#say no to this got me feeling a type of way

[barnacles34]

A Bourgeois Comedy

Male Reader x NJZ Haerin x NJZ Minji

18+ smut

a/n: I've been intensely sick these past days. Finally feeling better. Here's a little piece I did while I was sick. <3

IMPORTANT UPDATE

---

'Got a spare ounce of willpower?'

Minji didn't look up. 'Fresh out. Used it all resisting the urge to close this door.' 

'Harsh. What about caffeine? Any spare?'

'Machine's down the hall. Unless you've forgotten its location in the last twenty minutes?'

'Remember the location. Lack the motivation for the journey.' You leaned a shoulder against the frame. 'It's a whole thing.'

'Uh-huh.' Minji’s keyboard: click, click, tap. 'So you're just going to stand there?'

'It's low-energy loitering. Environmentally friendly.'

Her typing stopped. 'Go loiter somewhere else.'

'Can't. My energy reserves are critically low. Need a jumpstart.'

She finally turned her head. 'And how, precisely, do you plan on achieving that?'

'One second. Just a hand-hold. For sustenance. Come on.'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because.' Her fingers paused over the keys. A hesitation. 'No. Just… no.'

'Is it the wilting? Maybe I should get these dark circles fixed? Would that help my case?'

'No. Don't do that. Please.' 

'Ah, the first 'please' of the day. Mark it down.'

'Ugh.' Just a grunt.

'You know, I know a Dr. Kim. Gangnam street. Supposed to be good.'

A laugh finally escaped her. 'You’re impossible.'

'Wrong. Minji,' you held out your hand, palm up flat. 'See this? Put your hand here. Just for a second. Scout's honor, no biting.'

'You're such a damn dork.'

'And you're a total loser.' You pulled the door closed behind you.

Half-teasing, half-hope. That's the tightrope you walk. Minji's rule is simple: cross the line, you're gone. Permanently. But you haven't been booted yet. You keep pushing, and somehow, you stick.

—

Later. Deep into the evening. She’s curled against you on the couch - soft fabric, faint flowery scent, warm. Some dumb dog grooming competition plays, unnoticed. You lean into her warmth, let your breath out, a little too heavy.

She shifts.

Then, she stilled completely. 'Okay.'

'Okay, what? Finally admitting the poodle deserved that ribbon?'

She turned her head, slow. Her gaze locked onto yours. 'Okay. Kiss me.'

'...Say again?'

'Kiss. Me. Simple concept, right?' She paused, her lips looking tangible in the worst way possible; and her next word slipping out quieter, almost desperate, 'Please?'

You scanned her face. No joke. No test. The usual script, ripped up. The Tom & Jerry routine dissolved. Her expression wasn't asking; it was direct, almost impatient. She just upended the world and expected you to keep up. That look. Yeah. That did it.

You had to get the last word, had to twist the knife just a little before you - inevitably - lost yourself. 'Right now? During the Shih Tzu semi-finals? Classy, loser.'

Then your mouth was on hers, and the world dissolved.

Soft. Unbelievably soft. Faint sounds vibrated from her throat into your mouth. Pulling back felt like surfacing, gasping for air. You saw her then: wrecked, face flushed bright pink, heated, a touch of stunned deer in her wide eyes. She just watched you, breathing unevenly. Her hand came up, thumb brushing, feather-light, across your bottom lip. Her eyes, implacable; her fingers, gliding along the firmness of your face.

'Right,' she said. Squeaked, almost.

Then: 'Love me.'

There was no air between you anymore. Lips like candy, velvety, gliding sickeningly sweet against yours. 

—

There were days. You think. You lost track anyway; waking tangled with Minji, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, skin bare, both of you exhausted in that specific, amorphous, body dissolving satisfying way. It felt jarringly new and utterly inevitable, all at once. Quiet morning light catching her cheekbone - in those moments, you understood:

'I think,' you murmured one dawn, finger tracing the curve of her bare glowing shoulder, so perfect you wanted to latch onto it, and never let go, 'I'd actually die for you.'

Her eyes fluttered open. A slow, sleepy smile touched her lips. 'Weirdo love bombing.’

You stopped. Thought about it. 'Okay, maybe tiny bit. But I'm serious.' You held up a stray strand of her hair against the light. 'This one hair? In danger? I'm finding a sword.'

'You don't own a sword,' she mumbled, burying her face against your chest.

'I know.'

—

The power dynamic shifted. She called it 'collecting back-pay,' this sudden, focused intensity on you. Cat and mouse reversed. She’d walk in, keys still singing, kick off her shoes while her eyes hunted you down. Undoing her ponytail in that split second. A look that just said: you, now. Her lips, often faintly bruised by evening's end, found yours before a single 'hello'.

Zero complaints.

‘Can’t you just… call in sick, babe?’ she murmured one night, fingers twisting in your tie. The one she’d given you. The one you wore every damn day.

Babe. Still landed weird. Good weird.

‘Can’t. They made me 'important' now, apparently.'

‘That’s… good, right?’ Adorable, how serious she looked.

‘God, no. Means I work twice as long for maybe five percent more pay. It's crap.'

‘My poor suffering man.’ Her hands worked the knot loose, sliding the tie down. ‘You work so hard.’

‘You wouldn’t believe.’

She slipped off her little house slippers, then sank down to her knees on the rug before you, still holding the end of your tie.

‘Just relax,’ she said, looking up, her eyes dark. ‘Lean back. I’ll make it all better.’

She unbuckled your belt; pants heaved lower along your thigh; then, her soft breaths riding along your clothed hardness. Then inch by inch, her hand tousled the cloth down. Staring intensely, her breaths looming on your shaft. 

Then: she licked a stripe along the side of your cock. Hand along your shaft at the base, holding you still as she pressed soft trailing stripes. Just as her tongue made a desperate path along the head, her mouth devoured you. 

A few coughs, deeper still. Mouth working you loose. Little strips of her spit trailing down, her hollowed cheeks - your hands were about to tear the fucking couch apart.

Deeper down her throat, you were dying, literally, constricted in the heavenliest of vices - cock trapped in Minji’s throat - you sprayed ropes and ropes down her mouth.

‘Gross.’

Yet she swallowed.

And cleaned your cock; with a gaze that bared no tired eyes.

You were in for the night.

—

A few days passed. Messy days. You were stuck together until the very last minute - each and every day. Entangled together; Minji would apply her eyeliner as you caressed her cheeks, and she’d nibble the ridge of your jaw while buttoning your shirt. 

Brilliant days.

—

At home, on a foggy evening, you spread yourself against the couch - waiting for Minji to come home. The door clicked, and you could hear Minji shuffle into the door.

She met your gaze, ‘Give me a kiss.’

So you did. 

Going deeper, feeling the soft curves of her entire body, hidden under damning cloth.

‘I need to fuck you so bad.’ A whisper into her perfect ear.

‘Uh. Babe.' She coughed, more out of shock than anything else. 'I brought someone over.’

You looked past her. There was someone there, standing.

A flushing redness spread across her cheeks, and she bowed - no comment.

Sturdy stiff, flushed hot; you exchange glances with Minji, who so lovingly has creased eyes of joy for you - a hint that she’ll tease you for however long it stays on her mind.

Brush off imaginary dust, try to maintain some semblance of courtesy in front of someone who’s shell shocked.

‘Hey!’ Not the best introduction.

‘Hi…’

Minji came to save the day, ‘Introduce yourself, come on.’ She pressed a hand to Haerin, a nervous butterfly.

‘I’m Haerin.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Haerin.’ You barely craggle out.

…

It’s white noise after this, you don’t remember anything; Haerin; that’s all you remember.

She was clad by a cloud of camo adjacents - green camo pants, a darker camo hat, and a grey jacket that clung against her slim body; but she was beautiful, wandering big eyes, thin long fingers decorated with painted nails.

Her eyes, even in careful rumination of Her, you gravitate toward her eyes - careful, soft, feline-like - as if any aspect of her was to be complement of her Eyes.

Dissonance escaped you after the first beer. In the kitchen, chopping up variations of aged cheeses, Minji stood adjacent to you cutting up fruits.

‘You’re hilarious.’

‘You should’ve told me.’

‘Told you what? Who could ever predict that you’d say that?’ She giggled some more.

‘Do you think she minds?’

‘Haerin? Probably. A little. Most likely. She’s just like that. Shy. Quiet. Very unresponsive.’

‘I made it worse.’

‘Probably.’

‘Fuuuuck.’

‘Come on. Don’t worry. You earned points with me.’ Tipping your chin up. She pressed a thumb against your lip - letting you taste the sweet fruits she cut - and kissed you soft. ‘You brazen bull.’ 

‘God. I need you so bad.’

‘Baby. Haerin’s in the living room. There’s time for that later.’

‘Please stop entertaining the possibility.’

‘I want it as much as you.’

‘ - But?’

‘Mysterious disappearances in the middle of friendly reunions don’t exactly spell out cordial, babe… Hey - come on - get off me - ngh.’

—

Some arbitrarily large amounts of alcohol later; red-stained wine glasses, charcuterie board stained with a variety of acidic ideals; you find Minji’s lips again. In front of Haerin. 

It’s capillary force, as natural as a plant seeks the sun or water: her lips. Soft against yours. The fact that Haerin’s watching? Mortifying. Absolutely so. But it’s destiny (what can you do against that?) so you delve.

You weren’t privy to what Minji or Haerin thought, it was just Minji’s fingers pressing notes of sing-song motivation with her fingers on your sides, and, you were sure of it, totally so: Haerin’s eyes indelibly locked in on your exchange. 

Voyeur. Is that it? She was a voyeur? You ask of Minji through the antiquated language of kissing the top of her lip, entering her mouth, sharing spittle. And she responds, licks back, moans softly: that’s it, she’s a voyeur. Cruel Minji. 

You try to mangle out a look at what she was doing with all this eyespace (was she pressing against her moistness hidden in soft cloth?) (finger-deep in herself?) (And.. Did she want to join?) (are her toes pressing deep into her slippers, barely maintaining herself?). 

Minji punished your nape for the slightest indolence, tight fingers, pulling you into her velvet mouth - the slightest breath between you forbidden - the softest exertion ignored - she was, at this moment, a machine.

Minutes passed like this, Haerin’s soft clothes mushing together, the squelches of Minji’s lips. Almost suffocating, Minji let you go - breathing heavily with beads of condensation floating on her honey forehead - so fucking hot. 

Your eyes landed on Haerin, and first thing, her eyes dilated full, like two black holes: the concept of irises ridiculous. As you stared at Haerin - not sure if she was finger-deep in herself; the majority of her hidden under the table - Minji breathed a bristling breath on your neck, and in an even more suggestive breath: ‘It’ll be fun.’

No answer.

The both of you knew. 

You waited for Haerin’s expression, as did Minji, for confirmation, or the nil possibility of her running out right this moment.

And so: her hands landed on the zipper of her jacket, and revealed a faintly pink tank-top. God almighty.

‘Follow me.’ Minji broke the silence.

You followed Minji as she tore off one layer after another, then splaying herself along a bed - half-naked - that spared no space for three - well, space for three if one was on top of each other. 

Then Haerin entered last. This time, you had a better view of her: beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. 

‘Now kiss.’ 

‘What?’ The both of you say.

‘Kiss each other. Go on.’ 

‘Uh…’ You look at Haerin. She looks back. This time, the floor wasn't so interesting; her eyes were on you.

‘No hand holding.’ You heard from the background. And you laugh: it’s all so absurd, Minji’s half-naked on the bed, your girlfriend of years, chest low and tight, pupils dilated, watching you kiss her friend. 

Kissed. Again and again. Saliva moist against Haerin’s lips, against yours, hers and yours. She tasted faintly of menthol, strong mint, a trite sensation against the soft weaves of her tongue against yours. Every breath held her scent, every breath she took spread on your skin like a breath against cold glass - her soft, beautiful little exhales. 

You had glimpses, of Minji, hand tucked deep into her pants, little shallow shadow-changes on the groin of her pants - what could only be her fingering herself. Lip-bitten raw, huffing, moaning softly with eyes that didn’t leave you. You were hard, unimaginably hard, almost passing out - Haerin’s kissing you, her delicate palms caressing the bristled nape of yours, and Minji, sat on the bed, finger-fucking herself with hawk-eyed concentration.

You began shuffling towards the bed, with Haerin’s lips buried into your neck, sucking phantom hickeys onto your neck. 

And Minji made space for you, sat a little to the side, held the hem of her pants to take it off. 

‘Minji.’

‘Babe.’ Her hands wrapped around your waist, and softly, inch by inch, she pulled down your pants. She kissed your navel, almost worshipping you, before pulling down the last piece of cloth that hid your member. It was the loudest silence. Two pairs of dilated eyes, engaged on your swollen member begging to be taken care of (which, inevitably, will happen). 

First, Minji’s hand encircled around your member; a few rough strokes; then saliva mixed unevenly on her palm, a smoother gliding sensation; soft strokes, Haerin’s eyes tracked every soft stroke, and each stroke led her closer towards you. 

Minji added a few more dribbles of her spit on the head, then her hands moved faster, and smoother. By the next stroke, her mouth circled your head, then she swallowed your cock. ‘Fuck, Minji.’ She murmured a bit before going deeper, her tongue massaging your underside, her mouth leaving thin trails of sheening spit all over your cock. She choked, once or twice. 

