#reading this had me giggling and twirling my hair and everything

[q1ngqve]

that’s so evil of you, putting dilf! childe into my mind like that... i would drop everything i have to mother his kids 😣😣 thinking of dilf! childe with ginger stubble coming thru  ’n really big, beefy arms that his children love to dangle themselves from whenever he’s too busy to keep them entertained 😞!! they’re always clinging to their dad just  ’cus they love him sm, look up to him, begging him to play w them or take them ice-fishing... he’s a family man for sure – can always keep up with his kids, no matter how exhausted he is!

˃▿˂ and and just imagine dilf! ajax in the mornings, grey sweats  ’n shirtless – so you can take in his happy trail & scarred chest >_< he’d sneak up behind you while you’re making a coffee in the kitchen. 😣 start massaging little circles into ur hips, his stubble scratching you with every kiss, praising you over and over. how good you look, can’t believe ur all his’; his wife, the mother of his kids. he just loves u sm!!! wants u sm, and he’s sly about it too (it’s the fox in him) – before you know it, he has u pressed up against the kitchen counter, grinding into ur rear ^ ܸ. .ܸ^ ❤ begging for just one round with you while the kids are still asleep...

and the mention of dilf! wrio too.. he definitely adopted sigewinne 🥺 you cannot argue that there’s no father, daughter relationship between them! he’s 100% a girldad AND THE SAME FOR YINGXING, he’s a girldad too.. but ur so evil for putting dilf! childe in my mind — 🍓

him putting you on the kitchen counter and eating you out there 😩 his stubble scratching at your thighs and everything

[dolcekissy]

minty , ღ

: ̗̀➛ bunny!reader giving bsf!rafe head while using those mint drooling tablets while rafe records it.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ main masterlist | bunny!reader x bsf!rafe masterlist

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes oral sex, and a lot of spit ;)

─────────────────────────

you were bored ─ thumbs scrolling as you skipped through videos on tiktok. rafe invited you over just to chill in his bed and spend the night together, you loved spending time with rafe but you were fucking bored.

rafe laying down in his bed next to you, mindlessly scrolling through instagram ─ stopping to watch different reels and like pictures people posted. he stopped ─ his head snapping over to you and your phone when you gasped.

"oh my god! rafe look at this!" you shoved your phone in his face, showing him a video of a girl laughing with wide eyes ─ her mouth opened as saliva poured out of her mouth. "ew, what the fuck." he groaned out, his brows furrowing as he looked away.

"no way that shits real!" you laughed, clicking on the link to look at the little mints and reading the description. "we have to try these, that's so funny." you giggled, immediately adding it to your cart and purchasing it.

rafe scoffed and continued scrolling through his phone, "that shits not real ─ bet it's a scam or some shit."

─────────────────────────

a few days passed and your package came in the mail, you excitedly opened it and texted rafe to pick you up. you were going to surprise him and try to get him to try them with you.

rafe had totally forgotten about them, so when you pulled out a little bright package he furrowed his brows at you ─ asking you what that is.

"it's those mint tablet things i showed you ─ the ones that make you drool a lot, told you we were trying them." you giggle, opening the package and popping one in your mouth.

"you've gotta be kidding me." rafe scoffed, he looked at the little package and read the strength ─ not even a minute later you're opening the car door and laughing as saliva starts dripping down your chin and onto the ground.

"rafe! oh my god look!" you step out of his car, holding your hair back with your hands as your mouth drips and pours. rafe shakes his head and gets out of the car, walking over to you as you look up at him with a laugh.

you stick your tongue out and watch your spit pour down onto the ground with wide eyes. his eyes widened and his dick is immediately hardening when your wide eyes meet his.

"how long does that last." he asked, trying to adjust his pants as you looked down at the ground glistening in your spit. you shrug with a laugh, "i dunno ─ they said people use this for cotton mouth but i bet people use it to suck dick."

he shook his head ─ watching you close your mouth for a moment before opening it again, spit pouring down your lips and chin. you look up at him with raised eyebrows, his eyebrows raising too as he waits for you to say something.

"wanna try it?"

─────────────────────────

you're on your knees in the back of rafe's car ─ holding all the saliva that's been begging to come out as rafe eagerly pulls his sweatpants and underwear down. you quickly grab his cock with one hand and open your mouth, letting everything drip on him.

he groans at the feeling of your warm spit and the sight of you in front of him. his hands pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you wrap your lips around his cock ─ your dripping tongue twirling around his pink tip.

"shittt." he groans. you begin bopping your head on his cock, feeling your spit run down and your chin and drip onto the floor of his car. he grabs his phone sitting next to him, pulling the camera app up and turning the flash on while he records you.

your eyes meet the camera lens as you let his cock hit the back of your throat ─ his groans going straight to your needy pussy. after a few moments of literally slurping on his dick, he guides your head up and down his cock before pulling your head back.

"fuckkk, m'gonna cum ─ stick your tongue out, doll."

you stick your tongue out, letting the camera watch your saliva and his warm seed drip off your tongue and onto his cock ─ the seat below him glistening and his thick cock shining.

"mmm, 's your turn rafey." you lean over, grabbing the pack and popping one into his mouth ─ immediately switching positions with him and pulling your lace panties down, your ass laying flat against the puddle of spit as you wait for him to create an even bigger puddle while he drools over your sopping pussy.

─────────────────────────

[tender-rosiey]

hello, love! i hope you're doing great! i love reading your works and thank you so much for writing such beautiful pieces 🫶🏻

soooo... i was thinking of making a request! i'm not sure if you've written about this or not and please feel free to ignore it if you're uncomfortable with writing it or if you've already written it but here's the request:

satoru with newborn twin daughters 🥹

i noticed that there are almost no twin dad gojo fics and we already know that he's a girl dad. plus, i love your writing style. hence this thought. again, thank you so much for your hard work, rose! stay hydrated and have a great day! byeeee!

twin girls (and gojo ig) — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: i cant believe it took me like 7 months to finally post this; i am so sorry 🙏 BUT i am so so happy that you like my works and srsly thank you for your sweet words. they mean the world 🥹 hope that you like this as well! have a wonderful day!! 🫶🫶

the only thing worse than having one girl you can’t say no to is having two.

add to that the fact that satoru is already a softie when it comes to his daughters, and it’s a recipe for disaster—if you’re not there to intervene.

"papa, I want a dress!" one of your twins looks up at satoru with wide, sparkling eyes, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

her sister quickly chimes in, her voice a little shyer but just as determined. "I-I want a dress too, papa!"

satoru crouches down to their level, hands on his knees as he looks between his two little girls, his white hair falling messily into his eyes.

“two dresses, huh?” his voice takes on a faux-serious tone. “what kind of dresses are we talking about?”

“sparkly!”

“twirly!”

“pink!”

“blue!”

their voices rise with excitement, and satoru’s grin only grows wider as he listens, nodding as though their demands are being carefully cataloged in his mind.

you can’t help but smile from the doorway, watching the scene unfold. his enthusiasm when it comes to them is both endearing and ridiculous.

"satoru," you call out, interrupting his train of thought. your arms are crossed, and a teasing smile plays on your lips. "we agreed they only need one dress each, remember?"

he turns toward you with a playful pout, the twins following his gaze.

“they’re my princesses, wifey! how can I deny them a little extra sparkle?” he says, completely unbothered by the parental negotiations you both agreed on just yesterday.

you raise an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer and placing a hand on his arm. “you’ll be sleeping on the couch if they come home with more than one each.”

satoru's expression shifts immediately, an exaggerated look of surrender plastered on his face as he straightens up, holding up his hands. "alright, alright. one dress each. promise."

later that evening, when you return home, your twin girls are twirling around in front of you in two dresses each—one sparkly, one twirly, naturally.

your gaze falls on satoru, who stands casually leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, whistling as if he’d done nothing wrong.

“satoru,” you pout, “I thought we had an agreement.”

he gives you a cheeky grin and a shrug, completely unbothered. “they were on sale,” he says as if that justifies everything.

the girls, oblivious to your exasperation, giggle and show off their new outfits, spinning around in excitement.

"mama, look! don't we look pretty?"

"yeah, mama! we look pretty, right?"

you press your lips into a thin line, but the fondness in your eyes betrays you. you sigh and ruffle their hair, "yes, very pretty, both of you."

the girls squeal in happiness and run around the house in their excitement. your husband nudges your arm gently with a teasing smile. you quirk an eyebrow before pushing him away with a chuckle.

you can never deny that you love seeing them so happy, even if it means satoru has bent the rules—again.

of course, life with your husband and your twin girls is a whirlwind. even bedtime is an adventure (read: a battle).

one night, the girls are bouncing off the walls in their matching pajamas, their giggles filling the room as they run circles around satoru, who’s sitting at the edge of the bed, utterly failing to get them under control.

"alright, time to settle down," he says, his tone light but lacking any real authority. the girls shake their heads as their dad is simply not cut out to be the strict parent in their eyes.

however, when he opens his arms, one of the girls takes the chance to climb his lap. his hand ruffles her hair, and she hums happily .

"papa, can we have three stories tonight?" the twin on his lap asks, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

her sister, not wanting to miss out, rushes over and clings to his other arm. "no! I want four stories!"

satoru sighs dramatically, glancing over at you for backup. you are sitting like the boss you are on the loveseat in the room. you look up when you feel your husband's eyes on you.

“they only get one story,” you remind him, trying not to laugh at his predicament.

satoru looks between the two girls, their wide eyes fixed on him. “alright, alright,” he finally concedes, holding up two fingers. “two stories. that’s my final offer.”

he hears you groan, and his heart breaks at disappointing you, but he can’t just say no to them. the twins cheer as if they’ve won a war, grabbing their favorite books from the bedside table.

it takes you a few moments before you smile helplessly as you watch him negotiate with them like it’s a high-stakes sorcery mission. it's not long before your daughters fall asleep. satoru's voice has always been comfort incarnate for them.

"you’re too soft," you tease as you walk over to him, pinching his nose—he yelps as quietly as he can, so you plant a soft kiss on his temple.

he leans into your touch for a moment, closing his eyes. "can’t help it," he mutters, "they’ve got your charm.”

afternoons are no less chaotic, especially at the park, where the twins drag satoru toward the swings, their little hands gripping his fingers as they bounce excitedly.

"papa, push me higher!" one demands, already settling onto the swing.

"me too! higher!" her sister echoes, scrambling onto the swing beside her.

satoru stands behind them, cracking his knuckles.

“higher, huh? I think I can manage that.” he gives the first swing a firm push, sending one of the twins soaring up, her laughter filling the air.

you sit on the third swing, smiling at the scene.

satoru looks over at you, his grin softening as his eyes meet yours. the way their laughter fills the atmosphere fills your heart, and you can tell that satoru feels the same.

at least, until he decides to push you and make you take full 360s on the swing.

“wow, mama is swinging!”

“in a circle!”

“satoru, I will kill you!!”

"waiting for that, wifey!"

dinner, as always, is an ongoing fight. tonight, the twins are in full protest mode against their vegetables.

"I don’t like broccoli," one twin pouts, pushing her plate away.

"me neither," her sister adds, crossing her arms as if this decision has been made final.

satoru, ever their ally in mischief, leans back in his chair, his expression far too relaxed. "well, I guess no one’s eating broccoli tonight," he says, clearly enjoying this little act of rebellion.

while you're proud of your girls backing each other up, you rather it not be right now. you shoot satoru a warning glance, shaking your head with a sigh. "they need to eat their veggies, satoru."

he shrugs, smirking lazily as he glances at the twins. “they’re gojo kids. I think they’ll survive without a little broccoli.”

the twins giggle, clearly siding with him. but you know how to play this game too; otherwise, you would have never been able to handle the man child beside you. “okay, fine,” you say with a sly smile. “no dessert if they don’t eat their veggies.”

the girls’ eyes go wide in horror, and they quickly turn to their father, their last hope. “papa, no! we want dessert!”

caught between you and the twins, satoru sighs dramatically, like he’s being asked to sacrifice everything.

“alright, alright, princesses,” he concedes, hands raised in defeat. “but you’ve gotta eat the broccoli if you want dessert. we gotta listen to mama.”

the twins reluctantly pick at their plates, eyeing the broccoli with disdain, but determined to make it to dessert.

you exchange a triumphant smile with satoru, who just rolls his eyes playfully.

and in the quieter moments, when the twins are asleep, and it’s just the two of you, he wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I don’t know how you do it,” he murmurs softly. “keeping us all in line.”

you smile, leaning into his touch, “someone’s gotta make sure we don’t end up with a house full of sparkly dresses.”

satoru laughs quietly, pulling you closer. “what can I say? I’m weak when it comes to you three.”

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do not copy or plagiarize

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[hyewka]

—what a loser! | c.bg

୨୧ synopsis. hearing rumours of your sex life travel around your campus for the first time has you standing in front of the very person that you’re convinced is responsible. your secret fuck buddy.

୨୧ warnings. stoner!gyu, bratty sub!beomgyu, mean femdom, humiliation kink, VERY public, hair pulling, hate sex kind of, cunnilingus, use of pet, fuck buddies, reader has a priest dad, bit of a toxic dynamic

“Why’re you here?” he mumbles casting his eyes down to his feet as he idly skates around, not paying you even a little bit of eye contact or actual acknowledgement.

“Can we talk somewhere else? More private?”

He ignores you.

You huff, rolling your eyes, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. The sun had already set, there were even less people out—no one was skating around at this hour but Beomgyu. “Why—" you take a breath, already feeling yourself get emotional and angry, “Why did you go around telling people about us?”

There’s a few reasons circling your head. Attention, bragging rights—attention was a big one but you hoped, no, a part of you believes it was an accident. That he let the information slip from his lips when he was drunk, or out of his right mind. But with the way he’s acting, it’s getting harder to hold on to the belief that Beomgyu was misunderstood and not just a fucking asshole.

Too much time goes by with silence and you think hes blatantly ignoring you again, but then he halts his skating, taking the time to run a hand through his hair. Hair that you’ve regretfully played with days on end, twirling strands around your finger, giggling as if the foundation you’ve built your relationship on wasn’t such a fragile fire that could be snuffed out in seconds if not the tiniest bit careful.

