point. You weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being so close to him without breathing.

He took a step back, much to your health. But his gaze was still fixed into yours, silently guiding you to not look away. Not that you could even if you wanted to, his eyes were as hypnotising as that of a snake luring a prey.

Then he did what you didn’t expect him to, he began to open his mouth.

“I…” he attempted, “have been practicing.” 

You swore your heart stopped the moment he opened his mouth and began to beat only at each word he spoke. Unsure if you were supposed to ruin the moment, you kept quiet, not daring even to move a muscle, afraid you might miss something.

He seemed to be thinking about it for a bit, then with careful breathing, he spoke again, “I have been practicing, to not infuse my words with cursed energy.” He paused as he breathed in a big chunk of air. You wondered if it took a lot of him to do so.

“That’s amazing, senpai,” you said before you even realised you were talking. Perhaps when Inumaki could talk, it was you who was rendered speechless. You looked for words to say as he smiled at you clearly quite proud of himself. “Since when?”

He paused before answering. For the first few times he did so, you thought it was because he was thinking about what to say, but it seemed like he was actually selecting which words to use. Despite him keeping from infusing his words with cursed speech he still deliberately thought of words that were still relatively safe to speak, just in case. 

“Since New Year’s Eve,” he carefully enunciated his syllables.

You couldn't contain your own smile, “You’ve made amazing progress!” 

He smiled back at you and gave a small polite bow, “Tuna mayo.”

You giggled at his favourite onigiri ingredient. Perhaps he was still more at ease with speaking like that. And to properly show his gratitude, he was going to do it with ease.

Then he took another deep breath in and nodded to himself. You watched him patiently, hoping for more words from him. It was cold, middle of february but spring was still so far away from arriving in the hills of Tokyo. But you paid no mind, you could stay there for an entire day and a night if it meant that you could have a conversation with Toge.

“I wanted to be able to speak properly with you,” he said after having attentively selected his words. He imagined everyone would practice their speech to themselves and to a mirror before giving it, and although he did so too, it still didn’t feel enough for him. Nerves got to him quickly as he inched closer to where he was aiming. He looked at you, hoping to gain courage from it, but it only made him even more nervous. 

In the long pause, you assumed he was done, so with a small smile you tilted your head, “that’s sweet, Inumaki-senpai.”

“Wait–” he shook his head, “Ikura.”

Your eyes widened slightly, shutting up. It was faint, but you felt the tingle of a cursed energy in his ‘wait’. It didn’t hurt, you noticed, his cursed speech never did hurt you. But it was an odd sensation crawling into your skin and grabbed onto your very muscle cells, forcing you to comply by pure force. There was worry in his eyes, as he noticed it too, but you smiled at him hoping to reassure the boy. With a single nod from you, he was able to breathe again. Perhaps your actions too had the same effect on him as his cursed speech. It took so little from you for him to change emotions and follow your silent commands.

“I wanted to tell you so many things,” he continued his thoughts from earlier. For the first time ever since you’ve known him, it was him speaking and you were listening. It was a dream that you never thought would be real. It made you so grateful for your world of curses, spirits, and impossibilities.

“I like the colour white too now,” he admitted out of nowhere, remembering that one afternoon in the field of flowers. 

“And I don’t actually like fish eggs…” he said, recalling that one time you offered some to him and he could only grimace at you. You never knew why he did, but now you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“I don’t like morning assemblies,” he admitted before carefully selecting his next few words, “that’s why I never go.” –That’s why you never see me. He wished to say, knowing from Panda how often you looked for him during the assemblies. But if he said those words he was scared you would go blind, or worse, you’d never see him specifically.

He took a deep breath and then, just as he practiced, “I wanted to thank you for Christmas,” he said remembering how it was her idea to bring everyone to visit him, “and that I am sorry for taking your last grape on New Year’s Eve.” You tried to hide your smile at the memory. At the time, you were stunned and flustered, but looking back it was quite silly. But if that memory was not going to make you blush, his next words would have been enough to do so.

“And that you looked very beautiful.”

He smiled looking at you. Perhaps because he started to get the hang of it, he wasn’t feeling as nervous as earlier. But the more he spoke and the more he looked at you, he could only find more courage to spill all his secrets. To give you everything he had. To tell you every single thought he ever had selfishly hoping you’d keep them all.

“I was going to tell you on New Year’s Eve,” he continued before chuckling to himself, “but we got interrupted.”

The memory of your silent conversation on New Year’s Eve came back at you. The way he held his fingers on each side of his cheek close to expressing how he felt. You kept your eyes fixed on him, afraid to even blink. Afraid that in that fraction of a second where you blinked, your lashes might swipe him away from you or miss his words.

You had a vague feeling of what was to come. He was so close to telling you so many times that you developed so many ‘What-If’ scenarios that all of them resembled the one where you were in at the moment. You prayed to all the Gods looking over at you two, to the saint of Valentine’s day, that nothing would interrupt you anymore.

“This might be nothing compared to your onigiri, but…” You watched him as he pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket, and with another deep breath in, a solemn look, and a fond smile, he offered both the chocolate and his feelings to you, “I like you.”