Haerin came closer, eye-level with Minji, eye-level with your cock. She was kneeling, like worship, like Minji. She was about to suck your dick. Pony-tailed hair. Waiting patiently as Minji sucked you off into the depths of hell. 

Then: Minji was off your cock with a soft pop. ‘Such a big fucking dick. I thought I had to share.’ Haerin flushed again, ‘I thought you wouldn’t tell him.’

‘Him? He knows. Haerin. Just give it all up. Suck his dick. Worship it. I want you to.’

Perhaps that’s what did her in; you know, just the way her eyes locked on your spit-sheened cock. Her thin perfect fingers encircling your shaft, teasing the soft rigidity, the gliding sensation of Minji’s spit clinging, and she went up and down, up and down - squelch after squelch. Her first peck followed not long after, her tongue caressed the pre cum leaking. Her mouth encircled the head of your cock, and her cheeks hollowed. ‘Fuck.’ ‘Is it good babe?’ ‘Fuck yes.’ Instead of replying, Minji wrapped her tongue around one of your balls, sucking, teasing, worshipping your entirety. 

Your toes pressed firm against the mohair carpet. Haerin’s hands found themselves on your thighs as she took you deeper into her mouth.

The one who couldn’t even say a sentence to you, eyes stuck to the floor, now sucking your life out.

You began twitching; Minji under your balls, licking profanely; Haerin, taking you deep into her mouth, big eyes locked on to you, her perfumed hair yielding to your grasp. 

‘Get on the bed.’

The air dried blanket molded to their - now naked -  bodies. Golden light reflecting, blurring against their perfect skin. Two goddesses, placed parallel, eyeing you with an implacable lust. 

You entered Minji’s arms first. Who let out a sigh as you pressed your body weight against her; letting her hand curl against the back of your head; legs intertwining behind your back; and whispering Fuck Me.

Lining yourself up, you breathed one deep sigh into her neck. Before entering dead slow. Feeling every velvet fold of hers caressing your cock, soaking your cock in her tight pussy. The beautiful sounds she made. You pressed up to the hilt. ‘You’re so hard. Is it because Haerin’s watching?’ She giggled what she could, and lost what she had as you pumped into her one more time.

You smashed against her wet core again - making a wet slap - wringing out the most beautiful noises out of her. Slap, slap, slap, smashing your cock inside her, her perfectly molded pussy, wet with slick - some of it sticking and stringing along your shaft. 

‘Fuck me. Daddy. Fuck me.’

You desperately latch onto her mouth - exchanging a spit-stricken kiss as you fucked her over the cusp of her climax; Her loins shook, her body twitched, and she screamed euphoria into your mouth.

Through it all, Haerin pressed a palm against her pelvis - you had glimpses - her fingers worked along her delicate folds. She groaned, moaned, squealed. And as you hooked Minji's leg on your shoulder to show, exactly, how your dick went in undulations out of Minji’s wet core, Haerin came on her fingers. 

Then Minji cums on your cock. Breathing. Softly. Trying not to break anything you haven’t already broken, she pulls herself up, softly, head-level with you, ‘Now, there’s somebody waiting. Right there, and I need you to grant her wish.’

‘Being?’

‘You already know.’

You did. God almighty, you did. 

Haerin’s golden chest heaved as she recovered from the crest of her climax, and her eyes - god, her eyes - invited you over with a gaze that insisted upon itself. 

You start moving over, Minji’s palm sliding along your forearm - telling you that it’s alright, that she wants to watch, maybe even join. 

Apropos of all that happened before, you slid, softly, into Haerin’s arms. Your lips molding against hers; your hands pressing the soft flesh of her inner thigh, vis a vis open up; and from then on, you lined your slimy cock at her entrance, her glossy entrance, and entered.

She squealed, right in your ear. Held you tight like she might crumble to dust otherwise. 

Minji hobbled over, hovering just above, ‘Is it good, Haerin?’

She didn’t reply. Sounds of her slick moisture. Of her raggedy breaths broken by the thumb between her teeth. Large eyes that stayed closed for the most part. 

You latched onto her neck, still ravenously pressing yourself into Haerin. Her body recoiled against your latter strokes. Little wet sounds. Soft moans. Minji held her shoulders down as you went deeper. Right up to the hilt. That’s when she groaned, that’s when she really loosened up. Then, her body chased your cock. Gripped. Soft wet sounds turned blasphemous. As if slapping a body of water in a cave. Minji observed with delight, and kissed Haerin’s cheeks to encourage her to keep up.

You left her neck, kneeling in an upright position. Moving against her faster now, holding her soft waist: a handle. Back arching, she squealed another time - finally, reaching the cusp of her orgasm. Softly shaking under your touch. Her bristled skin - full of electric lust. Droplets passed along your shaft. But you didn’t stop. 

You pressed four fingers against her softly curved navel and a thumb on her clit.

Minji looked at you with a wry smile.

You fucked Haerin hard. To the point of muscle failure. Triceps blazing hot; thighs worn out; and a tuckered Haerin with sweat pressed god-like into her skin.

With cum seeping out of her pussy.

Wherein, Minji collected it all in her tongue. And kissed Haerin.

IMPORTANT UPDATE

[boyfhee]

ㅤㅤ 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗙𝗨𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘 𝗛𝗨𝗦𝗕𝗔𝗡𝗗 ★ 엔하이픈

𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒ㅤ／ㅤ𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖺 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗍.

23O8ㅤㅤㅤ ' ㅤㅤㅤ𝑓𝘪𝘭𝘮─────romance with bf ! enha x fem ! readerㅤㅤㅤ ❀ㅤㅤㅤ kissing, skinshipㅤㅤ海

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ REBLOG FOR A KISSIE ! ˃ᗜ˂

HEESEUNG

he was barely paying attention to your words while you were placing orders at the restaurant, too busy going through the dessert menu.

“and, my husband would like steak, medium rare,” it isn’t until certain words leave your lips that make him pause, lose his breath.

“what did you say?” he asks once the waiter leaves, half giddy half bewildered.

and you simply look at him in mock confusion, holding back a laugh at his surprised state. “what?”

“don’t play stupid,” he’s grinning ear to ear, leaning over the table with his eyes glued onto you. “you called me husband,”

he makes sure to put emphasis on that word. he knows you are playing, and you shrug, having too much fun in this little exchange. “and?”

“nothing,” he retorts as if his ears aren’t red, like his heart isn’t beating a little faster at the thought of being your husband. “i can get used to it,” and he would love to.

JONGSEONG

you’re standing outside your work place and waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up. it’s raining heavily, obscuring whatever your friend is saying on the other side of the phone, but you interrupt her anyway when you see a black maserati pulling up in front of you. “i’ll hang up, my husband is here,”

and jay freezes for a brief second as he watches you hurry and get inside the car, closing the door.

“husband, hm?” his voice is quiet and low, laced with amusement as he turns on the ignition.

“what about it?” you are trying to be subtle, really, as if he doesn’t notice your little plans to make him flustered.

you raise your brows and he almost scoffs at your nonchalance, how easily you manage to throw him off guard with just a few words.

he shoots you a knowing grin, resting one hand on your thigh while controlling the steering with the other. “we can decide on a wedding date if you want to call me that already, darling,”

JAEYUN

your boyfriend shifts under the duvet when he feels the mattress dip next to him, a soft rustling of sheets reaching his ears and he relaxes in your embrace when you snake your arms around his torso.

“wake up, my dear husband,” you whisper close, tender, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

and all the sleep leaves his system, eyes wide open at your words as he exclaims in his low, hoarse and ever so attractive morning voice. “your dear what?”

there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, a motive as you repeat the word, slower this time. “husband,”

“did we get married yesterday?” he doesn’t recall it— you both had a few drinks, got a little tipsy, giggling and kissing your way inside the house, then the bedroom, and then collapsing on the bed. he looks at you, brows furrowed, and you can only chuckle at his reaction.

“no, but i want to call you that,” you’re tracing his nose bridge, then lips, down to his jaw.

“good, you should get used to it,” and he is pulling you onto him before you know it, biting back a soft yawn. “i’m planning to marry you already,”

SUNGHOON

you both are resting on the couch, limbs tangled together. the tv is long forgotten, he’s too busy trying to get your attention but that is until he gets a notification of your instagram post.

there’s a pause, a moment of surprise, silence, and his eyes on the caption saying ‘husband’ with a heart emoji.

“didn’t know you were going around calling me your husband,” he teases, reaching out to pinch your cheeks, only for you to slap his hand away.

and he isn’t half wrong. you might have called him your husband in front of your friends more than once. “it feels right,”

“i see,” he hums, admiring the slight smile on your lips.

it’s quiet again. he is typing something on his phone, his lips mimicking your smile and he presses send, adding a comment under your post. ‘love you, my beautiful wife,’ with a heart emoji as well.

the surprise is on you, and he smirks at the giddy smile you’re biting back, knowing his comment gives you butterflies. he plants a kiss on your forehead. “calling you my wife feels right too,”

SUNOO

“my husband prefers blue so we’ll go with that,” you tell the curator and watch him nod, proceeding to pack the blue curtains you and your boyfriend picked for your new apartment.

you turn to look at him and he’s shook— jaw dropped, eyes wide open, blinking in confusion and anticipation— it’s priceless. “did you just call me your husband?”

“i did,” you nod ever so confidently, watching his lips curl into a smile despite the disbelief spelled across his face.

he steps closer, taking your hand in his. his finger tips graze over your ring finger as if already imagining it with a ring. “are you proposing?”

“i might be,” you respond cheekily, watching his gaze shy away from yours for a quick second. “i can’t wait to marry you anyway,” and if he wasn’t blushing before, he is definitely now.

JUNGWON

his favourite thing about sunday noons is baking with his beloved girlfriend. well, he admires you dreamily for the most part but he ends up lending a hand, which does the job.

your voice pulls him out of a trance when you ask him to pass the sugar, which he does— fingers brushing against yours momentarily. you shoot him a smile, voice soft. “thanks, hubby,”

and jungwon swears, his heart stopped for a few seconds.

“what? hubby? as in—” he haults, gulping at the implications of your words. “husband?”

“mhm, of course, husband,” you nod with a giggle, adding more emphasis to the word. you’re having way too much fun and he is malfunctioning.

“are you serious?” his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. he takes a step closer, wanting to have a closer look at your face.

and you look up from the batter you were whipping. “what if i am?” and if you are, well jungwon be damned, because he is already planning the proposal.

NI-KI

you’re at your highschool reunion, talking and sharing your university life so far with your old friends. it isn’t until your boyfriend walks up to you.

“and this is my husband, riki,” you link your arms with his, introducing him as your husband so casually, it even surprises your friends. although, you’re more interested in his reaction.

he grabs your hand and pulls you aside, so out of place by a single word, one that makes him feel like his whole world has turned upside down. “husband?”

“yes,” you nod.

he doesn’t know if you’re being serious— he hopes it means something and he knows he is crazy for thinking that, you both are way too young.

but that doesn’t stop him from leaning his head down to your level and capturing your lips in a chaste kiss “didn’t know you wanted me like that,”

“shut up, ‘ki,” you mumble, knowing he is enjoying seeing you so dazed by just a kiss, and he isn’t going to let you live this down.

[mercvry-glow]

staying is harder than leaving

parings. jack abbot x reader

summary. you'll never understand what brings you back to jack abbot, all you know is that you want to stay.

warnings. age gap (jake late 40s reader early 30s), bitter sweet, reader and jack are really bad at feelings, mention/illusions of sex, mentions of smoking and cigarettes, overall just a bit angsty with a soft fulfilling ending, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I'm so sorry this was all I could get out, but I'm pretty happy with it. I'm like the danny mcbride of angst, everything has closure in one way or another and it's always a good feeling at the end. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3200+

You didn’t know how you got here.

Lying in the bed of a man you had no business being with. Not really. Not ever.

Jack Abbot wasn’t the kind of man people fell into by accident—he was deliberate, sharp-edged, the type you saw coming and still couldn’t avoid. Older. Hardened by the Army and the ER and everything they took from him. Gruff in the way only someone who’s cared too much and been burned for it could be.

And your boss.

He was supposed to be off-limits. But lines blurred late at night—between empty hospital corridors and frantic hands, between the quiet moments when he looked at you like you were the only thing holding him together.

Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the way he let his guard down in fragments only you got to see. Maybe it was the ache in your chest that whispered this was more than just bodies colliding.

But whatever it was, it was getting harder to breathe in his space without losing a part of yourself.

The room was dark, swallowed whole by the blackout curtains. Still, you could feel the hour—it was too early for anything but regret.

Jack was asleep, sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the blanket barely covering his hips. His back was turned to you, freckled and scarred, every mark a map of a life lived hard.

You’d spent too many nights like this. Drawing constellations across his skin with your fingers, trying to make sense of something that never really did. Pretending he was yours. Pretending you weren’t drowning in the quiet.

But now, with your heart thudding too loud in your ears and the stillness pressing in, reality came creeping.

Your skin prickled with the kind of unease that settled deep—shame curling tight in your throat, dread rising like smoke.

You didn’t belong here. Not in his bed. Not in his life.

And deep down, you knew—he was never going to stop you from leaving. Not because he didn’t care.