Look where you are now.

“Dunno, ‘cuz I can.”

His eyes are on you, bangs parted, looking straight at you. You can’t get it out of your mind, how the ends of his lips twitched up as he said that. Bitch. Fucking bitch.

He finds this amusing. A game. Your reputation was a game to him. Of course it is. He never took anything serious, not his career, not his relationships, not his future—he never cared.

Your nostrils flare as you stomp large strides towards him, charging and shoving his chest, having him stumble backwards off his board, dryly laughing. “The goody two shoes about to commit an assault?”

“Oh fuck off, you wouldn’t dare try suing me. God, I hate you so much. You’re such a—such a fucking loser!” you yell.

That wiped off the cocky demeanour.

“Here’s some two cents for you, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about whatever this is between us. I really couldn’t. But you—” your face gets heated up, pointing a finger at him. “You will never find anything better than what I gave you. And you’re going to live with that.”

He scoffs like he’s unbothered but it’s so clear with the way he clenches his jaw afterwards he’s pissed—it hit a spot. Good. Good, let him be hurt.

“What do you even—what did you gain by telling everybody my sex life? Having people call me a slut? Some sick pleasure from being superior to me for once? Attention? Huh? Why’re you acting out now?” Your eyes are narrowed as they implore answers out of him, searching his face and eyes, anything, anything that you can read from his unbearable silence.

“Yeah.”

You blink confused. “What?”

“Yeah, I wanted the attention. Happy now?” He walks to shoulder you but you let out a scoff, holding him back by his arm and pushing him in front of you again.

“You can’t for one second act like a man can you? You just run away from everything!” you feel like you could rip out your hair with how frustrating hes being.

“If you’re just going to stand there and insult me like a bitch I might as well just go and do something fucking productive.” he spits.

Your cheeks heat up and you think for the first time you understand the phrase of seeing red. Hes been poking and poking and poking with his nonchalance then later smugness then going onto just straight up disrespect—he was really pushing you. So he should’ve expected the hand that goes to strike him against his face—your chest rising up and down, brows furrowed deeply.

A faint red hand print blooms across his cheek, and his jaw falls slack, eyes blown out and wide. You suddenly grab him by the back of his hair, no doubt burning his scalp with the way he lets out a loud hiss. “I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

You’re so close to his face and everything about the way he’s looking at you gives you the chills. You hate him. You do. He’s insane, he’s selfish, he’s rude, he’s—

A shaky lopsided grin still manages to break from his face, “No you don’t.”

And that was your last straw.

The addictive nature about Beomgyu is what kept you coming back over and over again—he never lead, he just let you…take him. And sometimes, at a point of your life where you feel like everythings being controlled for you, not having the choice to make the decisions you like, this somewhat served as an outlet.

That’s the more…reasonable explanation.

The other explanation is simple. He’s so fucking sexy.

The way he still melts into a kiss so harsh and mean, attempting to cup your cheeks, but immedietely dropping it when he feels your disapporval, his whimpers already picking up, not taking any incentive to breathe as if this kiss was enough to keep him alive; it’s those little things that have you up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Him.

Beomgyu, the stereotypical bad-boy stoner hipster outcast—the antithesis of everything present in your picture perfect life—he keeps you up at night. The mix of weed and his hilariously bad attempt at covering it with febreeze and cologne wafts your scent, it overwhelms you, but you still can’t get enough. Everything annoying about him disappears when he’s touching you.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” you say, finally being able to pull away from him—only after you had jerked on his hair harsher.

His lips are swollen, red and glistening—he looks pretty like this. He really does. But those lips always end up saying something to piss you off. “Keep doing what? Letting everyone know how you really are? Not actually the good girl you pretend to be, huh.”

You don’t know if he’s goading you on purpose because he likes it rough, or if he’s just being an asshole in general. It doesn’t matter. If he’s going to act like a brat, he’ll get treated like one.

Your knuckles had turned white with how hard you were gripping his hair so it feels relieving when you finally let it go. He tries to lean in to chase after your lips again, but you have your hands on his chest to stop him.

The flash of panic in his eyes when you step back from him is hilarious, it really is. It tells you everything you need to know. He wants you. He really wants you. He doesn’t care if you hit him or ruin his life, he wants you.

If his next words are any indication. “Hey, hey what are you doing? Where are you going?”

You walk to sit on a step of the stairs. “Do you think I’m a slut? Is that why you thought you had the audacity? Surely because otherwise if you respected me you wouldn’t have spread those rumors about me.”

He huffs out a laugh, the biggest reaction you’ve gotten out of him so far. He also walks to get closer to you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t even come up with one single reason that would paint me in a better light. You really do see me as a fucking douchebag loser.” He’s clearly getting emotional with the way his voice gets higher pitched, the nonchalant front cracking, his lips slightly trembling.

“Because that’s what you are. Douchebag. Loser. You’re. A. Loser. Choi Beomgyu.”

You can see his fists clench at his sides, tight lipped. If you knew any better, you think he might’ve just started crying, but you’re not interested in tears. You angle your feet to point to the ground, “On your knees.”

He only hesitates for a second, he only stands there staring at you for a second, only a second before he crumbles and does as you say, getting on his knees in front of you, between your legs. “Closer.”

“But-"

“But what?” Your skirts already half way ridden up and you stare him down, keeping your eye contact intense.

“We’re in p-public. Anyone can see.”

You know hes blushing when you see the tips of his ears peek out, bright red. Aw, he’s nervous? Embarrassed? Shy?

“You’re never seeing me after this Choi. Make of it what you can or piss off.”

His eyes widen comically at that. “What? What does that mean? Are you leaving me?”

You can’t decipher or understand why exactly hes so surprised but you shake it off, you don’t want your good time to be spoiled. Not when your underwears�� already sticking to your pussy seeing him on his knees, on the ground, with his ripped baggy jeans, no doubt a pavement burn getting to him. “Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave?”

He shakes his head vehemently, hands on your knees spreading your legs. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. Don’t leave. Gonna make you feel good, promise.”

He’s already rambling like he’s dumbed out, like he’s about to be a goner. But he’s still hesitant in his actions and you groan, throwing your head back. “What the fuck Beomgyu?”

A pout rests on his lips, “I—…I don’t want anyone seeing you..”

You think he’s giving a fuck for your decency, you think its about you for once. But then another thought pops up in your head and your lips twitch. It’s not for you. It’s for him. He doesn’t want any possible pedestrian to see what only him so far has been able to see.

This isn’t worth it.

You make an attempt to get up before Beomgyu immediately has you sit back down, wasting no time to press his face between your legs, skirt over his head. His tongue pokes out to lick on over your panties, gradually wetting it and you sigh, the tenseness of your body evaporating. “Yeah, thats it. Be good for me pup.” He whines at that.

Beomgyu doesn’t tease any longer the moment your hands go to grab his hair because suddenly he bunches your panties to the side and you feel the contact of his hot tongue on your cunt, already lapping away like a dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dumb dumb—but shit he’s having you curl your toes at the speed he’s going, the way he moans against your pussy like hes somehow enjoying eating you out more than you are.

“You’re my toy, nothing else. But you just keep—you keep irritating me, you keep being a dick, you keep provoking me.” you breathe out, tightening your fistful of his hair in your hand, making his moans even louder, nuzzling closer in your pussy you think he might genuinely suffocate at this point. But knowing him, he’d probably like that. “God, you absolute loser.”

He whines something intelligible, wet eyes looking up at you with his brows pulling up—it makes you gasp as you bite down on your bottom lip. He’s so pretty it’s unfair. Why’s such a sinful person so pretty? God must really have the time of his life making this hell for you.

You take it upon yourself to lift yourself a bit, grinding on his face harder, trying to reach your high, obstructing your view of his face—even with the anxiety of doing this so out in the open resting at the pit of your stomach. He’s practically mewling in your pussy, and the sounds send vibrations, his nose bumping up your clit every now and then. He lets you use him, he just lets you.

When Beomgyu fully submits like this to you…you see stars, you come hard. “More…more”, he groans, licking up your arousal. It’s so dirty, it really is, but you can’t help but nod.

Having the skater eat you out till your legs were jelly at a skatepark late at night would surely guarantee your place in hell.

“You’re such a whore, letting me fuck your face like this baby—don’t soil your pants yet, I know how you get. Probably getting off at the fact that we’re out l-like this…h-hah—dirty, dirty boy.”

He shakes his head, the glistening sweat of his forehead and the matted strands on his temple proof of how hard hes really going at it. “Not dirty. Just wan’ your attention..”

The second you tut at him for stopping he immedietely dives back in—you don’t know if it’s more him being afraid of a punishmet or because he himself doesn’t want to stop. Never mind that, because now hes wrapping his pretty lips around your clit and you’re fucking losing your mind with how quick your head clouds.

There are so many things circling your head right now. And this always happens whenever he starts talking during a hook up. Yes, it helps you get to an edge even faster but its for all the wrong reasons. He’d dirty talk for a bit before switching up, and suddenly all of his words are loving and cute and adorable and, and that’s bad. When you see him other than the image he’s curated for himself—that’s when you start feeling the unfamiliar butterflies fluttering.

You don’t like it. He’s not good for you.

“Stop thinking, only focus on me.” You gasp, your fingers digging into his tangled hair, disheveling it even more. Only him.

He makes you orgasm again, and when you catch your breath you gently push his head away, then harder when he can’t seem to stop kissing your inner thighs. He sighs, dropping it, but not without giving you one last puppy plea. You avoid his eyes, pulling your panties up and scoping around the area, all of a sudden feeling exposed. Did you really just let this punk eat you out on a staircase?

You stand up, dusting your ass, taking note of the redness of his knees and the large wet patch in between his crotch when Beomgyu follows, getting up from his knees, wiping his ridiculously wet lips. You tuck a strand behind your ear as you awkwardly stand, thinking over what you’re going to say now.

We’re over, bye.

I’ll go home now, don’t call me.

I hope you know how bad you messed up. Bye.

I’m blocking you on everything so don’t even think of contacting me.

“Don’t leave me.”

…That has you snap out of your reverie.

His voice is low, no doubt vulnerable. This is the worst. This is bad. Shit.

You clear your throat. “Why? Why shouldn’t I? Even if I didn’t want to I’d have to…my dad knows about you now because of the little stunt you pulled and he definitely doesn’t approve of you.” You mumble the last part, crossing your arms and keeping your distance. But that’s not of any use when he steps forward every time you take a step back.

“I’m—” He runs a hand through his hair again, clearly frustrated. And you don’t understand why, does he really operate life thinking there aren’t consequences to his actions? If he didn’t want to stop this so bad why’d he tell people about your relationship when you explicitly told him not to? “We can—we can do it in secret like we did this entire time. He doesn’t have to know.”

You sigh, also frankly frustrated. “Beomgyu! Why can’t you just-"

Suddenly you’re in his embrace, engulfing you so gently and yet the desperation in it couldn’t have been any more tighter. “Please, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll really do everything you want, I’ll be your toy, your pet, whatever shit you’re into—just don’t leave me."

You really shouldn’t give in. You really, really shouldn’t.

But then he nuzzles into your neck, mumbling with that slight whiny drawl in his tone, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Won’t misbehave anymore.”

Of course you give in. Again.

୨୧ note. honestly don’t know where this came from, i was just making up backstory as i was writing. literally only had one thought and one thought only, what if sub!bad boy x dom! good girl? and that was the small attempt made here lol, i love hearing any feedback or even a theory or two concerning the story’s world as i might explore these characters again 🙏

[maybanksbaby]

warnings: none really

summary: jj really loves his new boat and shows it off to his girlfriend

a/n: he looked so cute in the comercial, i love him so much. please let him be happy this season 🙏🙏

⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

JJ Maybank was practically vibrating with excitement as he waited on the dock, a wide grin plastered across his face. His brand-new—well, new to him—boat was tied up right behind him, and he couldn’t wait to show it off to her. His pretty girlfriend and number one fan, the one who made everything in his life feel like it was coated in sugar and wrapped in a pink bow.

The sound of soft footsteps on the weathered wooden planks jolted him from his thoughts, and he whipped around to see his girlfriend, the absolute light of his life, making her way toward him. She looked as cute as ever, dressed in one of those sweet knitted tops she always wore, paired with a short skirt that twirled with each step. Her hair was bouncing with the sea breeze, and she had her usual pink gloss that smelled like strawberries, making him weak in the knees before she even said a word.

"J!" she called out, her voice making his already sky-high excitement bubble over.

Before she could even finish her next breath, JJ was already running toward her, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her down the dock. "You’re here, you’re here, you’re here! Okay, close your eyes!"

She blinked, giggling at his enthusiasm. "JJ, what are you—JJ!” she squealed, letting out an adorable little laugh when his hands covered her eyes from behind, her body relaxing into his. “What are you doing?”

“You trust me, right?”

“I do, yeah…”

“Then close your eyes,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, which instantly sent her into a new fit of giggles.

She sighs, her shoulders slumping down. “Can i at least get a hint of what it is?”

“Nope! Eyes closed, no peeking! This is a surprise!” He placed his other hand over her eyes too for extra insurance.

She let out a playful sigh but complied, trusting him as he eagerly led her down the last stretch of the dock. “Okay, okay! I’m closing them!”

JJ could barely contain himself as he guided her close to the boat, careful not to let her trip. “Alright… three… two… one—ta-da!” He whipped his hands away from her eyes and bounced on his heels as she finally saw it.

The messy panting, that if you narrowed your eyes read 'MAYBANK'S' on the right side, didn't let much to the imagination. Now, she understood.

Her eyes widened, and she let out a surprised gasp, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh my gosh, JJ! Is–Woah. Is this… this boat is yours?"

“Yup!” he said, puffing out his chest and throwing his hands up proudly.

Her gaze swept over the boat—a charming, beat-up thing, but it was perfect for JJ. The paint was chipped, and the motor looked like it had seen better days, but it had a certain rugged charm, just like him. “JJ, it’s—”

“Beautiful? Amazing? The best thing you’ve ever seen?” He interrupted, unable to contain his excitement.

She giggles, nodding along. “Yeah! How did you even manage this? We're... literally broke right now.”