But because he didn’t know how to ask you to stay.

It was overwhelming how much you felt for him. How much more you wanted to feel. And the worst part was having nowhere productive to put it.

You were just as much a workaholic as he was—another lifer in the ER, made of pure grit and sleepless nights, proud of the scars you earned under fluorescent lights.

The golden R4 of night shift. Jack’s prodigy, the way Frank had been Robby’s. People used to joke that you were cut from the same cloth as Jack—sarcastic, unflinching, impossible to impress. You’d hated how right they were.

Because somewhere along the way, he stopped being just your mentor.

 And you stopped pretending you didn’t want more.

What you had wasn’t exactly a secret, but it sure as hell wasn’t something, either. At least, not in the daylight.

You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything, besides a damn good doctor. Just someone who knew what to say when he couldn’t talk. Someone who understood the blood-soaked language of trauma. Someone who stayed long after her shift ended because she didn’t want to go home alone.

And it was killing you.

Piece by piece.

Because in the quiet moments like this—before the rest of the world stirred, before the next shift started—you wanted to reach for him. Say something stupid like Don’t let me leave again… Or I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t love you.

But you couldn’t. Because you already knew how Jack operated.

He let you in just far enough and then he shut the door, quiet and clean. Like it had never opened in the first place.

Your eyes burned, your chest heavy with unsaid things.

The same weight it always carried. 

You shifted under the covers, moving slowly, carefully—like if you breathed too loudly, this entire illusion might crack open. Jack didn’t stir. His breathing was steady, slow.

You watched him for a moment longer, memorizing the way his jaw slackened in sleep, the faint scar above his left shoulder blade you never had the nerve to ask about.

He looked peaceful like this. Human.

And that only made it harder.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, bare feet hitting the cold floor, limbs stiff and aching. Every inch of your body protested—tired, sore, reluctant to leave him. 

But your heart was louder.

You bent to collect your clothes off the floor, holding your breath, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. Because if he did—if he so much as whispered your name—

You didn’t trust yourself not to stay.

All you slipped on was a loose t-shirt—his, you realized halfway through pulling it over your head. It hung off one shoulder, collar stretched from too many late nights and maybe a few desperate hands.

You didn’t have it in you to put on the rest.

Just the pair of panties you’d had on hours ago, still faintly wrinkled from where they’d been discarded in the dark.

You needed a cigarette. God, you needed a cigarette.

You weren’t even a regular smoker, not really. But nights like this—mornings like this—you craved one. Not for the nicotine. For the ritual. For something slow and quiet and burning between your fingers to focus on instead of the way your chest felt like it was caving in.

You padded out of the room silently, careful not to step on the floorboard near the dresser that always creaked. The hallway was cold. Sparse. A stark contrast to the warmth of the bed you just left.

Jack’s apartment was neat, lived-in but impersonal. A few books shoved onto the built-in shelf. Stacks of old med journals. A photo of him and Michael on some fishing trip ages ago, both of them sunburnt and squinting and younger than you’d ever seen Jack look.

You bypassed the kitchen, went straight for the balcony. Slid the door open just enough to squeeze through.

The city was still asleep. Pittsburgh before sunrise had a strange, almost sacred hush to it—still full of steel and ghosts.

You leaned your elbows on the railing, the hem of Jack’s shirt fluttering around your thighs in the early morning breeze.

You didn’t even have a cigarette. Just the craving.

The silence. The ache.

You let your eyes slip shut for a second, trying to slow your breathing.

Tried not to think about how badly you wanted this to be something it wasn’t. How stupidly, hopelessly in love you might be with him. And how deeply you hated yourself for it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, bare legs prickling against the morning chill, teeth gently worrying your bottom lip. The city stretched out below—silent, gray, and endless.

It was terrifying how much you wanted him.

Not just his hands, not just the way he whispered your name when he was too tired to keep up the act. You wanted all the messy, sharp-edged parts of him. The things he buried beneath sarcasm and coffee and barking orders in trauma bay one.

You wanted the man who rolled his eyes at residents but stayed a few hours after his harder shifts ended to check on critical but recovering patients. The man who never flinched in chaos but looked like he might unravel every time you brushed your fingers through his curly hair.

And you hated that he had no idea. Or worse—he did, and chose to ignore it.

Because you weren’t asking for everything. You would’ve settled for something.

Something real. Something honest.

Even just a reason to stay.

You let out a shaky breath and rubbed at your arms, suddenly aware of just how little you were wearing—and how much that shirt still smelled like him. Soap and antiseptic. Jack Abbot in every thread.

You were so lost in your head you didn’t hear the door slide open.

“Thought you were gone.”

His voice was low. Rough with sleep. And somehow still managed to scrape down your spine like he meant it to.

You didn’t turn around right away. Just stared out at the skyline, eyes burning. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Two. You could feel him behind you, the weight of his presence like gravity.

“You didn’t.” He sounded closer now. “You cold?”

You shrugged, not trusting your voice.

Jack stepped beside you, his hand brushing your elbow, the warmth of his skin startling after the chill. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there.

Looking at you like he wasn’t sure what you were doing out here. Like maybe he was afraid to ask.

Like maybe he already knew.

And it would’ve been so easy to say nothing. To go back inside. To pretend.

But pretending was starting to feel like slow suffocation.

The silence stretched, long and taut, like the few inches between your bodies were holding back something massive—unspoken, unbearable.

Your arms stayed crossed over your chest, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like it might anchor you. The wind picked up slightly, brushing your hair across your face, but you didn’t move to fix it.

You blinked hard. Once. Twice. But it didn’t stop the way your throat tightened or how your eyes blurred at the edges.

You weren’t even sure why you were crying.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was standing next to someone who could make you feel so much and give you so little in return.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at you now—concern buried beneath the usual guarded expression, like he knew something was wrong and didn’t know how to fix it.

Your chin wobbled, just barely, and you tried to suck in a breath. Swallow it down. Pretend it wasn’t happening. But then your shoulders hitched, and the first quiet sob slipped out before you could stop it.

“Shit,” you muttered, brushing at your face, willing yourself to hold it together. “God, I’m sorry—just—ignore me. It’s fine.”

But Jack didn’t move. Didn’t walk away.

He was still as stone beside you, until he suddenly wasn’t.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his arm slipping around your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his chest like he didn’t even think about it. Like it was instinct.

You froze at first, breath caught mid-sob, body stiff. But he didn’t let go.

His other hand came up slowly to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, cradling you gently—like you might shatter if he held you any other way.

“You’re not fine,” he murmured against your temple. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not here.”

You let yourself fold into him then, tears soaking into his shirt—his damn shirt—your hands fisting into the fabric like it might hold you together.

And for a minute, he just held you.

No tension. No boundaries. No pretending.

Just Jack. Warm and quiet and there.

You didn’t know how long he held you.

Long enough for the sobs to taper off into something softer—just a tremble in your chest, the occasional sniff as your face pressed against his collarbone.

Jack hadn’t said anything else. He didn’t need to. His hands had found their way to your back, slow and steady, like he was grounding you the way you’d done for him more times than you could count.

You were the one who finally pulled back. Not far—just enough to see his face.

The early morning light caught the edge of his jaw, the tired lines under his eyes, the hint of wariness there. Always. You could practically hear his thoughts spinning—calculating, retreating.

You could see him closing the door already.

So you asked quietly, breaking the hush between you both: “Do you ever think about what we’re doing?”

It wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t dramatic.

Just honest.

His brow furrowed slightly. His hands didn’t move from your back. “You mean... right now?”

You gave a small, tired laugh. “No. I mean this. Us. What this is.”

Jack was quiet again. But his jaw tightened. That always came first with him—before the words, before the honesty. His body braced like he was expecting a blow.

“I try not to,” he said finally, voice low. Raw. “Because if I do, it scares the hell out of me.”

Your heart stuttered at that.

He looked away, gaze fixed on some point out across the balcony railing. “I’m not good at this,” he added. “I’ve never been. And with you…” His throat bobbed, the muscles in his neck tensing. “It’s not casual. Not for me.”

You stared at him, not sure if you’d heard him right.

“It hasn’t been for a long time,” he said, softer now. “I just didn’t know how to tell you without ruining it.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Like something in your chest had split open, but not in the way that hurt.

“Jack…” you whispered.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for the first time, he wasn’t guarded.

Wasn’t hiding.

Just a man, standing barefoot on a balcony at five in the morning, holding the only person who had ever made him want to try again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “But I don’t know how to keep you either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched him.

Jack Abbot—brilliant, maddening, insufferably closed-off Jack—was finally cracking open, right in front of you. And not because you pried him apart. Not because you caught him in a weak moment.

Because he chose to.

And God, that scared you. Maybe even more than the silence had.

You swallowed, voice still hoarse from crying. “I wasn’t going to come back after last time.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

You gave a small, sad smile. “After that shift where I got pulled to peds… You didn’t say a word to me for almost 48 hours. Didn’t even look at me unless someone else was around. I told myself I was done.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, guilt flashing across it like a burn. “I remember.”

“I thought maybe I imagined all of it,” you whispered. “Everything between us. That maybe I made it into something it wasn’t just because I wanted it to be.”

His hazel eyes met yours, sharp and searching. “You didn’t imagine it.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“Every time I shut down, every time I pulled away—” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “It wasn’t because I didn’t feel it. It was because I did. Too much.”

That silence came again, but this time it wasn’t as heavy.

You leaned your hip against the railing, arms still folded loosely, the edge of his shirt catching in the breeze. “Then why push me away?”

“Because if I let myself want this…” He exhaled like the words tasted bitter. “If I let myself want you—then it’s real. And if it’s real, it’s not just sex or more shared shifts… Or a warm body in my bed when the world’s too loud. It’s something I could fuck up.”

You stared at him, something raw blooming beneath your ribs.

“You’re not fucking it up,” you said quietly. “But you will if you keep treating me like I’m  something to be afraid of.”

Jack didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you with something unspoken in his eyes—hope or regret or maybe both.

“I don’t know how to be what you deserve,” he said finally. “But I want to try.”

You let the words hang there. Let yourself feel them.

Then, slowly, you reached out—your hand finding his, fingers curling around the calloused warmth of it. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He looked down at your joined hands like it was the first time he’d been touched. Then back at you.

“Then stay,” he said, voice rough. Barely a whisper. “Just… stay.”

He didn’t say another word.

Just looked at you—eyes tired, earnest, open in a way you’d almost forgotten he could be. And then he laced his fingers fully with yours, squeezing gently like a silent promise.

Then, without fanfare, he turned and led you back inside.

The balcony door slid shut behind you, sealing out the cool morning air and the hum of the waking city. Everything inside was still—soft shadows spilling across the floor, quiet warmth clinging to the apartment walls like it had soaked into the bones of the place.

Jack didn’t let go of your hand. Not even when you passed through the living room. Not when your bare feet padded across the hardwood. Not when the bedroom door came into view.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak.

He just brought you to the bed—unmade, sheets rumpled, still heavy with the weight of what had happened between you hours before.

But this time, he didn’t pull you down onto it like he usually would.

This time, he turned to face you fully, and with the same careful touch he used when someone flatlined under his hands, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m not good at a lot of things,” he murmured, voice so low it barely carried in the stillness. “But I’ll be better. If you let me.”

You nodded, throat thick, and he bent to press a kiss to your forehead—tender, reverent. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything. That just was.

Then he gently guided you down with him, one arm curled around your waist as he pulled the covers over both of you.

There was no urgency. No edge. Just the press of his body behind yours, solid and warm and present.

His hand rested at your hip, not possessive, just there. His breathing evened out slowly, and after a while, so did yours.

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Jack’s breath was warm against the back of your neck, steady now, like the storm had passed through him and left something quieter in its wake.

You shifted just enough to turn toward him, your nose brushing his chest. He looked down at you through half-lidded eyes, sleep tugging at the edges of both of you, but neither quite ready to let go.

You watched each other in that stillness. No shields. No walls. Just two people, bruised in all the same places, finally giving in.

His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, as if to wipe away what your tears had left behind. You leaned into the touch without thinking, heart slow and aching.

Then, slowly—like he was asking permission with every breath—he kissed you.

Soft at first. Barely there. A whisper of a promise pressed to your lips.

Then deeper. Warmer. Like he was pouring every word he hadn’t said into the shape of your mouth. It wasn’t hungry or hurried. It didn’t ask for anything more.

It just was.

When he finally pulled back, you were still close enough to feel the words rumble against his chest.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, and you aren’t either.”

The last thing you saw before your eyes fluttered closed was the faintest trace of sunrise creeping through the edge of the blackout curtains—soft, golden light spilling into the room like forgiveness.

And with his arms around you, breath synced with yours, you let it pull you under.

For once, you didn’t fight it.

You just stayed.

mercvry-glow 2025

[blueberrisdove-sideblog2]

Mydei curled beside you like a lion cub—if lion cubs were six-foot-something beasts made of muscle and quiet fury. His body was too big for the bed, but he didn’t care, didn’t move, just kept one heavy arm slung over your stomach like a warning to the world. His face was buried half into the pillow, half into your shoulder, and even though he was pretending to sleep, you could feel the tension in his jaw. He was pissed. At himself. At you. At everything. But mostly at the fact that he didn’t know how to fix it without looking stupid.

“You done sulking?” you muttered, voice a little hoarse from yelling earlier. His grip on you tightened like a vice. “I ain’t sulking,” he grunted, voice low and rough, scratchy from smoke and snapping earlier. “M’trying not to snap your fuckin’ head off again.” You rolled your eyes, but your heart stuttered a little at that. That was his way of saying he regretted it. Not the best way, but it was Mydei. He wasn’t the type to apologize. He was the type to hold you like this instead, like a storm that didn’t know how to rain without breaking something.

His hand slid up under your shirt, this time just dragging his callused palm up your ribs, not even trying anything. Just touching. Just claiming. “You always run your mouth,” he muttered against your skin, voice low and grumbly like thunder. “But you’re mine. You get that, right?” You didn’t answer right away, just let him touch you, let him prove his point in silence. Eventually you breathed out, soft. “You’re such a damn caveman.” He snorted—barely a laugh—but you felt his body finally relax.

He pulled you closer like it was instinct, like his whole body only knew how to pull you in and never let go. His mouth pressed against your collarbone, not a kiss, just heat and breath and teeth barely brushing skin. “Don’t care what you call me,” he mumbled. “Just shut up and stay.” You blinked up at the ceiling, heart thudding hard. He wasn’t romantic. He wasn’t sweet. But that? That was something close. That was as soft as it got with him.

You didn’t say anything. Just reached down and grabbed his hand, dragging it back to your waist. His fingers flexed, tightening like he was proud. Like good. He didn’t say another word. Didn’t have to. His body said it all—pressing you down, wrapped around you like armor. He’d argued with you, nearly scared you off, and now he held you like if anyone even looked your way again, he’d break their jaw. And honestly? You wouldn’t want it any other way.

[wwinterwitch]

friendly banter — bucky barnes

summary: sam asks for your help on a mission. you're reunited with him, Joaquín and Bucky. the last one really likes to banter. you think it's just a friendly exchange. it's actually a bit more than that

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (+ platonic friendships with sam and joaquín)

word count: 5k

tags: friends to lovers, sharing feelings (awkward but cute), reader is a hacker and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, fluff, undisclosed feelings (mutual), kissing

note: this was kind of a mess but i'm back after a long time on not writing any fics! i'm currently in my last months of studying to become a lawyer (yay) and writing fics has proven to be very therapeutic during this time. this may or may not suck but i enjoyed writing it so i hope you enjoy it

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 2 (features the thunderbolts* now)

"Got eyes on it?"

You stop walking as soon as you hear that question, staring ahead in disbelief. "You mean...the huge panel in the middle of the room?" you ask with obvious sarcasm, trying to speak as quietly as possible through your comm as you make your way further inside the darkened room.

It’s a typical security room with tons of cameras pointing to every corner of the building. To your relief, the presence of your group is apparently still unnoticed as your eyes wander across the various screens in front of you, noticing no commotion or an unnecessarily large group of unfriendly-looking guys rushing to find you. The large panel control installed in the middle of the desk before you is the thing that immediately gets your attention as you walk closer, always keeping in mind the task at hand.

All you really have to do is hack into the system to disable the security protocols long enough for Sam and Joaquín to sneak into the top floors of the building to retrieve the data that they wanted from the bad guy's records in order to find out more about the gang they'll be (hopefully) putting behind bars soon.

This is not the first and definitely not the last time you'll be doing these kinds of favors for Sam. Your friendship goes way back, when you were still a nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. that somehow managed to get on Captain America's good graces after that whole Washington fiasco. You're still unsure why Steve always thought so highly of you. Then again, he was the type of guy who never failed to see the potential in other people, even when they couldn't quite see it themselves.

Now, you get to help the new Captain America, who's also as dear to you as the previous one was...perhaps just a tiny bit more annoying, but one of your dearest friends regardless.

As you rush over to the panel, you have to jump over the unconscious body of a security guard that Bucky (another dear friend you met thanks to Steve) took care of before you walked inside, quickly taking a seat in front of the large keyboard to start doing your part of the job.

You hear the unmistakable chuckle from Joaquín as you quickly type in a series of codes and commands. "Jeez, I missed having you on our missions!"

"Awwh!" you mutter with genuine endearment. "I missed being part of these missions too, buddy!"

"And we're still going out for drinks after this, right?"

"Are you genuinely asking me that, Joaquín Torres?" you ask, sounding overly offended on purpose.

You hear him laugh again, but before he can say anything back, you hear Bucky interrupting the exchange. "How about we focus on not getting caught here and then you guys can discuss your night plans?"

"Uh-oh, old man got upset," you joke soon after, finishing to type in the last few codes to fully disable the security system. Surely they have some backup protocol that would soon trigger the alarm to alert these guys of an unwanted visitor, but by then all of you will be long gone. It really is a very simple mission.

"He's jealous you're not taking him out for drinks," Sam jokes back, and then you immediately hear Joaquín agreeing with him.

It's a normal occurrence for Sam to be making those kinds of jokes involving you and Bucky. He has been making those types of remarks for as long as you can remember, fully convinced the two of you "have something going on" as he has put it before. You really try not to think too much about it because, first off, Sam loves to say shit just for the sake of pissing you and Bucky off and, second...you really don't want to let those comments get to your head.

You don't want to let yourself wonder about the what if's of that. There was a time in your life when you did allow yourself to fantasize about the possibility of actually "having something going on" with him, but you learnt to shut off that part of your brain in order to avoid getting your hopes up regarding a situation that just wouldn't happen outside your imagination. Hearing Sam’s silly remarks would only bring you back to those days.

Bucky has been one of your best friends for years and he has never shown the slightest of hints that he might be interested in you in the way you would like (at least not that you're aware of), and there was absolutely no way that you would ever make the first move and risk embarrassing yourself in front of him or, even worse, losing the friendship you two have. You eventually just got comfortable in the abyss of eternal friendzone and learned to accept it. If there was ever going to happen something between the two of you, surely it would've happened by now.

Still, Sam seems to be holding onto that rope for dear life and refuses to let it go. You can't deny it’s a bit uncomfortable to hear those jokes though. They somehow make you feel like somehow you got caught and everyone knows you have a secret crush on Bucky, but you've learned to adapt over the years.

"First part's done.” Leaning back on the chair, you watch the percentage bar on the screen before you, completely ignoring Sam's little joke. "A few more seconds and you're up guys!"

"Hallway’s clear," you hear Bucky say, still guarding the room where you're currently in. "How much time do we have to get out of here?"

"Uh...I can't say for sure. Anywhere near five to thirty, maybe?"

"Minutes?"

"Seconds."

"Oh, great," he mutters ironically.

"Well, I'm sorry. We're hacking into a very sophisticated system that I don't entirely know how it works!" you snap back at him. "Besides, the whole point of this is to give Joaquín and Sam enough time to sneak inside without having to deal with a bunch of guards going straight for them. Bad guys will know we're down here and they'll come looking for us first."

"Isn't hacking your whole thing? How do you not know how it works?" he asks, and just by the tone of his voice you know he's trying to piss you off, because he knows that's exactly the type of comments that would make you upset. If that type of comment came from a stranger you would be strangling them right now, but it’s Bucky, and he seems to enjoy annoying the shit out of you.

"Big talk coming from someone who still asks for my help because he barely knows how to unlock his own phone."

The sound of his faint chuckle immediately makes you smile, perfectly picturing the way he's probably rolling his eyes just barely right now, trying to suppress a smirk as if you could possibly see him right now, knowing he hates when you point it out to him.

"You have to give me some credit, though. I know how to program emails on that thing now. Soon enough I'll be taking your job, so you better watch out."

You can't help but laugh at his reply, slightly shaking your head as you realize you’re getting distracted by him, trying to keep your focus on what you're supposed to be doing right now rather than indulge in a never ending back-and-forth with him. As soon as you type the last codes and the large SECURITY SYSTEM: DISABLED alert pops on the monitor, you quickly rise up from your seat. "You're up guys, hurry!"

"On it!" Sam replies as you rush outside the room.

Before he even says anything to you, Bucky is quickly guiding you down the hallway with the intent of getting out of there as soon as possible, turning to look at you with a confused expression when you stop walking and, instead, start yanking his arm to go in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?"

"The exit is that way," you point out as if it’s obvious.

He looks even more confused now, and slightly annoyed. "Don't think so. That's the way we entered, but there's another way of leaving this place a lot faster."

"No, we can't change the plan!"

He definitely looks annoyed now, trying not to snap at you. "I'm not changing the plan. Exiting that way has always been the plan. If we go that way, we'll-"

Before he can say anything else, the loud sound of an alarm blasts through the entire building, signaling that you've been discovered and you'll be having company very soon. As if that wasn't enough, the door of the room you were previously in opens violently, and the guard that was previously unconscious on the floor is frantically alerting more people through his radio.

“Oh, that’s great,” you point out, slightly panicking right now because you’re still inside the building. “You decided to wake up early, huh?”

Bucky immediately grabs the guy by his bulletproof vest to throw him against the wall, taking his barely regained consciousness to his advantage. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice about six other guys coming towards you, turning around the same corner you wanted to run towards as part of your escape plan. Sadly, that's when you realized maybe the direction Bucky was suggesting was better.

You’re unsure of what to do now. It's not like you haven't been taught how to take down a few bad guys, but your specialities have always involved computers rather than physical combat. Almost as if he could read your mind, Bucky turns towards you for a quick second. "Go! I'll catch up to you." Again, almost as if he knew that you'd try to ask if he was sure about it, he immediately shouts yet another "Go!" before you're finally deciding to do as he says, running down the hall in the direction he has intended to go before.

Hours later, second after second that passes by, you’re more and more convinced that you'll never hear the end of it. If only you could go back in time and just agree with Bucky's plan rather than trying to argue with him. It would have spared you a lifetime of him reminding you how he was right and you were wrong.

Turns out his exit plan was the one you should've followed all along, because it actually led to the engine room which immediately meant being in a much less crowded part of the building to escape without risking bumping into more people.

All of you had enough time to change into something more comfortable to go out for drinks. Initially it was something you and Joaquín had planned alone, but evidently the two of you didn’t hesitate to invite Sam and Bucky. Of course they accepted the invite, and of course Bucky has done his very best to keep reminding you of your little mistake.

"Listen, if you don't want shit like that to happen again, just let me know your plan beforehand."

"But I did let you know. The problem is that someone is not really a good listener."

"No. Letting me know- like, properly letting me know, would've been telling me before we got inside that building."

Bucky smirks as he leans back on his chair, and it's obvious to you he's really enjoying this banter. "Plan changed at the last minute. If you would've just followed my lead, we could've left that building a lot faster."

"Ah, so you do recognize that wasn't the original plan!" you exclaim with a triumphant grin, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You changed it all by yourself and didn't tell me."

"Changed at the last minute," he repeats, as if to correct you. "You wanted me to stand there and explain every detail to you?"

"Oh, as if explaining it would've taken you hours! You’re always so dramatic."

"Children," Sam commented, interrupting the banter with an unamused expression. "I had to trust the operation to literal children."

Bucky scoffs at that comment, watching as Sam lets out a chuckle, shaking his head after witnessing this whole interaction between the two of you.

"Kinda makes you appreciate having an actual professional around, huh?" Joaquín says right after, flashing a charming smile in Sam's direction.

"Oh, please!" you, Bucky and Sam reply in unison, earning an offended look from Joaquín.

Soon after, Bucky is speaking again. "You know what? I'll give you some credit. You managed to do your part of the job…decently."

It’s obvious he wants a reaction from you, but even if your banter is entertaining, you know you can't keep bickering the entire night. Once again, you can’t help but to feel embarrassed, as if everyone at that table knows your little secret regarding your feelings towards Bucky. As if some innocent banter between friends could ever give it away. Besides, the four of you are here to celebrate your mission was a success, and the fact that you haven't seen the trio in a long time makes it the perfect opportunity to catch up.

Pretending to fully ignore his last comment, you turn to look at Sam from across the table. "You. I haven't seen your lovely face in a while," you start, watching him physically get ready for whatever silly comment you might come up with. "Tell me what you've been up to...I've seen the photos of you shaking hands with the President," the reference to Everett Ross sounding anything but endearing.

Sam sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, well, I guess you can say it's part of the job," he simply replies before taking a quick sip of his beer. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but I figured it's best to compromise a bit and keep the man happy. As long as he stays in line, I'll cooperate."

"Of course you're not thrilled about it, Sam. That's the same guy that put your ass in a prison in the middle of nowhere like you were some kind of top security criminal!" you reply almost immediately, still in disbelief at the revelation of any sort of alliance between him and Ross. Sam's expression lets you know that even he is still conflicted about it, not really knowing what to say. After taking a brief pause, you try to say something else to lighten the mood, not wanting him to think like you’re judging him for it. "Hey, I understand having to keep up appearances. I get it. And please accept my deepest condolences for having to deal with that piece of shit."

Your last comment makes the three of them laugh, and Bucky takes the opportunity to change the subject. "And what have you been up to?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "It's been a while since any of us has seen you."

"Well, my life has been all over the place the last few months. As all of you know, I moved into a new apartment. I loved my roommate, but I felt it was time to just live by myself, you know?"

"So no plans of leaving New York to move to D.C., huh?" Joaquín asks with a smile.