JJ let out a short awkward chuckle, scratching his wrinkled eyebrows, “Uh, well... that's not really important. What is important though, is that she's all mine–Ours! It's not really new but, with a couple of technical adjustments, a little more of my girl's style right here and—boom! Meet 'The Maybank!”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes twinkling, before bursting into giggles. “The Maybank?”

“Okay, okay, it’s a work in progress, name-wise” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “But who cares about the name? Check this out! Come on, come on!" He grabbed her hand again and practically sprinted to the back of the boat, pulling her along with him like an overexcited puppy.

“JJ!” she laughed, trying to keep up with his energy.

“Look at this beauty of a motor!” he exclaimed, leaning over to pat the engine like it was some prized race car. “She purrs like a kitten! Well, kinda more like a sick kitten, but once I fix her up—purring.”

She smiled warmly, her heart swelling at how proud and happy he looked. JJ had been through so much, more than most people could handle, and yet here he was, smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning, showing her the boat he’d worked so hard to get. “A sick kitten? Oh, it's... Yeah, probably fixable. Without any more costs...”

“Oh, it is, princess!” JJ said, completely missing the uneasy tone. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet! Come here!”

He tugged her to the front of the boat, showing off the seats with grand gestures, talking a mile a minute. “These seats? Top-tier comfort. I mean, okay, there’s a rip or two, but it’s vintage, y’know? Character! Like–Like you say. Aesthetic.... And this right here—” He pointed to the tiny built-in cooler. “Boom! Cooler for all our drinks. You, me, the Pogues? Ice-cold sodas, beers, whatever we want. Fancy, huh?”

“Very fancy,” she giggled, nodding along.

“And wait, wait, there’s more!” He led her to the very front of the boat, practically skipping at this point. “See this space? Perfect for you to lay out and tan while I drive. Like a little sunbathing queen. Plus, I can park us in all the secret spots around OBX.”

She couldn’t stop laughing at how eager he was, and her heart swelled as she watched him ramble on. “You’re really proud of this, huh?”

He stopped mid-gesture and turned to her, his grin softening for a moment. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not much, but it’s mine. I can finally take you out on adventures, like we always talked about.”

Her heart melted at his words, and she reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. “JJ, it’s perfect. I love it. I’m so proud of you.”

He leaned into her touch, his heart thudding in his chest. But before the moment could get too soft, his energy snapped back, and he grabbed her hand again. “Come on, I haven’t shown you the captain’s seat yet!”

He practically dragged her over to the helm, hopping into the driver’s seat and patting the spot next to him like an excited puppy. “Check it out! You wanna drive? You totally gotta drive.”

She shook her head, laughing again, but took a seat next to him, watching as he fiddled with the controls like a seasoned pro. “I don’t think I’m ready to drive a boat just yet, JJ. Can't even drive the HMS Pogue”

“Pfft, you’ve got me! I’m a captain now, baby. I’ll teach you everything. Plus, there’s not much to it—steering, not hitting rocks, easy peasy. You got it.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe next time, Captain Maybank.”

“Next time, I’ll hold you to that,” he smirked, turning to plant a quick kiss on her forehead.

With one swift movement, JJ started up the boat, and they pulled away from the dock, the boat chugging forward at a steady pace. The wind whipped through her hair, and JJ was practically glowing beside her, his smile as wide as the ocean they were heading toward.

“See? Easy!” JJ exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear as they coasted along the water. “This is just the start. I’m gonna take you everywhere, baby—secret beaches, hidden coves, the works. We’ll go places no one else even knows about. And just then, we'll be traveling all over the world. Like pirates”

She watched him, her heart practically melting as he rambled on, his energy so infectious that it made her feel like they were the only two people in the world. His joy was her joy, and she couldn’t help but beam at how proud and excited he was. “JJ, this is… amazing.”

He shot her a playful smirk. “I'm telling you, just wait until I fix the motor. Then we’ll be flying across the water, like those fancy Kooky boats. But better.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as the boat slowed to a gentle stop in the middle of the water, the sound of the engine fading away to leave just the soft lapping of the waves. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in a beautiful mix of orange, pink, and purple. It was serene, and perfect.

As they glided over the water, JJ kept up his constant narration, pointing out every little thing about the boat, from the condition of the steering wheel to a small patch he’d made on the deck with duct tape. She soaked it all in, giggling at his over-the-top enthusiasm, and her heart swelled at how happy and free he seemed.

After a while, JJ slowed the boat to a stop in a quiet, serene spot with a perfect view of the setting sun. The water around them was calm, reflecting the orange and pink hues of the sky.

“And here we are,” JJ announced, throwing his arm over her shoulders as if he’d just revealed a million-dollar mansion. “Not bad for a first trip, huh?”

She snuggled into his side, her fingers tracing little patterns on his arm. “Not bad at all. I think I could get used to this.”

JJ grinned, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “You'll see, pretty girl. ”

She laughed, tipping her head up to kiss him on the cheek. “I can’t wait, Captain Maybank.”

JJ wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close as they watched the sunset together. His excitement from earlier had finally settled into a comfortable warmth, and for the first time in a while, he felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. He places his chin on his shoulder, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh,” she teased, gentely tilting her head go look at him. “That’s never good.”

“Hey!” he laughed, then shook his head. “Nah, but seriously. You, know, the name of the boat? ‘The Maybank's’?" The way he pronounced it, slowly and with a twich of his eyebrows, managed to get a giggle from her. "It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

"Mhm, yeah. Really... characterized"

His grin softened into something a little more serious but no less JJ—playful yet full of warmth. He stepped closer, the arms around her waist gentely tighting. “Well, I was thinking… It’s perfect for when we get married too, you know? You’re gonna be a Maybank one day. Well, if you want. You can keep your last name though, not sure how it all works up these days, but... I wouldn't mind to share, you know? Just saying”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt her cheeks flush as his words settled in. Instead of being flustered, she melted into him, her smile only growing wider, softer, and so full of love. “No–I... You really think so?” she whispered, gazing up at him with that sweet, adoring look she saved just for him.

Her breath caught, the realization washing over her in a wave of warmth. They both knew it, had known it for a while now. The thought of marrying JJ felt like the most natural thing in the world, like it was already written in the stars.

“Of course! You’re my girl,” he said, his voice steady, almost serious, as if he was laying down the law. “When we get married, it’s going to be you and me, officially. Just picture it: ‘Captain and Mrs. Maybank’—how cool is that?”

A dreamy smile spread across her face, and she bit her lip, feeling giddy at the thought. “Mhm, sounds amazing, Jayj. Like a dream.”

His eyes lit up, and he pulled her closer, their bodies practically melting into one another. “See? It’s meant to be. I’ll show you the ropes on this boat, and then we can plan our future adventures as a married couple. Our honeymoon even” He flashed that goofy grin that always made her heart race. “You’ll make the best wife ever.”

Her cheeks flushed at the sincerity in his words, and she felt her heart swell with love. “I would love to be your wife, Mr. Maybank,” she said earnestly, her voice a soft melody. “I can’t imagine anything better.”

“Mhm. You, me, and this boat—just sailing off into the sunset. It’s perfect.” He pointed to the sea vaguely, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And, hey, we can even practice the whole captain and first mate thing. We'll be the king and queen of these waters”

Her heart is about go explode in her chest, her eyes hurting from how much love they're holding while looking at him.

“Do you think we can take it out soon?” she asked, turning around in his arms to be face to face with him.

“Oh, absolutely. I already imagine us cruising around the island, just the two of us,” he said, a dreamy look crossing his face. “And then, in a few years, we’ll be out here with our kids, teaching them how to sail. It’ll be perfect.”

Her heart swelled at the thought, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. “I can’t wait for that, JJ. You make everything sound so fun and exciting.”

“Because it is! Especially with you!” He grinned down at her, and she could see the love and enthusiasm shining in his eyes. “You and me, forever, right?”

“Forever,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, but filled with all the certainty in the world. As they stood there together, she knew without a doubt that one day, they’d be sailing through life as Mr. and Mrs. Maybank, and nothing could be more perfect than that.

With her by his side and the open water ahead of them, JJ Maybank couldn’t imagine life getting any better.

[earthchica]

Try Again

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: you making your ex-boyfriend, Terry, jealous at a party.

warning: explicit smut (18+), jealousy, breakup to makeup, made-up characters, use of the n-word, spanking kink, choking, unprotected rough sex, dirty talking, creampie, slight daddy kink, foreplay, pet names (baby girl, baby)

note: That's right back with another Terry fic. Oh...lord, this man got me😍....anyway...I hope y'all enjoy it. There might be some errors.

-

Your relationship with Terry started lowkey chill and then became deeper than love.

However, as time passed, it became increasingly clear that you two wanted different things, ultimately resulting in a breakup.

It's been a long and agonizing three months, and instead of feeling better, the ache in your heart has only got worse.

Your yearning for him consumed you. You missed his smile, tender kisses, his cooking, and, oh, his warm hugs.

You missed everything about him and always wondered if it was the right decision to end the relationship.

Neither of you genuinely fought to save it; you just gave up too quickly.

You sat by the window, sighing, while drinking a warm cup of tea to comfort yourself.

The melancholy melody of music played softly in the background, adding to the reflective atmosphere.

Your phone vibrated, and you quickly reached for it to see who it was.

The caller was Aria; she and her boyfriend, Lance, are mutual friends between you and Terry.

She texted to express how much she missed you and extended an invitation to her house party.

You texted her that you also missed her and had to think about coming to the party.

She sent multiple texts in response, pleading and desperately urging you to come.

You agreed to attend and couldn't resist texting to ask whether Terry would be there.

Of course, she responded with a simple "Yes," confirming your question.

Then, you inquired if he was bringing someone else, and she replied, "Not sure."

You hoped he wasn't because the idea of him being with another girl was something you couldn't handle.

-

When you arrived at Aria and Lance's house, the vibrant party sounds greeted you.

The music reverberated through the air, and the energetic movements of the guests on the dance floor painted a vibe.

You looked at yourself in front of a small mirror near the entrance, fixing the sexy freakum dress that accentuated your curves and your silk-pressed hair that cascaded down your shoulders.

You paused to take a deep breath before stepping into the big living room.

As you walked by, a few men cast admiring glances in your direction.

Your eyes landed on Aria, and with a rush of excitement, you made a beeline for her, enveloping her in a warm, tight hug.

It had been far too long since you last saw her. After the breakup with Terry, you distanced yourself away from your friend.

"Oh my god {….......} you look so good." She gracefully twirls you around, evoking hearty giggles as you playfully showcase your figure.

"Thank you. You look so good, too, girl. And are you glowing? I see someone getting some good dick, huh?" You asked, observing her, which elicited a giggle from her.

"You know it, boo! That man knows how to put it on me. Ugh, I miss this...I miss you...come on, let's talk," Aria states, taking hold of your arm.

As you and Aria chatted comfortably on the couch, enjoying a great time, you noticed Terry conversing with Lance and a few other guys.

You were about to avert your gaze when a young, petite woman with a caramel-brown complexion, and long, luscious 4A curls approached Terry.

You tried your best to read her lips, she gracefully asked Terry if he wanted to dance, and his friends encouraged him to dance with her.

The surge of jealousy bubbled up within you, causing a knot in the pit of your stomach.

Despite taking a deep breath and turning back to Aria who was rambling about something.

You couldn't resist looking back at them and locked eyes with Terry. averted your gaze, but from the corner of your eye.

You noticed him striding towards you, and a sense of panic grew.

Aria was quick to sense your unease. "You good, sis?" she asked, and you nodded.

You tried to ignore his approach, but you heard his sexy, deep voice, and you almost lost.

"Hey," he greeted with his charming smile. You couldn't fathom why he had abandoned the girl on the dance floor to approach you.

You just gave him a nod.

Aria left, giving you and Terry some privacy to talk, and went to Lance.

Terry's imposing figure loomed larger than you remembered, his taut muscles accentuated by the snug fit of his shirt.

Feeling uneasy and irritated, you averted your gaze, fixating on your hands instead of meeting his eyes.

"You ain't gonna say hi to me?" Terry leaned in with a mischievous grin, his teasing tone lacing the air as he settled next to you on the couch.

"Why should I?" you replied, looking everywhere but him. His pretty grayish-blue eyes were unwavering and completely focused on you.

He was wondering what was swirling around in that pretty little head of yours.

"What?" you asked, eyes finally meeting his with confusion and curiosity.

A smirk graced his lips before he began to speak.

"You look gorgeous," he said, his words dripping with insincerity, igniting anger within you.

How dare he come over here looking fine as hell, complimenting you, and shit.

When he was just dancing with another bitch?

"Terry, don’t. Why are you over here? Where's your little girlfriend?" you asked with slight irritation and bitterness.

Terry smirked again, about to say something, but his sentence was abruptly halted by the sudden approach of a tall, strikingly handsome, dark-skinned man.

"Hey," He greeted, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours as he introduced himself. 

"I’m Jackson. Sorry...to interrupt...are you two together?" he asked, his eyes filled with hope, silently pleading for my response to be a no.

You noticed Terry's annoyance with Jackson’s presence and couldn't help but devise a mischievous plan in your mind.

You responded, "No," with a playful smile before locking eyes with Terry, who wore a disapproving frown.

Jackson nodded with a charming grin and asked if you wanted to dance.

"I'd love to, Jackson," you replied with a smile, intertwining your fingers with his and strolling gracefully toward the dance floor.

You couldn't help but feel Terry's burning gaze boring into the back of your head.

The next song starts to play—it was Beyonce. Jackson pulls you close to him. Wrap your arms around his neck as you dance against each other, hips moving in sync.

As the music played loud in the background, Jackson leaned in and whispered a flirtatious remark into your ear.

You turned in Jackson's strong embrace, feeling the warmth of his body as your ass pressed firmly against his crotch.

You slung one arm around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Jackson's lips delicately grazed against your dark-brown skin.

You could tell that Terry noticed and was unable to handle that. He abruptly stood up, causing a few nearby to startle.

Terry strode purposefully toward the two of you, and the crowd instinctively parted as they saw the intense, angry expression etched on his face.

The tension was palpable as he came to a halt in front of both of you, emitting a low, menacing snarl as a warning to back off. Jackson swiftly positioned himself in front of you.