You return the smile immediately. "As fun as it would be to live closer to all of you weirdos, no. I plan to stay in New York for now. I'm just really comfortable there with the new apartment, the promotion I got a few months ago, the fact that most of my family and friends are there..."

"But not all your friends," Sam quickly points out, pretending to sound incredibly offended by your last statement. "But since we’re talking about friends and just social life in general...are you still single?"

"Why are you always so interested in my love life?" you joke with a playful grin, taking a sip of your margarita to leave him wondering the answer just a few seconds more. "Yes, I'm still single. Queen's full of creeps," you added shortly after. "Are any of you seeing anybody?"

"Proudly and happily single," Joaquín replies, raising his drink up as if to cheer before taking a sip.

Sam gives him a very visible side-eye. "Yikes," is all he says regarding that, turning back to you. "I'm not interested in dating right now, to be honest. I’m quite a busy gentleman, you know?" 

“And you say ‘yikes’ to me?” Joaquín says immediately after, looking dumbfounded.

You chime in before any of them could add anything else regarding that. “Bucky?” you ask, turning to look at him as you await his answer.

It was a bold move to directly ask him that question. On one hand, you know Bucky has always been a loner so you’re almost certain that he’s single. But there’s always that tiny percentage of probability that you’ll learn a truth you’re not sure how you’ll handle. He’s your best friend, of course you’ll be happy if he’s happy…but the idea of him revealing to you that he’s dating someone might actually make you physically sick.

You notice Bucky gets uncomfortable right away. “I’m single too.”

The pleasant feeling of relief lasts just a few seconds. The fact that Sam laughs at Bucky’s reply has your mind spinning, not understanding why he would laugh at that. Why the fuck is he laughing? Should you start panicking already?

"Actually, our buddy has been on a few dating apps, I believe."

Oh no. 

Even when you try to remind yourself not to care about anything remotely romantic involving Bucky- or at least, not to care more than a platonic friend would, you can deny the news of him possibly dating someone or even just randomly talking to any person in those apps makes your stomach turn. It really wouldn't be dramatic to claim that you could quite literally throw up right now at the thought of him and someone else right now.

It's not common to hear any sort of updates regarding Bucky's love life because...well, there's never any developments. He's never shown interest in anyone, and as far as you know he's never had any sort of relationship with anyone like that– serious or casual. What if he's interested in exploring that part of his life now? What if he has found someone already and you're about to hear him talk all about them? It makes you genuinely sick, but you try your best to act as unbothered as you possibly can, forcing you to mask your disgust and heartbreak with pleasant surprise.

"Is that so?" is all you say.

He looks even more uncomfortable by the subject, choosing to look down at his almost finished beer. "It's not...I was just trying to put myself out there," he says awkwardly, shrugging. "Long story short, online dating is not for me. I hated it."

You could tell he doesn’t really like talking about this subject, so you try to quickly ease the tension with a bit of humor. Besides, you're probably better off without hearing anything regarding that topic anyway. "It's because you couldn't figure out how the whole swiping thing worked, isn't it?"

Bucky immediately seems to relax with your joke, chuckling a bit. "It took me a few days actually." He takes a quick pause before continuing. "I probably should've asked you for help."

If there was any hidden message behind his last statement, it completely goes over your head because you genuinely thought it was just part of your playful banter regarding his lack of skills when it comes to technology. You laugh, and in return Bucky offers you a smile because that's as much hinting as he dares to do out loud, especially if Sam and Joaquín are sitting right there. He's incredibly used to you never getting his subtle implications anyway.

In front of you, the other two guys are watching this exchange unfold, and it's hard to tell which one of them has a bigger urge to tell you to stop being so fucking oblivious already. As subtle as he can be, Joaquín pokes Sam's side with his elbow to give him a quick heads-up before speaking. "Considering everyone's almost finished, Sam and I are getting another round of drinks."

The two of them are standing up when they notice you're grabbing your purse and standing up as well. "Oh, I can go with you. I have to go to the restroom anyway."

The two of them want to yet again yell at you to please get a grip on the situation, but Sam just silently takes a seat as you and Joaquín go over to the bar, quickly telling him what you want to order before heading towards the restroom.

A few drinks later the four of you are finally leaving the bar. Sam and Joaquín left to their respective houses while you and Bucky shared an Uber back to his own place. He was kind enough to let you crash in his spare room for the night. It's not like this is the first time you've ever stayed at his apartment when you visit the boys, but you can't deny the idea is both thrilling and terrifying- not like anything would happen to make you feel like that...you two are just friends...but, still...your silly head likes to get silly ideas sometimes.

Deciding not to indulge in your little fantasies, you decide to start a conversation. "Update on the food?" you ask, turning to look at Bucky, who sits comfortably on the sofa of his living room.

"Like ten minutes away," he says, taking a quick look at the screen. "How come you haven't congratulated me for knowing how to order food with this thing?" he added with evident surprise, making you chuckle.

"Because you keep saying 'this thing' like it's some mysterious device completely unknown to mankind," you reply, and before you can stop yourself, you continue. "It's cute, I guess, so congratulations."

Bucky's grin grows wider. "Oh, so it's cute?"

You try really hard not to panic, feeling incredibly embarrassed. The fact that he seems to be enjoying what you just said makes it even worse, because you know he’ll use that to tease you now. He just finds any possible excuse to do it. "Cute as in lame."

He chuckles. "Right."

Not knowing what else to say, you clear your throat before walking towards him, taking a seat next to him as you try to come up with something else to change the subject immediately. "I'm starving," is all you say, mentally scolding you for such a poor effort.

As soon as you're sitting, you unsuccessfully try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he leans just a bit closer...perhaps if you weren't hyper vigilant whenever the two of you are too near you might've missed it. And then, he stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, right behind you.

For a second, you even thought of mocking him for such a move, but bringing more attention to it would only make you that much nervous, and you really don't want to embarrass yourself. And most importantly, you don't want your silly mind and your silly heart to get their hopes up. You're just friends, nothing else.

"Me too," he agrees, the playful grin on his face still not disappearing. "Might have to steal a few fries from you."

"Oh, I'd really like to see you try stealing my food," you reply in the same playful tone, leaning just a little closer to him without even noticing that you were actually doing that.

"I think I deserve some compensation after what happened today. You know, for all the unnecessary ass-kicking I had to do."

"Just when I thought you had moved on from that!" you reply, jokingly slapping his knee. "It wasn't my fault, it was yours for not telling me the plan on time!"

"You should've just trusted me," he insists. "But you always have to be right on everything..."

You know he's joking. There's something about bantering with you that seems to absolutely fascinate him. "Yeah, and you always want to piss me off."

Bucky chuckles again, and that's when you feel his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his arm fully around you. What the actual fuck is going on. "What, you think I like pissing you off?" he asks, tone slightly lower than before, which inevitably makes the butterflies in your stomach multiply. "Is that why you think I do it?"

You were quiet for a moment, your brain not entirely registering what's happening. "I mean...yeah."

He stops for a second, and you almost see a hint of hesitation on his face before he speaks, letting out a frustrated sigh. "For someone who claims to be so much more clever than anyone else, I would've expected you to figure it out sooner," he starts, shaking his head with a soft smile. "I've been actually flirting with you, doll."

The comment evidently takes you by surprise and all you can do is to stare back at him like a complete fool. His arm around your shoulders, the proximity, the fact he had the fucking audacity to call you that nickname...did you somehow fall asleep on his couch without noticing and this is the type of oddly-realistic dream your brain decided to come up with? Are you still standing there like a fool just fantasizing and this one just got way too immersive? And did he really just say that he's been flirting with you?

Noticing you weren't saying anything, he decides to continue, looking a little hesitant and disappointed with your silence. "You know, it'd be really nice if you say something..."

"Awful way to flirt," is all you could come up with, which immediately makes him burst out laughing. 

"Maybe," he agrees. "But I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. I mean…Sam and Joaquín did a long time ago."

"The three of you share the same brain cell, of course they figured it out a long time ago,” you reply, still in complete shock to be having this conversation with him. Were you really that blind? "You could’ve just asked me."

"You know I'm not direct like that," he replies, and the shy look on his face almost makes your heart melt. "Like I said, I was relying on your impressive intelligence to figure it out."

You let out a soft chuckle after his last comment, immediately giving him a warning look. "Don't." He looks back at you for a few seconds, almost wanting to challenge you after noticing the way you’re looking at him. Soon enough, he’s unable to hide his smirk anymore. "There it is," you point out, knowing he hates that.

Bucky lets out a soft grunt as a complaint, resting his head on your shoulder. Encouraged, you immediately move a hand up to his hair, affectionately playing with it. The two of you stay like that, simply enjoying being so close to each other. It feels incredibly right.

"So how do you feel?" he eventually asks, perhaps feeling braver to ask now that he doesn’t have to look into your eyes when he does.

You don’t reply right away, still feeling incredibly nervous despite knowing he does like you back. Eventually, you do build up the courage to say something. "I like you. Like, a lot."

Bucky moves back to look at you know. The look on his face gives you the impression that he wasn’t expecting you to be so honest with your answer, perhaps expecting another silly joke or sarcastic remark. And even though you thought about the possibility of choosing a more humorous approach, after keeping your feelings for him locked up and stored away for so long, you really needed to just say it.

Instead of saying something back, Bucky tightens his grip around your shoulders just enough, using his other hand to grab your chin right before kissing you. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you're quickly returning the kiss as you just completely melt in his arms, still trying to convince yourself that this is not some kind of hyper-realistic dream.

His hand swiftly moves to your cheek as the kiss continues, the gesture so incredibly delicate, a sharp contrast with the pure need he’s transmitting through the kiss. It’s desperate, passionate, intense…like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime to finally be able to experience this, grateful for the absolute privilege that it is to kiss you.

One of your hands moves up to the back of his neck and your touch seems to encourage him that much more because before you know it, he's taking the opportunity to gently bite your bottom lip, right before continuing to make out with you.

Much to yours and Bucky's disappointment, the sound of his apartment's doorbell echoes through the apartment, indicating the food you previously ordered has arrived.

He reluctantly pulls away with a soft grunt. "Food's here," he comments out loud, offering you a soft smile. He takes a brief moment to look at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek in an affectionate manner, dreading the idea of having to leave this couch. "I'll get it."

"I can help," you offer almost immediately.

Instead of replying right away, he leans in for a short kiss. "I'll get it," he insists, quickly making his way to the door after another buzz could be heard.

You sat in his living room in complete disbelief of what just happened, thankful that he's not here right now to see your goofy smile and blushed cheeks. He'd probably tease you to no end if he did see that.

Not knowing what else to do, you immediately reach for your phone, opening your messages. You knew exactly who would be the right people to share the news with.

'uhm so we just kissed??????' you texted, the first message in the group chat you just created with Sam and Joaquín.

Joaquín is the first one to reply. 'HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!'

'FUCKING FINALLY.' Sam texts shortly after.

[sleepiestoken]

i've just pulled out some interesting quotes from the metal hammer article for myself and anyone else interested. anything bolded for emphasis by me.

-

George Lever [Sleep Token producer 2016-2021]: The starting point was removing this idea of the music you listen to being related to the person making it. By being anonymous, the listener is forced to relate to what they're actually hearing.

-

James Monteith [Tesseract guitarist/publicist at Hold Tight PR]: I was approached by Tom Quigley, who was a scene regular and ran a few blogs at the time. He said he was working with this new band, would we maybe be interested in doing their press? We ended up talking for an hour, and he rolled out the whole concept, the imagery and everything about it... other than the music.

George: The lore/narrative was pretty loose still, but it definitely existed.

James: There was nothing specific as such, more this idea of creating an occult vibe and feeling, led by this prophet-like character who leads a religion.

-

George: A lot of the first EP was actually us trying stuff out. We recorded the drums on a whim at Monnow Valley Studio in Wales. I introduced him to one of my friends, who actually still drums in them now.

-

James: We always got requests [for interviews], but the band said from the start they were anonymous and wouldn't do them. It helped create more curiosity because nobody could get access to them.

Matt Benton [Metal Hammer writer]: You can't do an introductory piece without an interview. We managed to get an agreement for an email interview with Metal Hammer. Even then, the band knew they didn't want a voice.

Matt: It's one of only a few interviews they've ever done. It's something I'm glad exists, because it's like getting the Word Of God.

-

George: I had freedom to offer interpretations of what I was hearing. It was a very fortunate combination of personalities and ideals. There was never any, 'We're going to take over the world' -type chat. It was more, 'Do we like this? Let's do more of that.'

-

Nathan Barley Phillips [co-founder of Basick Records]: Trying to keep some sense of anonymity was a real mission. Particularly getting them to and from the stage [at Great Escape festival 2018] without anyone seeing who they were.

-

George: We did Sundowning in three months - we went from demo to final master being released in just 12 weeks. We didn't have days off; we'd do seven in the morning until seven, eight or even nine at night every day for three months. We were in each other's pockets; we'd go to the gym together, swim, do the sauna... All this stuff to recover from being sat down all the time. There was a lot of time to spend holistically being friends making this record. We didn't know how to make this thing, but we had a confidence that we'd get there in the end. That's my favourite three-month period of my life.