As he stood there, nearly matching Terry's height, the atmosphere grew tense, and it was unsettling to witness the fight between the two formidable men.

"Let's go," Terry says to you, reaching out to grab your arm, but Jackson intervenes and pushes him away before he can.

"Hold on, bruh," Jackson exclaimed, his voice irritated.

"She doesn't have to go anywhere with you. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Terry clenched his fists, ready to swing on bra. You quickly stepped between them to prevent the situation from escalating.

"Stop, let's go, Terry. Jackson...thank you for the dance," you said, gently guiding Terry into a secluded room.

-

Terry was pacing back and forth, struggling to calm down. You tried to capture his attention by repeatedly calling his name, but he ignored you.

"What the fuck is your problem?" you asked, annoyance evident in your tone. He immediately halted his pacing and fixed his gaze on you.

"What is my problem? No, what the fuck is your problem? Huh," Terry asked with his deep voice.

"Dancing with that muthafucka when I'm sitting right in front of you." He yelled, frustratingly pointing.

"First of all...The last time I checked, I was single and could dance with whoever the fuck. And second of all, why do you even fucking care, huh? Weren't you dancing with another bitch?" You pressed, crossing your arms tightly in front of your chest.

"I barely dance with the fucking girl, you went out of your way to grind and let the nigga kiss you on and shit just to get a reaction out of me."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of defeat, realizing he had figured you out. You shouldn't be surprised with his ex-marine ass.

"You know what...fuck you. I'm out of here, " You were about to walk away, but Terry firmly grasped your arm to prevent you from leaving.

"Nah...you ain't fucking running like you always do. We're going to talk," Terry's voice echoed through the room.

"There's nothing to talk about, Terry. Now let me go," You yelled, straining to break free from his grasp, but his strength was overpowering.

"Don't you get it? I can't; not again," He stated intensely, causing you to stop comprehending his intended message abruptly.

"I tried to move on, I tried to get you out of my fucking head, baby girl....but..." He began but paused to gather his thoughts.

"But what? Terry," you said, shifting your gaze back and forth between his eyes, feeling his tight grip on your arm gradually loosen.

"I still love you, and I want you back." Terry's eyes bore into yours, a complex blend of love and frustration evident in his gaze. You pressed your lips against his lips without a word.

"I still love you too, Terry. I miss you so damn much. I'm sorry" You said, pulling away from the intense, passionate kiss.

"I miss you too, baby. Let's get out of here...so we can properly talk." He said, taking your hand gently and guiding you out of the room.

The warmth of his touch sends a comforting sensation through your body.

You exchanged byes with Aria and Lance, noticing their happy, knowing look as you both left the party.

-

As you both arrived at his place, the atmosphere was charged with sexual tension.

You two were supposed to talk, but the words faded into the background as the air crackled with the electricity of desire, and want.

You both were kissing, tongues dancing with each other while practically ripping each other's clothes off.

Terry's hold was firm as he lifted you to the edge of the bed. His body shifts between your legs.

He tilts his head to kiss you once more, his caress exuding a bit of roughness and fervor.

Terry moves to begin kissing your neck while slowly grasping your plump breasts and squeezing them.

You loved the way his thickness was touching the inner of your thigh.

Terry flipped you swiftly on your stomach to get a better view of your ass. You gasped, felt the sting of a sudden slap to your ass.

You turned your head to look at him, and his face lit up with a wide, mischievous grin.

"You thought you were off the hook, huh?" He asked, waiting for an answer.

You were on the verge of speaking, but all that came out was a groan as he landed another stinging slap to your ass.

"Daddy!" You whined, looking back at him.

"No...I gotta give you a little punishment after that little stunt," He says, sliding the tip of his dick up and down the wet slit of your pussy to tease you.

"Daddy, please. I'm sorry it will never happen again...I promise," you cried desperately.

"You bet your ass it ain't. Cause all kill a muthafucka." He says, stopping for a second before giving you a few stinging slaps on your ass.

"You're mine, baby! No one else, you got that?" His deep, husky voice reverberated as he leaned in and softly whispered into your ear.

"I'm yours, Daddy. I'm all yours. Please," You agreed, looking into his eyes.

He smiled before kissing you and roughly thrusting his dick inside of you.

You both shared a moan; he let go of your neck to grab at your hips while you held onto the sheets for dear life while he began with a few slow thrusted.

Terry chucked at your speechless whines, practically begging him to go faster.

"Come on, baby girl. Use your words for me.” his deep voice teases as his hips continue their slow thrusts.

"Faster, please. N-Need you to go faster, Need you to fuck me like you miss this pussy," You huffed out the words finally.

You suddenly felt the touch of his hand on your back to arch a little before his thrust got quicker.

"I do miss this pussy, this sweet tight pussy. Like this, baby girl?" He asked in his deep, rumbling voice.

"Yes, daddy. Just like that…oh fuck" you nodded with a moan as the slapping sounds of skin on skin filled the room.

Fuck, you missed this; you missed his delicious dick, missed feeling every inch of his dick hitting your sweet spot.

Terry slapped your ass a few times before grabbing a hand full of it to thrust in a slight angle.

You look back at him with deep pleasure expressed on your face as you grasp his wrist to thrust into him, which he always used to like a lot.

"Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Swear this sweet pussy was only made for me." He grunts, giving your ass another slap before getting on the bed in the spoon position, with you slightly facing him.

Terry kisses you, continuing to thrust hard into you while holding your neck.

You cried muffledly into the kiss, feeling him slap your cunt before rubbing circles over your clit.

His thrusts grow sloppier, losing himself to the great pleasure he’s feeling.

Terry missed you, your eyes, your smile, and the intimate moment you two had.

"I fucking love you, girl. Gonna fill up this pretty pussy...would you like that, baby" He asked, looking into your eyes intensely.

"Yes...I want it; I want to feel it all, Daddy. Fill me up," you moaned with a nod.

Terry picked up the paces again, balls hit your cunt hard, which ultimately sends you over the edge.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck" You cried, orgasming so hard. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, climax rushed over your body with a jolt.

"Shhh...I got you, baby," He says, pulling out for a second to move you to ride him, thrusting back inside to catch his own release.

You managed to calm down a bit from your high and assist Terry in getting his release.

You bite your lip, matching the rhythm of his thrust. Your pussy slightly gripped him tightly like a glove, which drove him crazy.

"Fuck...baby girl...that's it....help your daddy....just like that," Terry grunts, eyes rolling in the back of his head while gripping your waist for dear life.

"Mmm...I'm the only one that makes you feel like this, right, Daddy" You asked, leveling yourself on his chest as you bounce on his dick faster.

"Fuck...yes baby....the only one...you're so good to me...fuck, I'm gonna...." He grunts, feeling him fill you up with the hot spurts of his cum.

His breath jerks and lifts you a little to pull out and watch his cum drip from your pussy.

"Didn't I tell you I was gonna fill you up, baby?" he asked weary, smugly, and you nodded in response.

After Terry cleaned you up, you were lying beside each other, staring into each other's eyes.

"Hey, I know we have a lot of shit to figure out, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it work again," he said, caressing your face.

A warm smile spreads across your face; you love this man with every fiber of your being.

His ability to transition from a lustfully filthy tone to an irresistibly tender, gentle tone was incredible.

"Me too, Terry," you said, and he smiled, pulling you into a kiss filled with hope and love.

[hanjsquokka]

a hidden world.

han jisung × fem!reader — established relationship, fluff

summary — spending the weekend in the quiet intimacy of a log cabin in the forest with your boyfriend was a dream come true. an unexpected storm reveals something that wasn't part of your fantasy, something you never expected, even in your wildest dreams.

warnings — tooth rotting fluff, kissing

word count — 1.3K

author's note — hello hello everyone! i haven't had time to write a fluffy fic in a while. this can be read as a part two to this fic, but can also be read by itself! and here is hanji singing rewrite the stars which inspired these two fics <3

Jisung strummed his guitar, not in any particular tune as he tried to find the right note to start playing. His hair fell into his eyes, still damp from the shower he took earlier after the two of you fell into the lake while canoeing. You bit back a chuckle thinking back to the moment that happened a few hours ago. Your boyfriend was so confident about his fishing skills, only for both of you to end up taking a dip in the water fully clothed.

He must've heard you, because he looked up at you, a smile tugging at his lips but he tried to look annoyed. “Why are you laughing?”

“‘M not!” You couldn't hold back anymore and started laughing softly, your hands coming up to cover your mouth as Jisung playfully scowled at you. After a moment, you cleared your throat. “I'm serious. Very serious. You haven't met another person as serious as me.”

That made him crack a smile, shaking his head. “You're so dorky.” He looked back down at his guitar, adjusting the keys before he started to play. Rewrite the Stars. You would be lying if you said you didn't tear up, mostly because of his wonderful singing. It was so… beautiful. The way his body slightly swayed as he really got into the music, the small glances he gave you with a smile and as he continued for you.

Just for you.

Your heart was swelling as he continued to play, more and more until it was ready to burst at the seams from all the love that you held for for him. The ambience of the place you were in—in front of the cabin, sitting on foldable chairs around a small fire that warmed you from the cool evening air, fairy lights in the shapes of stars hung over you and the calmess that surrounded everything.

“And why don't we rewrite the stars? Changing the world to be ours…” Jisung played the final notes and stopped strumming, meeting your eyes with his big, doe ones. “How'd I do?”

“Perfect,” you said, getting up from the chair you were sitting in. Jisung placed his guitar next to him as you went over and sat in his lap. You let out a small, content sigh as you settled onto him, feeling his arms wrap around your body and holding you close to his chest. “As always.”

“You praise me too much,” he said with a laugh, kissing the side of your head, which made your stomach flutter. “Gonna give me an even bigger ego.” Jisung brushed the hair out of your face, twirling the strands around his finger as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, making you giggle. “Mm, keep laughing like that, baby, and I'll wife you up this instant.” Even though you knew he was just teasing you, you couldn't help the blush that creeper up your neck or the way your heart skipped a beat. “Hey, why don't I teach you how to play?”

“Huh?”

“You wanted to learn, right? We have the time now.” He adjusted you in his lap so that your back was pressed up against his chest, your sock covered feet resting on top of his. Jisung picked up his guitar again and placed it in your lap, his chin resting on your shoulder as he guided your hands to the correct places on the instrument. He told you a few beginner points, like the notes of the strings and the keys, how to adjust the tone and play a note. You struggled, much to his amusement, grumbling along while trying to follow his words and him doing nothing to help by kissing the side of your neck when you were just about to get it right.

“My fingers hurt,” you mumbled, looking at your reddened fingertips.

“Oh, we can't have that now, can we?” He pulled your hands to his face and kissed each of your fingers. “There, you'll feel better in no time.” Both of you giggled, getting back into a comfortable position once he put the guitar down. The two of you sat there for what felt like hours, trapped in your own little hidden world, away from the prying eyes of other people. You could feel the vibrations of Jisung's humming, some jazz song that he'd been listening to frequently, against his chest, right next to your ears.

You were almost lulled into a peaceful nap.

Almost.

A crack of thunder boomed across the sky, making both of you jump. You blinked as a drop of water fell on your nose and another on your cheek. You were quick to get on your feet, putting on your slippers and gathered your stuff and his guitar and speed-walked into the cabin. Once those were inside, you came back out only to find your boyfriend still sitting on his chair in utter denial of the thunderstorm.

“It's raining? But rain wasn't on the forecast—” You stopped Jisung mid whine and pulled him to his feet and hurried into the cabin before you could get too soaked.

Inside, it was much warmer, making a pleasant tingle run through you. You tugged at the ends of the hoodie you were wearing, Jisung's obvious, he rarely let you wear your own clothes at times like this, and pulled off your muddy socks. Jisung was still sulky, making a big deal of pulling on the elastic of his sock and throwing it aside and then doing the same to the other foot.

He was still sulky when the two of you were tucked into bed later that night, huddled close to keep warm and safe as the rain pattered on the window.

For you, this was the epitome of comfort.

For Jisung, it was the biggest possible catastrophe that could happen in his life and other than whining and complaining about it, he wasn't letting you in on the root of his pettiness.

“‘s not fair! I picked this weekend because the weather forecast said sunny, sunshine and rainbows. Not gloomy, dreadful, sad rain,” he rumbled, pushing his face further into the crook of your neck, as if that was possible. You carded your fingers through his hair in an effort to calm him down, but it didn't work. “Stupid forecast. I knew I shoulda never trusted you.” He let out a huff and you almost laughed, picturing the frown he must've had on his face with his eyebrows scrunched up and his lips turned in a pout.

“It's just rain, Ji. It'll be fine tomorrow—”

“But I don't want the rain today!” You laughed at his tone. “Stop laughing at me!” His words made your body shake even more. “I hate you.”

“I love you too,” you managed to say through your giggles.

He was quiet for a few moments, letting your laughs die down before he spoke. “I had everything planned out. I was going to sing you a few songs and we would have s’mores and then you'd go feel geek mode over the constellations thinking I don't know anything, but jokes on you, I actually learnt a few of them. And then when you go on rambling about the story of Orion's belt, I pull out the ring and—” He stopped himself. You felt his face heating up as did your own.

Did he just—

“Now look what you made me do! I spoiled the surprise!” He let out something between a cry and a whine. “Damn you and your ability to make me say stuff ‘m not supposed to say.”

“You'll get another chance tomorrow,” you said quietly. Hopefully he couldn't see your flushed face or the heat of your skin or the way your palms became sweaty and your heart was going crazy in your ribcage. “I heard nothing.”

He lifted his head up to look at you in the eyes. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

He nodded before assuming his previous position.

“Why Orion's belt though?”

“Baby!” He stretched out the last syllable, kicking your legs with his. You smiled and pulled him closer.

Your happy place.

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©hanjsquokka | copying, translating or republishing my work is strictly prohibited

[zweiginator]

Crawling After You (Patrick Zweig x Reader)

includes: mutual pining, friends to lovers, secret relationship

Patrick was your best friend in the whole world since childhood. You both went to tennis camps together and then to boarding school. Your parents are best friends, and they all thought your friendship would fizzle out by the time you hit puberty, but you stayed close.

And both of you would be in your own respective relationships that would inevitably fizzle out when your partners couldn’t get past your closeness. The bona fide twinkle in your eyes when you saw each other, even when it had only been a day or two.

Your friends all have crushes on him; they giggle and twirl their hair at his matches. They say they’re there for you, but you see how they blush when Patrick grunts, when he peels his shirt off and throws his battered racket against the pavement.

“You’ve never thought about fucking him?” Your friend asked you after your match. You were pissed about losing; Patrick was in your peripheral, beaming with his own friends about his big win against an NCAA favorite from UCLA.

“No.” You took a gulp of water, shaking your head. “I haven’t.”

“Do you think he thinks of fucking you?” Another friend butted in. “I mean, how can you resist that?”

You repeated yourself. “No.” Another sip of water, to help you hold your tongue. You weren’t in a good mood. “Patrick does not need help in the dating department, I know he doesn’t think of me that way. We are friends and that’s it.”

Except, since last summer, you had been fucking. A lot. The problem was that you and Patrick hated being told, “I told you so.”

And every single person you had crossed paths with, from middle school teachers, to tennis coaches, to acquaintances in your class were convinced you and Patrick would inevitably end up together. The story was too picturesque, your interests too aligned.

So you kept it a secret. You kept your chin high when girls fawned over Patrick, and he bit the inside of his cheek when boys whistled as you entered the court.

Last summer, Patrick and you got in a huge fight. You had never fought before; your friendship was uncomplicated. Neither of you ever directly competed against the other in tennis, you had almost everything in common. But after a team dinner one night in July, he and you were seething.

“Oh my god, Patrick.” You shoved his chest, annoyed that he barely moved from the force. You were in the parking lot, leaning against his expensive Jeep, a gift from his parents. “All you do is talk about the most shallow, meaningless fucking things.”

It started after he began to complain about your piqued interest in politics. You had always been well-read, but as Patrick said, “You just don’t need to talk about it all the fucking time.”

“What the fuck do I talk about that’s shallow? Tennis? Because last time I checked we both do that.” He rolled his eyes. “And don’t fucking shove me.”

You mocked him. You knew that was his biggest pet peeve. “You’re mad because I care about what’s happening in the world? Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m mad because you sound like a piece of shit politician, and your fucking personality changes as soon as you start talking to a new guy. And you’re becoming so fucking pretentious since you started hanging out with that fucking douchebag Vincent.”

You scoffed. “I find it funny you call me pretentious when you grew up in a fucking castle. Ironic coming from a kid who had escargot and caviar served to him on a platter at age 6.”

“What are you even talking about? You’re just saying shit that doesn’t even make sense because you know I’m right!”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I don’t change my personality. I’m not even talking to anyone right now, and if I were, why does that even concern you?”

“Oh okay.” Patrick nudged you to move you away from the driver’s side door, letting himself in. “Get in, it’s about to rain.”

“No. What were you gonna say?”

He yelled your name. “I don’t want to get drenched. Just fucking get in!”

You crossed your arms. He was right, the wind was picking up, goosebumps peppered your arms all over and your hair blew into your face.

“Fine, then don’t.” He got into the car and started it. The headlights hurt your head and burned saucers into your retinas.

The rain began slow; fat droplets splashed against the curb and dribbled down your cheeks. And then it was faster, and the wind grew stronger, and you stood your ground. Patrick watched you, he watched your gray Stanford shirt get soaked, and your tennis skirt become plastered to your legs. Your hair was flush against your cheeks, eyelids heavy.

“Fucking get in the car.” He wasn’t yelling anymore. His shoulders were slumped, and you know he felt defeated as he got out of the car.

“Why don’t you tell me anything?” You started to cry. You didn’t know where this was coming from; this tantrum.

Patrick was soaked too. “I do tell you things!”

“Not as much.”

“It’s hard. It was easier when we were kids.”

“But what changed?” The engine grew louder, almost crescendoing in your ears.

"We aren't kids anymore. Everyone is always asking about me and you. There's no such thing as our innocent little friendship."

His words broke your heart. And he saw that as your shoulders slumped and your eyes welled with tears. "So what?" You asked. "What are you saying?"

Patrick sighed, pushing his wet hair away from his face. His white t-shirt was see-through, his broad shoulders rippling as the wind tore against his lean body. His voice was soft now. "Let's go back to the hotel. Stay in my room and we can talk."

The ride to the hotel was silent. Usually, Patrick would complain about water all over his leather seats, but he didn't say a word, and you wondered why, out of all the heartbreaks you had been through, why this conversation had chewed you up and spit you out so violently.

You sat on the bed with him and waited for him to speak first.

"Do you need a towel?"

You shook your head.

"What I was saying before," He began. "Why do we act like it's normal that in each of our relationships, the common denominator is that we are way too close?"

"We've never-"

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just saying maybe this friendship isn't really serving us anymore, and maybe it's causing more harm than good."

"You know what?" You stood up, grabbing your bag. "I've sat here and been your best fucking friend for twenty years, and now you're just taking the easy way out like you always do." You slung it over your shoulder. "I'll leave. Don't worry, I'll leave."

You wanted him to chase you down. He didn't. He didn't say bye or that he was sorry. One big fight during twenty years of friendship, and it would seemingly be your last.

The tournament was going on for another 3 days. After 2 nights of barely sleeping and going through the motions, of leaving the court whenever a mens' match was on, there was a knock on your door. You let him in; of course you did.

"I wasn't telling you I didn't want to be friends anymore." He whispered. Your back was against the door.

"Okay."

His finger trailed from the dip of your collarbones to your chin. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You swallowed, loudly, looking up at him inquisitively, waiting for him to finish his thought.

He fucked you with your legs over his shoulders, while your roommate was at lunch with the rest of the team. Patrick muffled your moans by spilling his own into your mouth. Sweat dribbled off his chest and your nails raked down his back as he thrust into you, over and over and over again. Twenty years of reserved angst and repressed feelings manifested in desperate whimpers and the sound of skin on skin echoing off the chipped taupe walls.

No words, at that moment, needed to be said. He was yin and you were yang. Your friendship began and ended where your bodies met. And it would never be the same.

He told you he loved you after he came, and you reciprocated those feelings. Something was so thrilling about the secret, though. Of people gossiping and speculating about the two of you. Of you both feigning disgust at the idea of fucking your best friend, only to ride him in the back of his car until the windows fogged up, and his chest was red and raw from your desperate scratches.

You loved the thrill. One whole year of sneaking around and nobody had a clue.

One year of pretending to get sick at parties, so Patrick would follow you into the bathroom and eat you out on the bathroom sink until your legs shook, raw from his stubble.

One year of Patrick tugging on the collar of his shirt during a match to signal he wanted you waiting in his car for him afterward. If he won, he made love to you slowly, rocking his hips, so his cock went deep, deep inside. When he lost, he spat on you, and left bruises on your ass that stung the next week as you sat on the metal bleachers.

It was hard to fit twenty years of love and pining into that one year without it bubbling over. At graduation, you and your friends threw your caps into the air and Patrick kissed you. Hands on your waist, tongue in your mouth.

The team gasped. They hadn't known your secret for the past year. But they did know it was only a matter of time.

[chlmtsdoll]

i need some obsessed love sick art with reader…yummyyyyyy <3

Girl yessss. Writing this kinda reminded me of that one lyric from The Bolter by Taylor that’s like “taming a bear, making him care” idk I thought it was sweettt 🫶🏽🫶🏽 love sick Art is my fave

Fluff ! With a little bit of my size kink added 😉

To the world he was an icon. A star. The undefeated Art Donaldson. But away from the court, tour life, all the eyes, he was insurmountably tender. The sweetest as they come, overly caring and cub-like if you will, all for you.

When it had been just the two of you, nothing could take his mind a drift from being as close as possible. And that was as literal as it could be. He was on you whenever and wherever. It didn’t matter. Being their to swaddle you in a warm towel right after a bath, being the first person he ran to after a torment, kissing on your neck even as you read a chapter of your book before bed.

He loved picking you up. Tossing you over his shoulder, carrying you like a baby, whenever he could. Even with his gentle touch to everything and sensitive approach to most situations — it was obvious Art was physically a big guy. And you were in fact the ironic smaller girlfriend to his side, “look at your little toes.” He would chuckle to himself as you perfectly fit snug in his hold when the two of you would cuddle. He also would purposely use the excuse of him being much bigger to lay himself slightly on your lap so you couldn’t escape his hugs or when he’d kiss on your knees and thighs all sweet and cloying. It made you go crazy.

It was quite daunting the man could have had you so love struck by his cling to you when you’d always been the reserved type. Never too good with overtly being in your lovers space, or craving that contact with them every minute of the day — but with Art it was just different. He entranced you. With his sweet gestures and bashful doting eyes you couldn’t help yourself. He was your kind, warm hearted Art.

He loved watching you get ready, leaning on the counter top or lounging on the bed as he observed you from the bedroom while you did your makeup or hair. He was a girls guy after all. Always wanting to know the products you used and how you would do the styles he liked the most.

“Is this okay ?” Art questioned as he touched your locks, hardly, as if it would break if he clamped down too hard on the curling iron when you were showing him how to curl your hair for the first time, your giggle coming from where you sit between his legs.

“It’s fine, your doing great.” Your voice was encouraging, but that only got so far to the man who was a natural over achiever. He just wanted to do it right, impress you. You could tell from the way he looked in the mirror ahead of you, so serious as he pulled his lip underneath his tongue and he twirled your hair in a manner as best as he could. But quickly getting slightly upset when the curl hadn’t been as tight as the ones you showed him prior.

“You make it look so easy, baby… I don’t know how you do it.” His pouty voice matched the one on his lips, which was probably the most adorable thing to you really, you smiled fondly as you patted his hand as he frowned upon his work of your hair.

“You’re learning, with practice comes perfection, Artie.” Your voice was soft with him, and he liked that. Leaning down to leave a sweet peck to your cheeks that warmed up on instant at your blush from the man’s tender touch. He made you feel so loved — occupying all of his free time away from his career to love on you. He couldn’t get enough. He truly was obsessed with you.

Other times when you two would be watching a movie (or more like the movie had been watching you). You’d fallen into Arts trap to really lure you into making out with him, somehow always ending up on his lap as your thumbs caressed the skin of his soft cheek as you smooched and nibbled at his lip. Art groaned into every kiss you laid on him, letting you take control of the way his mouth moved with you. Hands going over your hips, he wanted to feel your angel like skin. Confessing in between kisses “wanna lock you down so bad.” And you’d giggle into the kisses before there had been a knock on your hotel room door.

Pulling away from the blonde as he groaned, “I’ll get it, lover boy.” You joked with a soft grin before getting up from his lap, but Art only lounged after your presence as he held on to your arm with greed not to let you up.

“No, no, no. I’ll miss you too much, princess.” Art whined as he stayed put relaxed against the pillows of the bed.

“I ordered take out for us, baby. I’ll only be a second,” you responded with a soft chuckle at the way his eyes watched your figure, following up the sight of his tongue darting out to lick over his lips at the plain sight of your adorable little bloomers.

“Fine.” The man sighed out and you gave him a sympathetic smile before turning on your heels to grab the food — but not to your much surprise, Art had followed right behind you. Turning around to notice him towering in coyness as he stuffed his hands in his pockets only to walk behind you as you scoffed at his needy response to loosing you for a quick second.

“What??” You laughed.

“I told you I’d miss you too much,”

You rolled you eyes as you opened the door to greet the delivery person and almost immediately after handing you the bags, they notice Art behind your figure, standing hunched against the wall with his attention proudly on you. There was a colossal gasps when they’d really examined who the tennis player was as you’d already known to be prepared by now. “Art Donaldson!” They screeched before you shut the door kindly with a cheeky smile.

“Bye!” was all you noted before locking the door and It was soft chuckles coming from the blonde as you narrowed your eyes at him with a grin before folding your arms. “Was it really worth giving them a near heart attack just to watch me walk down the hall ?”

“Yes. I don’t like being apart from you for too long, sweets.” Art shrugged before his lips curled up into a grin as he reached behind you to squeeze your ass just a bit. “And the sight of this can’t be missed.”

You swatted his hands away playfully even though you would of attacked him with more smooches if your food hadn’t been getting cold. Art smiled and took the bag from you to only catch your lips in a kiss anyways, and your flush grew as you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness, yet sweetness that Art naturally was in his quality time with you always. Even if it boarded on quite obsessive. <3

[absdoll]

oh my godddddd i just read your sub!Abby fic and i'm just thinking of a fic where reader 'doms' Abby but really she's just letting you have your fun and we all know who's still in charge :) oh my god i'm losing it please i just know you would make it so hot,,,,,,,, omg i'm giggling and twirling my hair

yesyesyesyesyes ♡ 💗💕 exactly nonnie ! <3

cw: ice play (almost) , dom!abby , daddy kink lol

“hands behind your back.” you sternly say to your blonde girlfriend, who is manspreading in front of you on your shared bed, you stood between her muscular legs.

“yes ma’am” she giggles back at you, totally taking this seriously, and pins her hands to the small of her back.

you roll your eyes at abby and puff out your chest, “what’s funny? don’t make me get rough with you.” you warn her.

“not funny baby, just cute.” she bats her eyes up at you, making your tummy explode with butterflies.

abby is always in charge. sex, plans, grocery lists, cleaning, abby is always the one handling everything. and as much as you love being under her control, today you wanted to give her a chance to relax and be tended to. but it’s abby, and abby won’t let that slide.

you point your finger to her broad chest, “lay back.” abby raises an eyebrow at you, following your orders. “you’re liking this, aren’t you princess?” abby teases.

“yeah, i am, princess” you tease back. abby can admit that she finds it hot how you’re being so demanding and tough, she knows at any second though she can bend you over her knee and you’ll be a whimpering obedient mess like you always are, but she’ll let you have your fun for now.

you pick up a cup that’s to your left, swirling around the melting ice cubes in it. abby’s gaze shifts to your hand, still shaking the cup. “baby…” she nervously breathes.

“i’m gonna take off your pants, okay?” you slide her grey sweatpants down her legs, biting your lip at the sight of her blue boxers, removing those too.

you plop an ice cube in your mouth, but abby abruptly grabs your jaw. “spit it out.” she demands. you shake your head out of her grasp, spitting the ice cube on her chest. “tss-ahh! what the fuck!” she hisses.