-

George: We started making [TPWBYT] and the first day was when lockdowns began. Tomb... was tough for all of us emotionally. There were lifestyle pressures as a result of the lockdown that made it not very conducive to making art that is supposed to be welcoming. A lot of those songs are, in one way or another, about love, love being lost or remorse, they are compassionate tales that are designed to bring the listener towards the artist. It's hard to do that when it feels like the world is going to end.

-

Matt: I've got friends in merchandising and they say Sleep Token shift more merch than any other UK heavy band - more than even Iron Maiden.

-

Nathan: Bands like Ghost and Sleep Token aren't successful because they wear masks. They're successful because they write great music. Masks don't mean anything if the music isn't any good.

Matt: I'll be interested to see, when the first official TV movie of the band gets made, the difference between the reality of what happened and the story that gets told. In a way, the myth becomes reality.

[homunculus-argument]

It can also help to remember there's no universal or 'correct' amount of time that it takes to process one's emotions - it's different for everyone. Like in extreme cases with something like grief, or more specifically losing someone. Someone might want to completely pretend everything is fine, some people might cry and need emotional support every day for quite some time, some people might need a combo of the two, and there are millions of other types of reactions. In a situation like that, where a death cannot be undone or fixed, don't you think it makes sense people would need to talk about it and process it? That same thing also applies to less serious situations. We're social animals who seek comfort in one another, and venting is basically that.

Is it in any way illuminating to what kind of a gap there is between us that I don't grieve? My father died when I was 17 and the only thing I felt about it was to be mildly relieved - he wasn't actively evil, not the kind of a person whose death you'd celebrate or anything, just the type whose presence in the room makes you wish he'd leave.

Other deaths in the family have meant even less than that to me. When my paternal grandfather died, the biggest emotion I felt was annoyed - I had pastel pink hair around that time, and I was just done dyeing my hair back to my natural colour in order to be presentable for the funeral, when my mom informed me that actually my aunt already arranged the funeral herself and didn't invite us. And mom had fucking watched me ruin a hair colour that was so hard to achieve and expensive to do in order to attend an event that she knew was already over and we weren't even invited to????

When my paternal grandmother died, I felt mildly guilty of being relieved. She was the only family member I ever felt bad for, even if I didn't like her. Her life had been nothing but misery from the beginning to the end, to the point where my sister snickered at her funeral over how badly the priest was lying through his teeth trying to paint grandma's life as something worth living. She didn't ~meet her future husband~ in the city, she got knocked up by accident and had a shotgun wedding with a mean-spirited, violent alcoholic. The same aunt who didn't invite us to granddad's funeral didn't attend, saying she didn't want to fly to Finland "when the weather is so miserable". My father's mother outlived two of her three children and the last one didn't bother attending her funeral.

I didn't attend that aunt's funeral. Fuck her.

When my mother's father died, I didn't really feel like it was my obligation to mourn. He was the family patriarch, who had four children and seven grandchildren, a respected member of the communities he belonged in, and one hunting dog magazine published an article about how a great man of the field had died. I felt like other people were already doing enough. Mom spent his entire funeral fussing over whether I'm wearing or holding my hat right. He was buried on a stinging cold winter day where it physically hurt to be bareheaded outdoors, and I was counting minutes until I'd be allowed to either get back inside or put the shitty little formal funeral-appropriate cap (which mom made me buy, saying my normal warm solid black winter hat was too frivolous) back on my head.

Her fucking father died and she spent the whole time fussing over my unacceptable hat. I won't care when she dies and won't attend her funeral.

[cameronsbabydoll]

what kinks do you think sexist rafe would have? for one i think he would be heavy on the daddy kink

daddy kink

rafe would be all over this. the classic "daddy" vibe, but with a dominant edge. he likes being the one who’s in charge—making decisions for you, telling you what to do, and having you look to him for approval. you’d feel small when he calls you his "little girl" or "his baby."

“you’re gonna listen to me, right, princess? just like you always do. be a good girl and do what daddy says.”

and in public, he's always hovering over you, hands possessively on your waist or low on your back, like he’s marking you as his—making sure no one else forgets you’re his responsibility.

housewife kink

rafe has this specific idea of what a housewife should be, and you’re expected to meet every single one of his standards. he’d want you in cute, domestic outfits—aprons, sundresses, stuff that screams stay-at-home wife. and when you’re doing chores?

"that’s right. put your hands to work, baby. a woman’s place is at home, making sure i’ve got everything i need."

he’d be the type to expect a full home-cooked meal waiting for him when he gets back, with a drink in hand and dressed in a sundress. if he didn’t get that? he'd let you know.

"don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart. you want to be treated like a princess, then act like one. my princess knows how to keep a clean house."

ddlg (daddy dom/little girl)

this one would be his favorite, hands down. he’d love the idea of being your protector but also seeing you as someone who needs to be “taken care of” in every sense. he’d be into the soft, nurturing side of it too, though he’d use it to keep control over you. like, when you’re acting “sweet” or “innocent,” he’d take advantage of that, pushing your limits while still keeping you in check.

“who’s my good little girl? you’re so cute when you play dumb, princess. you really think you can run the show?”

he’d spoil you with treats, but it’s always a trade-off for how he expects you to act. there’d be rules for everything—from when you’re allowed to speak, to what you wear, to how you behave. and if you don’t listen?

“what happens when you don’t follow daddy’s rules, sweetheart? you know better.”

he'd get so much satisfaction from keeping you in that little “submissive” headspace where you want to please him, but also feel like you’re under his total control.

humiliation kink

rafe would also love using humiliation as a way to keep you “in check.” not in a brutal way necessarily, but he gets off on making you feel small, showing his power over you.

“that’s what you get for being a dumb little girl. you really think you can have a voice? you can’t even dress yourself right.”

he’d also love calling you names that reinforce his views about women—terms like “baby,” “princess,” “doll,” “sweetheart”—but used in a way that makes you feel dependent on him. he’s constantly reminding you how much better he is at everything.

praise kink

though rafe’s got his more dominant side, he also gets off on telling you how good you are when you follow his rules. he’d get so much satisfaction from seeing you act the way he expects, so he’d reward you with praise—but only when he feels like you deserve it.

“that’s right, baby. you’re such a good girl for me. just keep doing what i tell you, and you’ll get what you want.”

[chuxmy]

I wanted to request a sieun fic.. kind of like a "they really want each other, but don't want to give in" type of fic, until they both reach a breaking point.. if that makes sense.. and can it contain smut?? please and thank you🩷

Tension and Desire

Pairings: Yeon Sieun x Fem!Reader

Summary: It‘s really akward for Soo-Ho to watch, how you have feelings for each other so he’s going to push Sieun to take the next step.

Warnings: Smut (mdni), mutual pining, first time, friends to lovers, degeneration

A/N: I was a little bit unsure how to write the smut part but I figured it out yeaah and it got a tiny bit longer. Enjoooy

The bell had rung ten minutes ago, but half the class was still dragging their feet about leaving. Bags unzipped, snacks out, the usual low hum of end-of-day chatter filling the room like static.

Your PoV

You leaned against the window ledge, half-listening to your friend tell a story about something that happened in gym class, nodding and laughing in the right places, but not fully there. The air in the classroom felt heavy today not suffocating, just… off. Like something unsaid was lingering in the space.

And you knew exactly where it was coming from.

You didn’t even need to look to know that Yeon Sieun was watching you again.

You’d grown used to the way his eyes would find you in class quiet, unassuming, never obvious. But always intense. Like he was studying you for a test only he was taking.

You’d caught him once. A few days ago. Just a flicker of eye contact that sent something sharp and strange down your spine. He’d looked away fast, pretending like nothing happened. You didn’t push.

But now, it was happening again.

You shifted slightly, stealing a glance over your friend’s shoulder.

There he was sitting in his seat with his chin resting on one hand, elbow propped against his desk, body still as stone. Just watching.

No book open. No phone in hand. Just you in his line of sight.

And the weird part?

He didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it.

“Are you even listening to me?” your friend teased, nudging you.

You blinked. “Sorry. Zoned out.”

They followed your gaze and let out a low, amused laugh. “Yeon Sieun’s been staring at you like that for ten minutes. You gonna say something?”

You tried to play it off with a shrug. “He’s always like that.”

“Like that?” they raised an eyebrow.

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth was… no. He wasn’t always like that. Not with anyone else.

Something was different lately.

He’d gotten quieter. Still sharp when he spoke, still carrying that quiet steel he was known for but around you, it felt like he was trying to hold something back. Like if he let it out, it might ruin everything.

You turned your head just in time to see Soo-Ho walking up to him.

He dropped into the chair next to Sieun like he belonged there casual but direct, voice low so no one else could hear. You couldn’t make out the words, but Sieun’s reaction was immediate: tense shoulders, clenched jaw, fingers tapping against the desk like he needed something to do with them.

Soo-Ho’s hand clapped his shoulder once before he stood and left, as quickly as he came.

Sieun didn’t move.

Didn’t look at you again either.

You felt your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t name.

Your friend leaned in, whispering, “That looked serious.”

You nodded slowly, gaze lingering on Sieun.

Yeah.

Something was definitely coming.

You just didn’t know what.

Sieun‘s PoV

You were laughing with a friend by the windows, voice soft but clear enough that Sieun could pick out every word if he tried. And he was trying.

Sieun sat alone, as always, near the back.

Elbows on his desk, eyes locked on you. Not with obvious hunger, not in a way anyone else might notice. Just quiet. Fixed. The same way he looked at problems he couldn’t solve. Like you were a complicated equation he hadn’t figured out yet. Like if he stared long enough, the answer might reveal itself.

You glanced over once.

He looked away so fast it was almost unnatural, gaze shifting to the blank page in his notebook like it had been fascinating all along.

It was nothing. Just another afternoon. Just another day where he sat still while his chest felt like it was burning from the inside out.

“You gonna keep acting like a corpse, or are you gonna do something about it?”

Soo-Ho’s voice cut through the haze.

Sieun didn’t look at him. Just kept his eyes on the same page, blank except for a faint indent where his pen had hovered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sieun muttered.

Soo-Ho slid into the seat beside him with all the subtlety of a freight train. “You’ve been staring at them for, what, two weeks now?”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

Sieun sighed, sharp. “It doesn’t matter.”

Soo-Ho tilted his head, giving him that look the one that made people flinch because it always saw straight through them. “It matters when you look at someone like that. Like they’re the one thing keeping you upright.”

That hit harder than Sieun expected.

He looked up for a second. You were still there. Still laughing softly. Still out of reach.

“I don’t want to mess it up,” Sieun said, quieter now. “We’re friends. If I say something and it’s wrong—”

Soo-Ho cut him off. “You think staying silent doesn’t hurt just as bad?”

Sieun didn’t answer.

Soo-Ho leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, watching the tension coil in Sieun’s jaw like a rubber band about to snap.

“You know what happens when you wait too long?” he said calmly. “Someone else steps in. Or worse… nothing happens at all. And you just carry it around forever.”

Sieun’s throat tightened.

His fingers curled around the edge of his desk.

He didn’t trust himself to look at you again right now. Not without giving something away. Not without doing something reckless.

Soo-Ho stood, clapping a hand lightly on Sieun’s shoulder. “Feelings don’t go away just because you ignore them. You either deal with it, or it eats you up. Your choice.”

And then he walked off, leaving Sieun with nothing but the sound of your voice in the air and the sharp echo of his own heartbeat behind his ribs.

The clock on your nightstand blinked past 12:17 AM.

You were still awake.

Lying in bed, eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling like it might start whispering answers to questions you hadn’t dared say aloud. The soft tapping of rain against your window had started maybe twenty minutes ago. It was light at first — a drizzle, gentle — but now it had turned steady, rhythmic. A hush over the city, soft but insistent.

You should’ve been asleep. You tried. Turned your pillow over twice. Burrowed into your blanket like maybe you could bury your thoughts too.

But he wouldn’t leave your head.

Yeon Sieun.

The way he stared at you in class like you were something he couldn’t get too close to — something fragile. Or dangerous. Or both.

The way Sooho whispered something to him earlier, and his whole body tensed like a bowstring. You’d seen it. That quiet unraveling.

You hated that you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not just the glances. But the way you started noticing him more. The way your chest ached with something you couldn’t name when he looked away like he hadn’t just been staring at you like he was memorizing every inch of you.

You sat up.

Rain pattered harder outside. You looked toward the window, lips parting slightly.

Why did it feel like the air itself was trying to pull you out?

You slipped out of bed, bare feet brushing cool floorboards. You didn’t bother with much — just threw on a hoodie over your sleep shirt and slipped into your sneakers. The house was quiet as you crept out, door closing behind you with a soft click.

You didn’t even know where you were going.

You just… moved.

Let the rain wash over your thoughts as you walked the dim streets. The city was quiet, the kind of silence that only came when everyone else was asleep and your feelings had no one to hide from.

And then—

You saw him.

Your heart skipped.

“Sieun?”

You weren’t supposed to see him.

Not tonight. Not in the rain. Not like this.

But there he was, standing under the dull flicker of a streetlamp, his hood barely shielding him from the downpour. Rain slid down the sides of his face like sweat, hair soaked through and plastered to his forehead. His hands were tucked in the front pocket of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself.

He hadn’t noticed you yet.

Maybe you should’ve turned around. Let him have this moment alone.

But your feet moved before your thoughts did.