“i’m in charge, remember? don’t interrupt me again.” as you reach for the cup, abby has decided she’s had enough of this.

the burly blonde sits up, sliding her boxers back up to her waist. you watch as she blatantly disobeys your orders.

“here’s what gonna happen my sweet girl. you’re gonna lay down, take off those cute little panties, put your hands behind your back, and sit pretty until i tell you you can move, got it?” she hovers over you, awaiting your compliance.

“b-” you try to regain your “control” you had just a minute ago, but abby’s patience is long gone. “nuh uh baby, all i want to hear from that little mouth is yes daddy.”

abby walks out of the room, leaving you to process what’s about to happen. you do as you’re told because abby can get scary when disobeyed. her blue crystal eyes get dark, almost stone grey.

you’re naked, hands flat under your back, thighs pressing together trying to relieve the uncomfortable sensation pooling down there.

the door creaks slightly, abby’s tall build standing in the doorway, arm resting on the frame above her head. “aww good girl.” she smiles at you.

her strap is tucked in the band of her boxers, the black silicone tip peering from the top. “and good girls get rewarded, yeah?” she walks towards you, eyes locked with yours.

“spread your pussy for me doll” she coos, eyes widening at your milky cream dripping down your thigh.

abby slaps your sopping pussy, letting a long string of spit land on your throbbing nub.

“you ready?” she smirks, positioning herself at your center.

💕 @whore4abby @enbesbians @hersweetheart @picklesarenice69 @abbystoy ♡

a/n : HI MY BABIES OH MY GOD I MISSED U ANGELS SO MUCH ♡♡ feels like i haven’t written in years , ik u lot are patiently waiting on dealer!ellie & i promise promise promise she’s coming soon 🎀💕 enjoy this fun req i got awhile ago , sorry it took me so long nonnie !!!

[2knightt]

CANT HOLD IT IN ANY LONGER!!! i’m utterly obsessed with the curtis brothers.

idk if u do this, but if u can, the curtis brothers with a reader who’s super down bad for them? they make it so clear, too. constantly doing everything for them, making food, buying snacks, just utterly everything. compliments, holding their hand religiously … yk.

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ you know i’m a fool for you. ⋄ 𓍯

…IN WHICH! you think the curtis brothers are the only men on the planet.

tags/warnings: swearing(on my end/once during dialogue.) reader being slightly overprotective or insane, mentions of reader getting hit on, mentions of reader leaving lip stick stains, me not knowing what to write for darry.

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ i’m using ny other accounts layout bc i can’t be bothered rn. also i’m here to feed y’all i’ve noticed the outsiders x reader tag is lowkey dry asl.

Ponyboy Curtis:

WOAH HE CAN’T HANDLE ALLAT😭

like actually. he is TWEAKING AT ALL TIMES! when you first like started complimenting him, showering him in kisses, giggling n’ shit—he thought it was a one time thing.

ponyboy just thought he’d have to thug that shit out once a week or something. he was, in-fact, pleasantly surprised when you continued to do it.

“you’re so-mwah-cute! i wish-mwah-i could-mwah-hold you forever!”

“y/n…😣”

he’s so flustered omfg like actually he’s beet red LMFAOOO. if you were to put your fingers to his forehead it’d be so hot. like ponyboy’s avoiding eye contact, his lips are tightened, etc.

if he were to stay the night at your place—you make him all types of food. like, food he’d never heard of. or food he’d dream about after eating bologna for a week,

“for me? …really?”

“mhm! c’mon, don’t let it get cold now.”

ponyboy is DIGGING RIGHT THE FUCK IN. okay he is SCARFING THAT DOWN. after he’d be a little embarrassed of how quickly he ate but like you just took it as a good thing.

thinks you’re the best cook ever tbh. gordan ramsey has nothing on you type levels.

going on a walk with him to go grocery shopping for the curtis house with your hands intertwined and letting ponyboy ramble about this annoying substitute he had!!! IT’S REAL!!! ALL OF IT!!!

“n’ then he tried to tell me my answer was wrong when i studied last night—I EVEN ASKED MY FRIENDS. so, i know it was right. i just think mr. johnson had a personal vendetta against me.”

“smh…i could do slash his tires if you’d like♡!”

“what”

“nothing.”

AWHHH PONYBOY FOLLOWING YOU AROUND THE STORE LIKE A LOST PUPPY BECAUSE HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO BUY LMFAO

he’d like holding your sleeve or the hem of your shirt as you walk around, looking more awkward above all else.

uwahh showering ponyboy in compliments late at night when it’s just the two of you, twirling his hair as you hold him closer!!!

“you’re hair is so pretty. it’s so soft…i dunno why you put grease in it. if i was you—i’d never let anyone touch it.”

“i don’t. i only let you.”

“…REALLY??🥰🥰😚😚”

ur friends are soooo sick of you talking about ponyboy LMFAOOOO like actually. every time you go, ‘omfg did i tell you guys, he-‘ they know to just let you mindlessly ramble.

“and then ponyboy read to me ‘til i fell asleep! he’s so sweet—i dunno how he’s real!”

“i dunno how you’re so whipped.”

“he must be the funniest motherfucker on the planet if y/n’s this obsessed.”

Sodapop Curtis

OHHH Y’ALL ARE AT A CONSTANT WAR TO SEE WHO’S GONNA BEAT THE OTHER AT BEING THE BETTER PARTNER LMFAOOO

HE’S usually the whipped one in the relationship…he felt both extremely lucky and threatened when you started attacking him with kisses…

“you’re so handsome. i’m just the luckiest person on earth—ain’t i?”

“…yeah…🤨”

“why’d you say it like that?😞”

“cause I’M the luckiest person on the earth…I’M supposed to be tellin’ you this…”

but as time goes on—he does take the loss and accepts you’re better at him. for now. it’s only a matter of seconds until sodapop thinks of something insane to show his love for you.

anyways! IMAGINE COOKING WITH HIM OHHHH NY GODDDDD /?:&$:&: he just mainly stands there and looks pretty as he asks what you’re doing but SHHH. HE’S MORAL SUPPORT.

“…what?”

“i’m chopping onions for the flavour, honey.”

“you don’t like onions, though?”

“i don’t like the crunch rather than the flavou—YOU REMEMBERED I DON’T LIKE ONIONS??☹️☹️”

“of course i would!”

gladly holds ur hand 24/7. i’m not kidding. you two are like super magnets. HEHEHE IMAGINE HIM DRIVING WITH ONE HAND ON THE WHEEL AND HIS OTHER HAND HOLDING YOURS!!/!2!

you do take him grocery shopping. only sometimes, though. he only buys junk food rather than actual food.

“can i get these? please?”

“you already have two bags of chips in the cart, soda.”

“okay..😣”

“SIGH…get them.”

“HURRAY!”

knows you can’t say no to him and that’s like the only time he uses it to his advantage.

soc’s do hit on you under the premise of ‘showing you how a real man is supposed to spoil a lady like you.’ HOWEVER, you look at them like they’re aliens.

“hey, baby. what’re you doin’ around here?”

“…EW.”

“???”

they’re shocked above all else as they see you turn away from them and quickly walk away without looking back. AND WOOO SODA IS SO PROUD.

Darry Curtis

the gang acts like you two are constantly fighting whenever you start to look at darry with that sparkle in your eyes.

“guys, PLEASE! YOU’RE BREAKING UP THE FAMILY! STOP ARGUING!”

“what the hell are you on about, soda?”

“you’re scaring pony!” “don’t bring me into this.”

“mind you’re own business, soda.”

AJDIEHJR DARRY HAVING A HAND AROUND YOUR WAIST AS YOU MUTTER SWEET NOTHINGS BETWEEN KISSINGS>>>

you two are a POWER COUPLE IN THE GROCERY STORE! EVEN IF YOU REFUSE TO LET HIM PAY AND HE GETS POUTTY! EVEN IF HE DOESN’T TAKE COMPLIMENTS WELL!

“y/n, please. these are for my house.”

“so?? my wallet was out first.”

“that doesn’t mean anything. baby, i’m telling you, i’m paying.”

“too late, i already handed the cashier the money.”

you cook and clean for the curtis’ to take something off of darry’s back out of the kindness in your heart and totally not because you want him to pay more attention to you!! NEVER!!

but you do enjoy the fact that darry has more time to sit down and pay attention to you! and darry really likes the extra time he has!!

“you didn’t have to.”

“yes i did! you’ve been so stressed out, it’s the least i could do for you.”

“you’re such a treat, y’know.”

“mh. only f’you.”

you FORCE him to hold your hand. sometimes he forgets that he’s supposed to hold your hand in public so do NOT BE AFRAID TO GRAB IT YOURSELF.

but once you do, darry is the last person to let go. maybe to wrap an arm around your hip—BUT THAT’S IT.

teehee leaving lipstick stains on his white t-shirt accidentally🫶🫶!! it’s all so real to me!! sure, darry’s a little annoyed but it’s okay! he can never be mad at you!

[the0doreslover]

constellations of the heart | theo nott x fem!reader

Theo hadn’t been able to sleep two things being on his mind, one being the new ink that had been forced onto his arm and two, of course, being you. Over the holidays theo felt as if the only reason he would go back to school was because of you. Now here he was laying down on his bed staring at the picture of you on his bed side table to distract himself from the harsh reality of what he had become.

It started in third year when puberty began and those teenage urges right along with it.

Cedric diggory, everyone had a crush on him so no surprise you were mildly majorly infatuated with him as well. You knew you were done when you found yourself giggling and twirling your hair at something he had said, but when you found yourself following him wherever he went and knowing everything about him, the limit was crossed. You had enough self respect for yourself

if you were going to be obsessed with someone it was going to be a someone who was your boyfriend.

Last trip to hogsmede, you were determined to ask cedric to go with you, you had been practising all morning and though you would never admit it, you had written a love confession.

You were in the abandoned bathrooms upstairs talking to myrtle about cedric (nothing new on her part)

“so if i read him my speech do you think he will say yes”

“i have hope” she says slowly

“not a chance ”

you both looked towards where the voice came, you more embarrassed someone had heard your love confession.

a brunette haired boy came into your vision before walking past you and washing his hands.

“excuse me?” you asked.

“you read him that… and he will sure say yes… to any other girl.

You were in shock literally in shock

“no he looked at me three times today, three is my favourite number it’s a sign” you grinned

“being delusional is a hobby is it?” he laughed before propping himself up onto the sink

“well what do you suggest i do?”

“give me your love confession”

once you made no intention to move he asked again “mate give me your love confession”

you handed it to him and watched him skim over it before laughing.

“okay now give it back”

this time it was him who made no intent to move

you walked towards him and tried reaching for it as he pulled it higher and higher out of your grip

“give me my love confess- speech!” you said again

“okay” he shrugged watching you back down “incendio” he quickly handed it back to you and watched as your features went from annoyed to livid. “sorry my bad i meant to say here you go”

“you burnt my speech!”

“love confession” he corrected you

“speech”

“alright we will go with that, yes i burnt your speech on accident”

“let’s not lie now” you scoffed

“you two are cute, waaaaay cuter than you and cedric” mytrle said from the stalls with her hands under her chin.

“what?” you cleared your throat “i’m gonna go write another love con- SPEECH! i’m going to write another speech”

theodore watched with a smile on his face as you scurried out of there muttering to yourself about how ‘rude and horrible someone can be’

the next day theodore was strolling the halls when he came across a weird sound coming from the bathrooms. He cracked the door open just enough to see you aggressively washing your tear struck face.

“you sound weird when you cry”

you jumped at the sound of his voice and quickly composed yourself

“i don’t want to talk to you”

“why not? i’m great” he laughed

“you’re gonna make me laugh… and i don’t want to laugh right now” you sulked

“okay then, let’s talk about death”

“nott!” you groaned wiping your face.

“why are you crying” he asked

“none of your-”

he interrupted you

“cedric?”

you looked away from him.

a second later he joined you

“he didn’t deserve your love confession anyway”

present

theodore sat up, from his bed pulling himself from the memory of your meeting, he looked to his clock

04:00am

he sighed and pushed his covers off of him. he slipped his shoes on and began walking

you were at the astronomy tower, then again you always were and he knew that.

you were standing next to the railing when you heard someone clear their throat behind you

“theo!” you exclaimed after turning to see where the noise had come from pulling him into a hug you started rambling about how much you had missed him.

he stared at your face the entire time with a smile plastered on his lips

“are you okay?” you asked the boy

he can tell you how he feels now… or he can let you be happy without him ruining you

“im okay” he smiled fondly at you “you look lovely”

“in my pyjamas? you’re funny” you laughed and you both settled into a comfortable silence

He glanced at you, bathed in the soft moonlight, and couldn't help but smile.

"Theo, what are you thinking about?" you asked, breaking the silence.

He chuckled softly, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Just thinking about how everything seems different when you're here."

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, a playful glint in your eyes. "Is that so?"

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the stars above. "Yeah, it's like the universe decided to put on a show just for us."

You chuckled, leaning against the railing. "Well, I can't argue with that."

Theo took a deep breath, his heart racing. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for. "You know, there's something I've been wanting to tell you."

Your attention shifted fully to him, curiosity piqued. "Oh? What is it?"

He met your gaze, his eyes sincere. "I've been carrying this feeling for a while now, and I can't hold it back any longer."

Your smile faded slightly as you sensed the gravity of his words. "Theo, what's going on?"

He took a step closer, his voice soft yet unwavering. "I love you, More than I ever thought possible."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, your eyes widening in surprise. "Theo, I..."

He held up a hand, his eyes pleading. "Please, let me finish."

You nodded, allowing him to continue.

"The truth is, I've cared about you for so long that it's become more than friendship," he confessed. "Every time I see you, it's like my world stops and you become the focus."

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. "Theo..."

He took another deep breath, his vulnerability on full display. "I understand if you don't feel the same way. I just couldn't keep this to myself any longer."

Your gaze softened, warmth spreading through you. "Theo, you don't have to worry about how I feel."

He looked at you, his eyes searching. "are you saying..."