“Sieun?”

His head snapped up. For a second, he looked like he might pretend he didn’t hear you. His mouth opened slightly no word, no sharp retort. Just the soft widening of his eyes.

“…What are you doing out here?” you asked.

His answer was delayed, his jaw tightening. “Does it matter?”

You stood a few steps away, soaked to the skin. You didn’t care.

“I was walking. Couldn’t sleep.” Your voice was low, a breath under the patter of rain. “You?”

He swallowed, eyes flickering away. “I don’t know.”

You didn’t need to ask. You’d seen him like this before when he was thinking too much, when something heavy was curling inside his chest and he didn’t know what to do with it.

You took another step closer. “Did Soo-Ho say something to you?”

He stiffened. That was enough of an answer.

You sighed. “You’ve been weird lately.”

“You’re the one who showed up in the rain,” he said quietly.

You let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re deflecting.”

Silence again. Just the rain falling between you.

And then, so quietly you almost missed it “He told me to stop being a coward.”

You blinked. “What?”

Sieun looked up at you, really looked at you. His face wasn’t unreadable tonight. It was raw. Nervous.

“He told me to stop pretending like I didn’t feel something.” His voice was quieter now, almost lost in the sound of the rain hitting pavement. “That if I kept running from it, I’d lose my chance.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The air felt too cold and too warm at once.

“And are you?” you asked. “Running?”

He didn’t answer. His fingers clenched inside the hoodie pocket.

“I didn’t want to screw this up,” he said finally, voice strained. “We’re friends. You… you matter to me.”

You took a shaky step closer. “Then don’t run.”

Sieun let out a shaky exhale like something in him cracked.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered.

His voice wasn’t full of bravado or confidence or sarcasm. It was bare. Unfiltered.

You stood in front of him now, the rain soaking through both of you. “Neither do I. But I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

There was a beat a pause so sharp it felt like the world stopped moving.

And then he kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips crashing into yours like a wave, like all the restraint he’d wrapped around himself had finally given way.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands tangling into the front of his soaked hoodie. His lips were trembling, unsure.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was desperate and clumsy and soaking wet, teeth grazing, breath uneven. He pulled back just an inch, eyes wide, lips swollen.

“You okay?” you whispered.

Sieun nodded, chest heaving. “I—Yeah. I just…”

He leaned in again, slower this time. Softer. His hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw so carefully, so tentatively, like he was afraid you might disappear if he touched too hard.

And when his lips found yours again, it was different.

It wasn’t a crash.

It was a confession.

Your body pressed closer, your hands sliding up beneath his hoodie, fingertips tracing the edge of his damp shirt, the curve of his back. He shivered under your touch, every muscle taut.

The rain was falling harder now, but neither of you moved.

And then you pulled back slightly, lips inches from his. “Come with me.”

Sieun hesitated, eyes flicking across your face. You could see the war in him. The desire. The fear.

But he nodded.

Still damp, breathless. The sound of the rain muffled behind closed doors.

You handed him a towel, the soft fabric warm against your skin as he took it, his eyes never leaving yours. They held an intensity that made your pulse quicken, an electric charge in the air between you. Every drop of water that glistened on his damp hoodie clung to his form, outlining the lean, toned muscles beneath. You felt an undeniable pull towards him; a magnetic draw that was impossible to resist.

With a flick of your wrist, you peeled your wet shirt off, the fabric sliding down your arms and pooling on the floor, leaving you bare and exposed. His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of surprise illuminating his features before his gaze dropped, only to snap back to yours with an urgency that made your heart race.

His ears flushed a deep crimson, a color that made you almost smile with delight at the shyness radiating from him.

"You've never...?" you asked softly, your voice laced with curiosity and invitation.

He shook his head, the simple act of it sent a shiver of vulnerability coursing through him. “No. I just—I don’t know what to do.”

You stepped closer, allowing your fingers to brush against the damp warmth of his cheek, your touch light yet electric. “You don’t have to know anything. Just feel.”

As if your words held a spell, something within him seemed to break free. He closed the distance, leaning in again, movements tentative yet yearning, his hands sliding beneath your shirt. He was learning you with every hesitant caress, exploring every inch like you were a cherished treasure, and each tender brush of his fingers sent heat pooling in the depths of your being.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice tight, eyes wide with a mix of awe and uncertainty.

With a fervent nod, you breathed, “More than okay.”

When his lips finally found yours again, the kiss was imbued with a newfound certainty. It was a passionate meeting of feelings, a palpable hunger igniting the air around you. His hands roamed up your sides, exploring the curve of your waist, brushing over your ribs, hesitating at the swell of your breasts, each touch igniting a bright, fierce pulse of desire within you.

He began trailing kisses down your neck, every drag of his lips slower and more assured than the last, as though imprinting the taste of you onto his memory. You tilted your head back, granting him more access, feeling his breath warm against your skin. Your heart raced as you felt his fingers tremble at the waistband of your pants, hesitation threading through his movements.

"You can," you encouraged softly, each syllable dripping with longing. "I want you to."

He exhaled shakily, resting his forehead against yours, seeking guidance in your gaze. “Tell me what to do.”

With gentle insistence, you guided his hands, leading them down your waist and over the fabric of your pants. Your body began to arch into him, responding to his touch like a flower stretching toward the sun. You let him undress you piece by piece, feeling the warmth of his fingers against your thighs as you peeled the fabric away, baring yourself completely to him. His eyes darkened with wonder and desire, hungry for every inch of you, taking in the sight as if he were memorizing a sacred spell.

When you finally pushed him to shed his own clothes, he hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty catching in his voice.

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against the heat of his skin. “You’re perfect,” you reassured, and a soft sigh escaped his lips, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he absorbed your words

You climbed onto the bed, inviting him to follow, and felt the weight of his body as he settled above you. His form was solid and grounding, and when his lips connected with yours again, it was a slow burn that ignited your senses. You were both exploring, unraveling, discovering the depths of what you craved.

As you guided him and your bodies began to pulse together, the room filled with the sound of your soft breaths and the mingling of your heartbeats. His hands roamed hungrily, mapping every curve, every contour of your skin, fingers trailing down your sides, resting at the swell of your thighs to tease and coax.

When he finally slid into you, there was a moment of stillness. He froze, eyes wide with surprise as sensations cascaded through him.

“Ohh…” he groaned, voice trembling with awe. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

You whispered encouragement, soft and sultry as you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer. “You’re doing so good, Sieun. Just breathe and move with me.”

With each thrust, he found his rhythm, unsure at first but slowly gaining confidence as your bodies danced together in sync. Each push brought new sensations, new depths, a visceral connection that shot straight to your core. His breath hitched on every gasp, every moan, and the feel of him inside you sent tremors of ecstasy through your body.

Your hands clutched at his back, nails digging slightly as pleasure built between you both. The sensations expanded, a tidal wave of electric pleasure lapping at the edges of your consciousness, drowning you in waves of bliss.

“God, it feels so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, and his rhythm began to quicken as your gasps turned into soft cries that spurred him on, every thrust more assured than the last.

You could feel him unraveling, every sweep of his hips igniting a fire within you that burned brighter and hotter.

“Please, don’t stop,” you pleaded, words tumbling from your lips like a prayer, urging him on to push deeper, to connect more fully.

As his pace grew faster, the tension built until it became an almost unbearable pressure, a coiling spring ready to snap. His breath caught as he felt your walls tightening around him, drawing him in closer, deeper, as the world began to blur.

When the moment finally arrived, it washed over you like a tsunami, a powerful rush of ecstasy that felt like you were both being swept away. He gasped your name, a broken utterance that resonated in the depths of your soul as you shattered together, his body trembling against yours.

His hips stuttered, and you felt him release, every wave of pleasure intermingling as you both succumbed to the blissful aftermath. You clung to each other, bodies entwined, as he collapsed against you, panting, his forehead resting on your shoulder, grounding you in the blissful haze.

After a moment of shared silence, he whispered, “Did I… was that okay?”

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, pulling him even closer. “More than okay.”

He shifted to lie next to you, turning so you were face to face, fingers brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that felt sacred.

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” he said softly, a hint of vulnerability threading through his voice.

“I always did,” you confessed, your words a promise held deep in your heart.

He laced his fingers with yours, a silent vow passing between you, sealing the moment. Outside, the rain continued to fall, an echoing reminder of the world outside. But inside, everything had changed; you had crossed a threshold into a realm of newfound intimacy that echoed with the promise of more to come, a bond strengthened by the embers of your shared passion.

[lara4eclipze]

𝓑loodline

(📼) — i know what you looking for but I'm complete, i know what you need but it won't be me.

sophia laforteza x fem!reader, fluff, angst, suggestive, rivalry, swearing, generational beef, ceo!soph and ceo!reader, degrading, nasty tactics, kissing, alcohol consumption, etc, wc [?], tags listed below

the laforteza's and garcia families are two of the biggest and most known company owners, name a brand and one of these families owned it, so it naturally came that they should be enemies

each year they try to out-innovate each other, generation after generation it kept going — slowly the baton of being the ceo was getting closer to you

your mother always had serious meetings with you and your younger siblings about the responsibilities that your gonna shoulder when you became the next ceo

being the eldest kid it was you who got pressured, you studied at a prestigious university, UP otherwise known as unibersidad ng pilipinas, and for sophia well she lived her life

sophia was naturally smart, the type that can skip every class but still get high grades on examinations, she studied at ateneo — and played volleyball as a extracurricular

the day of an event held by a bunch of shareholders came — all company ceos were there including teenage you and teenage sophia

the place was rather lavish, crowded with elite people and their ridiculously expensive outfits, waiters and guards roamed around the venue — your dad tugged you around introducing you to other ceos and shareholders — you flashed them a fake smile and talked about your plans on taking over the company when the time comes

yet you didn't want to, you wanted to be free and make friends, friends that didn't use you for your status and money, but with the overwhelming trust your parents put in you it felt like betraying them to not be the next great leader

you finally break away from your parent's grasp and walk around the huge venue, occasionally taking bite size snacks , as you were taking a cup of juice from the obnoxiously large pitcher of juice a girl bumps behind you making the juice spill all over your dress and the carpet

you gasp out of shock and the girl turns around with this apologetic expression — "I'm so sorry" her honey-sweet tone made it to your ears as she tries to wipe the dress down, key word tries it only smeared the juice in more

"fuck" she mutters, she gives you her cardigan and buttoned it up to help cover it, a warm feeling took over inside of you as you stare at the woman, she was so gentle and down to earth unlike most people with this status

"y/n garcia, by the way," you introduce yourself extending your hand but it seemed too formal, "sophia laforteza" she says back, by the end of the night the two of you were both outside just talking and enjoying the company

sophia was unlike other teens you've met, she didn't care about the money or her name to be frank, she lived her life according to her rules — "honey!, gosh what the hell are you doing here with this-" your mom stammers and starts dragging you away from sophia, she only giggles and does the calling hand gesture and mouths "call me"

as your mom sits you at the backseat of their car, she immediately sputters out how you should've not talked to her, claiming the lafortezas are a bunch of frauds and liars, how they built their company on being cheap copies — but it all just didn't matter to you

the next few weeks you and sophia secretly had dates, like walking around bgc at 12am or just taking a long drive to wherever the wheel takes you — sophia was perfect a far cry from what your parents seem to see in her

you rest your head on sophias shoulders as you two look up at the night sky, stars filling the dark blue background — "I'm glad i met you soph" you whisper she smiles and kisses the top of your head "me too y/n" she mutters

you wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped in sophias arm far from the leader everyone sees you as, "y/n, i have to tell you something" the older girl whispers, you sit up a bit, concerned and confused

"why, what's wrong?" you ask, you held sophias hands, nervous — "y/n I'm leaving, in a few weeks — we are moving to usa" she drops the news, it felt like you got stabbed repeatedly, just as you were getting comfortable with someone, they leave

"I'll keep in contact I swear my love, it's just that I have to pursue my education there-" you cut off the girl with a soft and parting kiss "I know, now don't forget about me okay?" you giggle lightly but deep down you felt shattered, yet you knew it was for the best — for her future

the days that passed felt like a blur — and somehow hurted more than you expected, sophia would call you every minute ranting about how much she already misses you

the day comes, the laforteza family is at the airport bidding their goodbyes to sophia, you came dressed in a hoodie and a cap, careful not to show or to make anyone know who you are

sophia spotted you and waved as tears fell from her eyes, you hated seeing her cry, hated how you couldnt run up to her and hug her

sophia mouths out "i love you" as you replied "I'll miss you", you want to laugh at how absurd the situation is, but it all just dawned on you that its happening

the first few weeks sophia kept you updated, sending photos of the place she stayed at, and calling you frequently — but slowly she got cold and it seemed like she forced herself to talk to you

until it was you texting her multiple times only for her to leave you on read, you didn't know what happened for her to all of the sudden ghost you

you tried calling, and reaching out but she came up with the lamest excuses, you tried asking and fixing whatever was left between you two, but it wasnt salvageable

"for the last fucking time, stop calling me y/n!" sophia screams over the line as you helplessly beg her, begged that she talk to you, "soph, what did i do?" you ask, you see a flicker of guilt in the girls eyes before she hangs up

you stayed up late at night thinking where it all went wrong, years had passed and you sole focus was to be the leader, the ceo you've always dreaded to be

you grew to understand that your parents were right about the laforteza's, you hated them, most especially sophia, you worked your ass off to be able to beat their company

now 22 years old, the garcia company is held by you — everyone knew you as strict, unkind and maybe a bit of a bitch, who cares anymore your living the life you want, right?