A gentle smile curved your lips. "Theo, I care about you too. More than I've let on, from the minute you ‘accidentally’ burnt my speech"

Relief flooded over him, and he stepped closer, his hand finding yours. "I'm relieved to hear that."

You chuckled softly, your fingers intertwining with his. "You don't have to hide anything from me."

As the two of you stood beneath the stars, theodore realised he would be okay

[lovelybarnes]

Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises. 

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

-

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you. 

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

-

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

-

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug. 

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

-

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains. 

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

-

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

-

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably. 

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. 

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously. 

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

-

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks. 

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?” 

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.” 

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons. 

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

-

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose. 

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend. 

-

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path. 

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

-

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down. 

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh. 

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back. 

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve. 

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

-

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

-

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

-

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit. 

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily. 

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can. 

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability. 

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.” 

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues.  “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

[shadowdaddies]

Hi

Read two emotionally damaging and frustrating fics abt my fave bat boys and need a pick me up

Just like reader x rhys x azriel and some fluff and smut and whatever else you wanna do

Thanks 🫶

hey love💜 I needed a pick me up today too, this was therapeutic for me so I hope you enjoy too

Love Intertwined

poly! Azriel x Rhys x Reader

Warnings: smut below the cut, self-indulgent praise kink, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving, p in sex, minors dni

Stumbling through the front door, you chucked your shoes to the corner with a thud. Tears threatened to fall, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you closed the door behind you, forehead leaning against the wood while you struggled to calm yourself.

It had been one of those days where it seemed that everything that could go wrong, did. All you wanted in this moment was a break, some time with your mates. With a deep sigh, you wiped the corners of your eyes and moved into your home in search of Rhys and Azriel.

The house was completely quiet, faelights dim as you peered around corner after corner. “Az? Rhys?” you called out, unease creeping through your bones as your calls went unanswered. Just as you were about to give up and tromp up to your bed, a shadow whipped out from under the kitchen door. 

The wisp of darkness oscillated enthusiastically in front of you before twirling in your hair, the feeling tickling the back of your neck causing you to giggle. You watched the shadow pause in front of you once more before flying back under the door, a silent request for you to follow.

Cracking open the door to the kitchen, a pleasantly familiar aroma flooded your senses. Your heart tumbled in your chest as you looked up to see Rhys pulling plates and cutlery as Azriel pulled a dish from the oven. The shadow from a moment ago curled around Azriel’s ear, the shadowsinger’s head whipping in your direction in surprise. 

Sensing the change in the energy of the room, Rhys lifted his own head, briefly glancing at Azriel before following his gaze to you. Violet eyes drank in your appearance, a playful smile pulling at Rhys’s lips as he set down the plates and moved towards you.

Warm hands found your waist, Rhys leaning down to kiss you in greeting. “We were hoping to surprise you,” he murmured, nosing at your neck as he breathed in your scent. 

Already distracted from your previous thoughts, you managed to refocus your vision to see Rhys and Azriel both smirking at you in amusement. “I... I am surprised,” you breathed, eyes flicking to your favorite meal displayed out on the counter. With a hum and a kiss to your neck, Rhys moved away from you to take over plating the dishes. 

Azriel let him, taking the opportunity to greet you himself as scarred hands slid up your waist, massaging the skin below your breasts. Shadows twined in your hair, tilting your head how Azriel liked as he leaned in to kiss you with fervor, tongue sliding between your lips as you gasped into his mouth.

Heady with desire, you barely heard Rhys clearing his throat before Azriel pulled away, tongue flicking the roof of your mouth as he did so. “Let’s eat dinner, my love,” Az murmured, taking your hand as he led you towards the table. 

Rhys pulled out your chair, seating you between himself and Azriel as Az set your plate and wine in front of you. “Thank you both. You don’t know how much I needed this today,” you whispered, emotions flooding you as you took each of their hands in yours. 

Azriel rubbed a thumb along the back of the hand he held as Rhys lifted the other to his lips. “We know, darling. We felt through the bond what a difficult day it was for you, so we have dinner... and more planned for afterwards,” he purred, playfully nipping at your knuckles before setting your hand down. 

You enjoyed the rest of your dinner, savoring the quiet chit-chat and gentle touches with your loves. As dinner ended, you moved to clear the dishes when a wisp of black wrapped around your hand. Azriel slipped his hand under yours, taking the plates and standing up. Rhys pulled your chair out, his broad arms wrapping around your waist and legs as he picked you up bridal style.

With a giggle, you attempted a weak protest that your mate quelled with one look, violet eyes already dark with desire. You swallowed, your own arousal building as Rhys carried you away from Azriel, who was still scrubbing away at the dishes.

“He’ll join us shortly,” Rhys promised, pressing a kiss to your hair as he carried you upstairs to your bedroom. With a flourish of his hand, the door opened to reveal candles and flower petals scattered throughout the space, your favorite music playing softly from a symphonia in the corner. 

Rhys set you down gently on the bed, keeping a hand on your chest in silent request to stay still before he moved to the nightstand. Noticing a bottle of your lavender oil on the table, you arched a questioning brow at Rhys, who - with a dark chuckle and another flourish of his hand - vanished the clothes from your body. 

You gasped at the cold air as you were exposed to the room. The sound of the door clicking open pulled you from the moment as you watched Azriel prowl into the room, a predatory gaze raking over your naked form as he shut the door behind him. 

Azriel’s gaze flicked to Rhys, displeasure shining in his eyes as the shadowsinger took in the High Lord’s fully clothed form. “Strip,” he ordered, already unbuttoning his own shirt. The scent of arousal grew heavy in the room, both Rhys’s and your eyes darkening as you took in Azriel’s bare chest. 

Rhys hurriedly pulled off the rest of his clothes, awaiting further instruction from Azriel as the spymaster finished undressing. You were struggling to stay still on the mattress, subtly rubbing your legs together as Az gave you a knowing smirk. 

With a jerk of his chin, Azriel ordered Rhysand to the bed. “Sit behind her, her head on your stomach.” The both of you eagerly obeyed, getting into position as Azriel took the oil from the nightstand. “Hand,” he murmured to Rhys, the High Lord, quickly holding out an open palm for Azriel to pour the scented oil onto it. 

Azriel poured more oil on his own hands, rubbing them together to warm the liquid as Rhysand did the same. They must have had a plan, because at Azriel’s subtle nod, they moved their hands to begin massaging you. Azriel started at your feet, working his way up your calves and thighs, while Rhys started with your neck and shoulders, working the tension from your arms and upper body.

Your breathing grew heavy as Rhys’s hands moved to your breasts, Azriel’s simultaneously working up your inner thighs. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, a soft moan escaping as Rhys toyed with your sensitive nipples, rubbing circles and tugging. 

Azriel pushed your legs apart, groaning at the sight of your soaked pussy as he pinned your hips to the mattress. Your back arched as he licked a stripe up your core, Rhys pinching your nipples in warning. You settled back into the mattress with a huff, both males chuckling at your impatience.

Without warning, Azriel dove in, his tongue thrusting into your core, nose bumping your clit as he worked you expertly. Rhys’s hands roved your body, fingertips gently grazing sensitive areas as Azriel moved to suck your clit. As Azriel flicked his tongue one last time, your high crashed into you, stars flecking your eyesight as you panted, head lolling back against Rhys. 

You moved to sit up, but Rhys’s hands pushed you down against his lap as he and Azriel leaned towards each other. Azriel gripped Rhys’s hair, fingers threading through onyx locks as he kissed him with the same demand he had with you earlier. Rhys whimpered into the kiss, the sound making you feel weak.

The males pulled apart slightly, Rhys’s tongue flicking out to lick the remainder of your juices from Azriel’s chin. “Fuck, darling. You always taste incredible,” Rhys praised, looking down at you with a feline grin.

Azriel’s hands gripped your hips, hazel eyes alight as he watched your expression. “Would you like to taste Rhys now?” he cooed at you, a low groan escaping both of them as you nodded eagerly.

With no effort, Azriel flipped you over by your hips so that you were hovering over Rhys now, your ass in the air with Azriel kneeling behind you. Rhys shifted up onto his knees, Azriel’s hand at your back pushing you down towards your mate’s hard cock. 

Scarred hands kneaded your ass, a light smack landing on the skin wringing a desperate mewl from you. “Can you be a good girl and take both of us?” Azriel murmured, a teasing finger sliding through your slit. 

A pathetic moan left your lips as you nodded, struggling for words as your mouth watered at the sight of Rhys’s cock in front of you. “Yes, yes I can. I’ll be good,” you promised, looking to Rhys with doe eyes. 

With a growl, one of Rhys’s hands gripped your chin, the other pumping his length as he brought it to your lips. You licked his slit, savoring the salty flavor of him before wrapping your mouth around the tip and sucking softly. 

“Don’t tease,” Rhys ground out, his hands moving to thread through your hair. Without warning, you took him completely, bobbing rapidly up and down his length. “Fuck,” Rhys moaned loudly. “Good girl, just like that,” he praised through his own breathy moans.

You felt the head of Azriel’s cock sliding through your folds, his fingers gathering the wetness to spread over his length. Voice muffled by Rhys’s cock, you whined and wiggled your hips in an attempt to beg Azriel for more.

“Aw, there is our sweet girl,” Azriel cooed, landing another smack to your ass as he thrust fully inside of you. You screamed around Rhys’s length, the vibration causing him to buck his hips against you.

Eyes watering as you gagged around his cock, you allowed Azriel’s relentless pace against your pussy to drive your own around Rhys. 

“Fuck, I’m close, Az,” Rhys murmured, his hands fumbling in attempt to slow your pace on his length. Azriel refused to let up, hitting you deep as you clawed at Rhys’s thighs. Familiar talons scraped against your mental walls, asking permission for you to let Rhys into your mind.

Numbly, you lowered them, and your orgasm hit you instantly at the sight Rhys showed you - scratch marks from your nails as you drooled around his cock, Azriel’s sweat-slicked hair, abdominals flexing as he pounded into you. 

With a scream, your pussy clenched around Azriel as the three of you came simultaneously, Rhys’s release filling your mouth as Azriel’s filled your pussy. Swallowing, you licked up the bit of Rhys’s cum that had spilled from your lips as you collapsed against his chest.

Azriel gently pulled out of you, climbing off the bed for a moment before he returned with a damp cloth, cleaning you up and pressing a kiss to your temple. You heard the sound of running water from the bathroom, knowing Azriel must be starting a bath for you. 

Rhys’s arms wrapped gently around you, your mate picking you up gently as he carried you to the bathroom. “Relax, darling. We’ll take care of you,” he murmured, joining Azriel in the bath as the two of them helped wash your hair. 

By the time you finished in the bath, you were half-asleep, vaguely aware of Azriel wrapping you in a soft towel as he carried you to bed, where you slept peacefully in between your two mates.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the king of sex

pairing: javi x reader

cws/tags: p in v, m! receiving oral, unprotected sex, handcuffs, coworkers, sex as stress relief, pwp, not beta read

summary: almost no plot, literally javi is just grouchy so reader offers him sex (but handcuffs him) ... in the office... they really just kinda give up on the case at the end lmao

a/n: i like to imagine the voiceover of steve going "in case you were wondering, this is the asshole..." at the beginning of this fic

wc: 3k

You're at your wits end with Javier Peña. He's known to be (at the very least) kind of a dick. You're fairly sure it's unintentional, just his natural demeanor, but he's also made no efforts to remedy his behavior. He's an asshole because he's grumpy and he's grumpy because he's stressed. And he becomes more stressed and more grumpy and more of an asshole when you provoke him. You have the practiced self-restraint to bite back your snide remarks until he's out of earshot.

It hits you one day when he's particularly irritated as there's a huge roadblock in the case against Escobar that he can't seem to charm his way past - he's tried a wad of cash, a gun to the head, and of course, sex. He's grumbling about whatever-the-fuck when he slams his hands down on his desk with a loud, "Goddamnit!" He's lucky he works with you and not someone over 50 who would've certainly had a heart attack with how startling it was.

You could say 'no harm, no foul', but enough is enough. Javier Peña is inching his way towards 40 and needs to learn a thing or two about civil and professional behavior.

"Look, I get that you're upset right now, but it's not necessary or appropriate-"

"I don't need a lecture from you," he snaps.

"I wasn't lecturing you. I was being nice."

You were being nice, but your tone quickly takes on the bitterness that's been building inside you for weeks.

"If you were nice, you would let it go." His words are slightly muffled by the cigarette he holds between his lips. 

"Are you even hearing yourself? I was being sympathetic and diplomatic. I could've said way worse things to you."

"Go ahead. Maybe I'd appreciate your honesty."

The smoke blown in your direction when he fully turns to face you is the final straw. 

"Okay," you say, taking the deep breath you need to form the next string of words that leave your mouth. "Would you shut the fuck up for one fucking second?! I don't know if all the whores you fuck have been telling you that your voice is sexy but you should know that I'm tired of fucking hearing it."

"Wow, chica. You've got a mouth on you. Could be of better use but-"

"No," you cut him off with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction. "I'm not just going to sit here and twirl my hair and giggle at your sexual harrassment. Sorry if that's what you're used to."

"I don't think it's harassment since you didn't even wait to hear the full sentence. You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I don't care. You should get used to women not stroking your ego because someday soon your good looks will be gone and you'll have nothing but your shitty personality."

"So you think I'm good-looking?"

"That's what you took from that statement? It doesn't matter if you're good-looking because everything else about you is terrible."

"What do you want me to do? Cry? Grovel? Because I don't care that much about your opinion, and I'm done having this conversation."

You don't speak for the rest of the day, but you're in the office well-past daytime. You're on a time crunch, so you cooperate in silence so as not to get your asses handed to you by the ambassador or your heads put on a stick by the cartel. Sometime after everyone else has gone home - which makes Javi particularly pissed - he gets a phone call. You do not know what the person on the other line is saying, and Javi only speaks in Spanish, and says very few words before he slams the handset down so hard the phone falls off his desk.

He looks like he's about to have a psychotic break when he notices that the phone is broken.

"You need to calm down."

"I'm trying to calm down. I'm always trying to calm down."

"Maybe you need a Valium prescription or something because it's not working."

"Are you not stressed? Do you not care about catching Escobar?"

"Of course I am, and of course I do, but I know how to take care of my stress."

"Fine. Then, tell me how you do it."

"First off, you need to take a break, step away from your work. Stand up, take a walk, sit down somewhere else where you can't look through those folders anymore."

He stands up, maintaining a level of eye-contact that says he's determined to disprove your methods.

You motion for him to sit in a different chair and he does with the same permanent scowl plastered across his face.

"Now what? What else do you suggest?"

"I usually put on a movie or take a hot bath or…" You stop yourself before saying it.

"We don't have a VCR in here or a bathtub, so tell me what the third option is before I lose my mind."

"You know…" You make a motion that's supposed to indicate masturbation.

"You're saying I should jerk off? Right now? In this office?"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never done it before."

"Not while you're here."

"Do you care if I'm here?"

"You would care. You just asked me to stop making sexual remarks about you earlier."

"Because your remarks were insulting and uncalled for and you were using them to deflect from the problem at hand."

"I don't get it. Are you saying you want to watch me jerk off?"

Truth be told, you wouldn't mind watching him get off. It’s not like you haven’t thought of it before. Seeing him finally vulnerable, undressed. Hearing his breath hitch, the choked out moans he struggles to hold back. His eyes closed, head thrown back, the sweat beading on his forehead, his lips parted -

"If that's what you want. But, I can do you one better."

At this point, you're just satisfying your own fantasy. You're more selfish than Javi, but he doesn’t need to know that.

For the first time in weeks his lips curve into a smile. "Yeah? You want to?"

"If it'll make you calm down and you swear on your life that you will never tell anyone that we did this."

"Deal."

"It better be. Or I will hand your ass over to Escobar."

"You're gonna make me go soft if you talk about him."

You're hard? Already? you think but don't say. Instead, you take a not-so-subtle glance at the front of his jeans. 

"What? You offered me sexual favors. Of course I'm hard."

You approach him and he waits for you to slide into his lap and kiss him. It's sloppy, wet, tongue-tangled, teeth mashing together. You pull back nearly panting, and you begin to understand why women let him get away with things.

"I have one more condition."

"Lay it on me."

"I'm in charge."

"You've been in charge, cariño."

He hasn't called you that in at least a month - after you begged him to stop. You insisted he call you by your name because ‘this is a work environment’. And nicknames make you weak in the knees. But you can't tell him that being on a first name basis with him is almost worse. Every time he says your name it goes straight to that debauched part of your brain that you try to suppress.

You nod and stand up, and he says, mildly offended but mostly desperate, "Does 'in charge' mean you're leaving me high and dry?"

"No, I'm getting something." You walk to his desk. "Where are your handcuffs?"

You have handcuffs too, but there's something more enticing about restraining him with his own. 

"Top right hand drawer. Why? Which one of us is getting handcuffed?"

"Take a guess," you say walking back towards him with the cuffs in hand.

"It's me, isn't it?"

"You're so smart, Javi," you tease. Even though you’re joking, you swear you hear his breathing change. You rarely praise him because he rarely deserves it. Maybe you should do it more often, you think. 

"Take off your shirt first and put your hands behind your back."

He does as he's asked. Javi is suddenly more obedient when your tits are eye-level with him. "I can't believe I'm doing this. It better not be some sort of trap."

"It's not. I just think it'll be fun for both of us if I do this to you." The handcuffs click as you attach them to his wrists. It’s the only sound that fills the rare silence in the office. 

"Do you hear that?" you ask with a serene smile.

"No, what?"

"Nothing. It's quiet in here for the first time ever."

"Not for long if you're any good."

"I am very good, I'll have you know."

"Have me know."

You straddle his lap and run your hands along the smooth skin of his broad chest. You lock eyes with him, tilt your head slightly and part your lips like you're going to kiss him, but when he leans in, you pull back.

You stifle a laugh when he leans forward, trying to reach your lips. It’s his only option as his handcuffs prevent him from grabbing your cheeks and pulling you towards him. 

"That's fucked up," he says.

You're not cruel so you kiss him for real. Your tongue brushes against him and you arch your body towards him. You kiss him until you need to come up for air.

"You're not gonna pull back and leave me hanging this time, are you?"

"No, not unless you do something to deserve it."

"Like this?" he asks before biting your bottom lip gently.

"No, not like that," you whisper against his lips. You place featherlight kisses from his jaw to his collarbone, lips ghosting along his skin, teasing.

"You're making me more stressed, chica."

You hum, ignoring him, and then making your way up to the nape of his neck where you lightly suck and nip at his skin.

"Oh, fuck me," he groans.

"Be patient," you say softly as you place your hand on his hard cock, still covered by his jeans.

You palm him slowly, looking up into his eyes when you begin to unbuckle his belt. You wonder what kind of underwear he's wearing - is he a boxers type of guy? Briefs? Boxer-briefs? Every guess is incorrect, you find, as you unzip his jeans - he's gone commando.

"I knew you were a slut, Peña, but no underwear with jeans? That's bold."

"Easy access."

"Easy, that's for sure," you say, as you work together to get his pants down to his ankles. "And yet, very hard," you remark, taking his cock in your hand.

His hips twitch and you can tell he's trying not to fuck your fist, knowing you won't take kindly to it. You're in charge - that's the deal. You spit into your hand and watch as a bead of pre-cum forms at the tip of his dick. His breath hitches when you run your finger over it before you stroke him, increasing the speed of your hand gradually.

You dare to get on your knees and lap at the head, reveling in the way his head lolls back. Dying to get his eyes back on you, you take his cock as far as you can into your mouth - though you hadn't initially planned on sucking him off as he doesn't deserve it. His eyes fly open and he stares at you slack-jawed, his mouth slowly forming an 'o'. When he gets close, you stop, pull back, and stand up.

"Huh?" he asks in an uncharacteristically pathetic voice.

"You were enjoying yourself a little too much." You shrug.

"Yeah, I was enjoying myself. I was gonna cum soon." He pouts, lower lip jutting out and making him look boyish despite the mustache on his upper lip.

"I know."

"Are you not gonna let me cum? Is that what this is? A plan to torture me?"

"No, you'll get to cum eventually. This is an exercise in patience."

"I thought this was supposed to be stress-relief."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but it doesn't seem like you're thinking about work at all right now."

"I'm not."

"What are you thinking about?"

"What do you think?"

"I think, I want you to tell me." You sit down atop the desk across from the one he's sitting at and spread your legs. You watch his eyes as he figures out what you're doing.

"I'm thinking about what you'd look like without that skirt on. I'd rip it off you."

"I'm glad your hands are tied then," you say as you unzip it and let it fall to the floor. "Because it was expensive."

Javi doesn't say much about your black lace panties but his eyes are fixated on them. You begin to unbutton your top and his eyes follow your fingers as you slowly reveal your bra, and then your tits. This is the most he's paid attention to you in your entire time working here.

"God, I wish I could touch you," he says. "You're so fuckin' hot."

"I'm actually quite chilly," you say with a coy grin as you walk over to him and grab his shirt from the desk in front of him. You put it on, but don't button it up so your tits still peek through.

"It looks so much better on you."

"Thanks," you say with a genuine smile. "I expected it to smell like cigarettes but it smells nice."

He half-laughs. "What does it smell like?"

"You." You slide your panties to the side and begin to touch yourself nonchalantly.

"This is so unfair. You get to touch yourself, but I don't."

"I thought you would like watching me."

"I do, you have no idea how much I do."

You intended to tease him, but you find yourself going further, even slipping a finger inside yourself. When you add another, you moan, "Javi."

It's barely a tease anymore. His name slips out just as it does when you're alone in your bedroom with your hands in the same position. But now, you're watching Javi who’s watching you with his pink cheeks and leaking cock - all for you, because of you.

"Yeah? Feels good?"

"Uh-huh." You wish it was him, so much so that you get up from the desk and walk towards him. You sit in his lap, wearing nothing but his shirt, letting your skin touch his.

"You're so wet, cariño."

The way his voice rasps does something to you, grinding on him isn't enough. You need him inside you.

As you position yourself so that his tip is at your entrance, you ask, "promise you won't come inside me?"

"Promise. I'll let you know when I'm close."

You believe him because you have to, because you're going to fuck him anyway. You need him. So, you nod and sink down on his cock. You figured he'd be big - his tight jeans don't hide very much though you try not to stare, lest he catch you doing so, but you still whimper at the stretch.

"You're doing great, cariño."

You don't expect it to feel as good as it does, nor do you expect it to drain your stamina the way that it does. Your legs are shaking by the time you get close to the edge.

"You're struggling, querida," Javi says. "I can help, but you have to let me out of these."

"Yeah," you say, standing up to grab the key. He sighs at the loss of your wetness surrounding him.

You uncuff him and he grabs your hips gently, helping you back into the position you were in previously.

"I've got you," he says, and you trust that he does.

You let your head rest upon his shoulder, and when you moan, he can feel your breath on his skin - he can barely hear you over the sound of your skin meeting his over and over, the slick sounds of your arousal adding another layer to the pornographic chorus of your noises.

Your names are traded back and forth, both of your voices getting progressively needier. One of his hands slides under your - his - shirt to stroke the bare skin of your back as the other remains steady on your ass. You bite into his shoulder despite the fact that no one is in the office to hear you. You get a groan in response and you can tell his orgasm is approaching too.

"Gonna cum," he says. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you say because it's the truth.

It's like you've cast a spell on him or rewired his brain. He should not cum inside you but he does. His whole body jolts as euphoria washes over him.

Your walls clamp down around him and your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you've never been high but there's no way cocaine feels this good. If you could crush an orgasm up into a powder, you'd be rich.

When you come back to reality, you're faced with Javi's beautiful brown eyes and a smile.

"Thank you," he says. "I feel a lot better."

You're beginning to envision your happily ever after when you stand up and you hear Javi say, "Oh fuck."

"What?" You say, looking down and watching your mistake drip out of you.

"I think we just created another problem to be stressed about."

"I'm on the pill. We'll be fine. And, if you're stressed, we can always do it again."

"You're right. I think we need to give it another shot. You said baths are relaxing, right? We could try it in a bathtub, maybe even in the shower."

You shake your head. "Uh-huh," you say sarcastically. "And since movies are relaxing, we should do it in the theater."

"That's a great idea, actually."

"Yeah? You think risking an arrest would help your stress?"

"I don't know, baby. I guess we'll have to find out."

Maybe you have yet to catch the King of Cocaine, but tonight, you feel satisfied as you climb into bed with the King of Sex.

[railingsofsorrow]

day-off

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: dad!spencer spends his day off with his daughter.

pairing: s.reid x reader (ft. eden reid)

w.c: 721

warnings/content: no warnings; father-daughter moments; fluff; tw!braids!! (solely because I suck at making them)

A/N: one standalone drabble for the eden reid collection (I think I'm gonna do a masterlist for that, we'll see)

want to read more works about this au?

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“What are you doing?”

Spencer's hands halted in the midst of folding a pink skirt. The corner of his lips wavering as his daughter buried her small feet on his socks, which promptly swallowed almost all of her body up.

“Do I look pretty, daddy?” Eden twirled around to show off her new style. He couldn't stop the laugh upon realising they were mismatched pairs.

Spencer crouched down to her height, ruffling her untamed curls which causing her nose to scrunch up cutely.

“You look absolutely dazzling, princess.” He voiced his fondness while scooping his little girl up in his arms and sitting down on the edge of the bed. The unfolded laundry forgotten behind them as Spencer grabbed his phone, something he only recently figured out worked for everything, including selfies. How could it be that a small device was able to provide so much functionalities? He still didn't know how to use half of them. But he could do selfies.

That didn't mean they'd be good.

“C'mon,” Spencer nudged her closer, not that Eden complained, she only snuggled closer, her cheeks squishing as both made faces for the camera that was in selfie mode, then Spencer shifted to their wriggling feet covered by mismatched socks.

TO YOU

[10:03a.m] What do you think?

[10:03a.m] Recording.mp4

Eden giggled after he showed her the sent video.

“Let's see if your mom approves our new look.”

Eden didn't warn him before throwing her whole body on him. With a groan, Spencer dramatically fell on the bed, earning another high-pitched childish laugh.

“Ah! I've been struck.” She kept throwing pillows at him as he expressed his surrender by covering his eyes with his forearms, making sure to always keep one eye open to check if she was too close to the edge of the bed. When one of her feet got tangled with the bedsheets, he pulled her up to the opposite side. “Hey, hey, what did I say about jumping on the bed?”

Eden flashed her innocent puppy eyes at him and suddenly Spencer was actually surrendering. “Don't do that.” He warned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The warning went on deaf ears for a while but it bought him enough time to fold the rest of the laundry as she made a mess on the bed.

His phone pinged, letting him know of a new message. A smile stretched across his lips as your name popped up on his screen.

TO SPENCER

[10:20a.m] Love this <3

[10:20a.m] Now I miss the two of you :(

TO YOU

[10:20a.m] Eden's is asking for you to come home.

TO SPENCER

[10:21a.m] Don't tempt me!!!

[10:22a.m] Love, is that the “folded laundry” behind you...?

TO YOU

[10:25a.m] ( Picture attached )

[10:25a.m] It's folded now :)

Spencer brushed his daughter's strands back softly, pondering the variety of ways he could style her hair for the day. Eden was munching on her sliced apples as her morning snacks, pretty distracted in her own world and watching a cartoon about a ladybug and superheroes. Spencer could never recall the name, he'd just watch it with her.

“I want braids.” Eden spoke, not taking her eyes off of the TV but still pretty aware of her surroundings. “Like mamma makes them.”

Spencer had to hold back a laugh because no, he thought, my braids will never be as remotely good as your mother's.

Letting out a sigh, he pulled a chair in front of the couch so she could sit down and he could work on her hair without interrupting her entertainment.

“Okay.” Spencer said, accepting his fate. He had faced a lot of things in his life, but none were in the shape of braided hair. They could defeat him easily and he had admitted that a long time ago even if you say that it's just practice and that you'll learn eventually. He hasn't learnt yet. But if that's what Eden wants, that's what Spencer would (try) to do.

He wasn't able to say no to his tiny human.

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