"miss, an invitation for you" your secretary bowed her head scared to even show her face, you look down from your computer dismissing the assitant and opening the invitation

the annual shareholders gala, you scoff already dreading it — either way it was a great opportunity to grow the company more and show your impact

you go shopping for a dress to wear and a new pair of shoes — spoiling yourself

you came home afterwards, after getting the highest position in the company you decided to live on your own — a condominium in bgc, not too shabby nor that expensive

the outfit was amazing, yet you needed accessories, shuffling through your closet you stumble upon a handwritten letter sophia left you before she went to america, you fought the urge to read it knowing it will cost you more harm than comfort

the distinct crippled and wet stains on it already suggest how much it hurt you — yet you let it be, wanting to move past it — like how she did, so easily

you lay in bed, in silence your phone occasionally buzzing with some idiotic man from the company — you reflect on the past and how much you've changed, you barely spoke to anyone or made any friends due to the trust issue you slowly got ever since soph left you

days passed and finally, it was time for the event, your assistant tagged along to keep you from possibly bickering with anyone

the place was packed, mostly men with their trophy wives, you despised them — you looked around and eventually sat down at a table, ignoring your male colleagues with their snarky and backhanded comments

you barely did anything in the event, just smiling and taking mental notes on whom to trust, you got called to the stage to present an award for best new ceo, you had won the previous year so it was just your job to announce now

"good evening everyone — I would like to take a moment and congratulate all our ceos and shareholders, now onto the exciting part" you said in a fake excited tone that somehow fooled them "the best new ceo award goes to" you open the envelope only to feel your heart sink "sophia laforteza of the l.teza company" you mutter biting the insides of your cheeks

the woman, steps onto the stage and you couldn't help but marvel at how much she had well looked like she matured — she takes the award from you slightly bowing, you met her eyes and a glimmer of hope was in them

watching her deliver a speech, reminds you on how she used to read her poems to you — yet it was all shortlived when you realized how much she fucked you up as an person

you fight the urge to cuss her out on the stage yet you remain still with the "I'm happy for you" facade

the event continued for another few hours, you kept catching yourself searching the room for the filipina, little did you know she was also looking for you

the event ended with you sort of tipsy due to taking a few too many glasses of champagne, your assistant tried to help you get back to the car before she abruptly stopped

"what the fuck, cant you see i need your hel-" you were cut off when you heard the familiar voice speak behind you

"language y/n" sophia jokes, you turn around dismissing your assitant telling her to stay in the car, "what do you want" you hiss clearly being tipsy also meant you were way more emotional

"y/n, can we talk, privately?" sophia asks you nod,and your inner narration screamed telling you to stop and don't go with her, yet you knew deep down soph would've never hurted you for nothing

now in some random restroom, sophia starts off with saying congratulations to you — asking hows your life now

"I've comed to the conclusion that the garcias and lafortezas will never get along" you mutter, sophia clearly was taken a back "what do you mean?" she replies

"what? — its true your family is a bunch of fucking assholes" you spat the rage that you kept inside you finally coming to light, "take that back" sophia angrily hissed

"or what? your gonna leave again? — go ahead no one cares about your company anyways" you replied your hands fisted along your sides, "for your information our company is doing way better than yours" sophia spat back

"why did you have to leave me? huh? — was I just a pawn in your games?" you ask — sophia blinks she never thought of this "i left you cause- cause i had to" sophia responds biting her tounge as the words left her mouth

"liar" you replied — you walk towards sophia until you two were practically inches away from eachother, "its been years and you still can't lie to me laforteza"

"bobo mo din noh? (youre dumb too you know)" you follow, your heart raced as you felt her breathing on your face, it didn't help that she was already blushing either from hatred or love

sophia held your nape connecting both your lips, her cherry chapstick melting into yours — you groaned feeling her other hand wrap around your waist

"i hate you so much" you mutter, "why are you grinding on me then?" sophia smugly laughs a rich throaty sound

you bit her lip making her bleed a bit and you taste the metallic blood mix with her lipgloss, "hostile huh" she muses

after you two made out for like forever — you pull away remembering your assitant, the poor girl has been waiting in the car for like an hour

"call me?" sophia asks handing you her businesses card you lightly scoffed at the womans smugness

"sure" you replied kissing her one final time before walking away

[revelboo]

If we are sharing pets I hope you don’t mind I share my 5 year old senior Guinea pig Cinder she was born a (theorized) runt with narrow nasal passages and a weakened immune system (the reason the vet begrudgingly said she should probably be a single pig that and Cinder hates other Guinea pigs which is odd for a sow but she was also underweight when we got her and that could be a factor) so she’s had chronic respiratory issues since we got her. The picture of her with the white towel is her at 2-3 months. But she is still trucking along just fine. She has survived URI’s, the flu, and a bought of pneumonia.

Honestly I’m about the same with having health issues on my end 😂 imagining now the bot that gets stuck with me. Or a just person with random crap to deal with stuff like for example like diabetes, Crohns, lupus, or thyroid etc issues just like the random needs extra care 🤣

I feel that. Started getting arthritis in my spine and hands in my 20s 🤣 Rev’s not a healthy human-type creature

Care

TFP Ratchet

• “I let you out of sight for a week,” he growls, sounding like he wants to break something and you’d laugh if you weren’t so miserable. But you’re pretty sure just telling him your doctor had said something might be off with your immune system years ago and that you’d not only failed to go to the follow-up appointments, but had pretty much ghosted that doctor since, isn’t going to make him happy.

• It’s driving him crazy not being able to help. He’d started reluctantly digging into human medicine databases after the kids had started hanging around and had doubled down on it after he found you. Wanting to know everything about you just so he could take care of you. And he can’t. Can’t do anything.

• “It’s just the flu,” you say, huddling deeper into your blanket with a cough. “I was around a lot of people and one of them was sick. It’s not a big deal.” Even if he’s acting like you’re actively dying. He’d somehow bullied Fowler into making a drug store run for you and you’ve got more cough medicine, DayQuil, and Kleenex than you could ever use. You appreciate the effort, though.

• How can he believe that when you immediately start sneezing and coughing, eyes streaming before you draw your knees up and rest your head on them. That looks like a big deal, you look miserable. “I’m scanning you again,” he says and you swat at him, but he runs the device over you anyway. And scowls at the readout. “Your temperature is up another degree.”

• Blowing out a breath, you wish he’d have just left you at your house. That way you could be miserable in peace without him hovering and fussing. It’s not like you don’t feel loved with him being overbearingly worried, but you just want to sleep it off. In quiet. And that’s not happening. “Ratch,” you groan when he mass shifts and fluffs your pillow, fussing with your blankets as his jaw works. He hates this, you realize. That you’re sick and he can’t do anything about it.

• Venting in frustration, he freezes when you lay a hand on his arm. “I love you. You’re doing amazing, but please for the love of all that’s holy, let me sleep and I’ll do that thing you like when I’m better, okay?” You ask, sounding exhausted and it startles a laugh out of him. Venting, he leans his helm against your head.

[cherryblossom-heart]

The wolf's den (A devour me one-shot)

modern!Sukuna x Reader

C.W: mentions of violence, mysogynistic men, you know what I'll just say Naoya is his own warning.

A/N: Hi besties, I've had this in my drafts for a little while but here is it, for anyone that's curious how reader and Naoya met.

This is a drabble for Devour Me

W.C: 2k

“Hey, sorry I’m late. I fucking oversle–“ Your excuses to Toji were cut short.

A fake blonde man, probably in his twenties, stood in the middle of the empty closed bar. Renovations were being made ever since the pipe explosion so almost everything was covered in tarp or plastic. The wood floor panels had already been ripped out, concrete and dirt now covering the base of the place as you waited for the new panels to arrive. He was scanning everything in the room, the snob sneer in his face immediately making you want to punch him.

He turned to you, his brown eyes latching to you immediately making the hairs in the back of your neck rise up. A shudder ran through your spine the longer he looked at you, like an instinct hardwired in you that told you to run away from danger.

You should’ve listened to it when you had the chance.

You opened your mouth, the horrible habit you had whenever you were nervous or uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck is this?”

For a second he looked shocked of the way you had spoken. Maybe it was the brass tone you had or the use of the word fuck but something about you made him angry enough to scowl at you.

“Your mother didn’t teach you to speak like a lady?”

Now it was your time to scowl.

You were about to open your mouth, a mental speech already created to emasculate him but Toji cut you off.

“It’s my cousin. Naoya.”

You glanced between both of them and you supposed you could see it. The shape of the eyes, smug smirk and the coldness behind their eyes. You knew where Toji came from, the so famous and dangerous Zenin Clan, you knew the type of people his family was, especially the men.

You should’ve stopped yourself, you should’ve left the bar and come back the next day. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken an interest in you, dragging you into the world of madness you were currently drowning. Or maybe it didn’t matter, you were always a part of his plan.

“What the fuck is your prick of a cousin doing here?”

Toji’s green eyes lasered you. Stop it, they warned you.

“I’m here to save your quaint little bar from bankruptcy so you don’t have to go to the nearest whorehouse to beg for a job.”

Oh.

Oh

You were going to fucking kill him

The words came faster than you could stop them.

“Thanks but I don’t feel like working with your mother. Heard she’s a terrible manager.”

You almost laughed at the sourness that overtook his face. You began walking, putting your things in the bar as you tied your hair. As you walked by him, you got a wiff of the expensive cologne he was wearing, a mixture of citrus with sandalwood and for some reason even that made you on edge.

“Besides, we don’t need your money. I already took care of it.” You scoffed.

He looked at Toji, an eyebrow cocked not only in surprise that everything was handled but that it was you who handled it.

“You’re saying you paid this? What did you do? Did you offered free blowjobs for his debts to be spared?”

You turned to him, hammer ready in hand.

“Not all of us have to give our asses away like you do, Naoya. Don’t project yourself.

Now get the fuck out of my fucking bar.”

“Thank you!” You told the lady of the convenience store as you walked through the doors.

The skies had turned dark a while ago, the work remodeling the bar always took long so it wasn’t unusual for you to be out so late. Even when Toji offered to walk you home you turned him down, his your apartment was only a couple blocks away and your were comfortable with your own little routine. You needed it.

It was stupid.

Everytime you walked home you had this fantasy that maybe, along the way, he would find you. You would hear his voice, calling you a brat or perhaps your just your name, then you would turn around and red eyes would be staring back at you once again.

Finally, he would be back.

They would be back.

The sharp breeze of cold air took you out of your thoughts, pulling you away from the memories. You held your coat tighter as you waited for the traffic lights to turn red, a small tear managing to espace your hold.

You reached your apartment, your body thanking the change of temperature. You opened the door, turning on the lights in habit as you closed the door. Your coat fell to the floor as you kicked your shoes off, every muscle in your body aching as you made your way to the kitchen.

Water filled the cup of water you had in your hands, and as you nursed your drink you turned to put your cold snacks in the fridge.

“If you’re here to kill me you could’ve at least gotten rid of that disgusting cologne.” You spoke to the air.

It took him a second but you heard his steps behind you coming out of your bedroom. You turned around to a pair of brown eyes along with fake blonde hair looking at you with a smirk on his lips.

“I didn’t think you would be smart enough to notice it.”

Right, misogynistic.

A common decease amongst the Zenin clan.                               

“Or maybe you’re just stupid enough to not even being able to kill me. A poor, stupid, little woman.”

You grabbed one of your beers in the fridge, twisting the cap off as you sat in the kitchen island.

“So… are you here to kill me?” You asked after you took a sip.

“No,” He answered, taking a seat across you. “I’m here to collect.”

“Collect? Collect what?” You asked confused.

“Collect your little boyfriend’s debt.”

Sukuna.

“See, he made a deal with me.” He took out his phone, scrolling through it. “He begged for my help so he could find you and your little piss of a sibling.”

He put his phone on the table, pressing play.

“Tell me what you fucking know.” Sukunas voice played through the device.

“Who says I know anything?” Naoya answered.

“You own half of this fucking city, if anyone is going to know it’s you.”

Naoya snicked. “Perhaps. But I have no reason to tell you shit.”

“Stop with the fucking games. What do you want?” Sukuna grunted.

“How much is your little business partner worth? Or her whore of a sister? How much is she worth to you?”

Only a second went by before he answered.

“Everything. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

Naoya laughed, the type of laugh that told you he knew he had Sukuna where he wanted him.

“I’ll do you a favor. But when I come knocking to collect, I’ll take anything I want.”

“Sure, whatever. Just tell me where the fuck they are.”

The recording stopped, leaving you both in silence.

You knew Sukuna had made a deal with the Zenins but… you never thought it was like that. You never thought he had been so willing to give everything away to get you back. It was difficult to make peace with that information, your mind racing as you thought of his words.

If he cared for you so much, why wasn’t he back?

“And now here I am, and Sukuna is nowhere to be found.” Naoya said as he leaned back on his seat. “But I still need my payment.”

You looked back at him.

“I don’t know where the fuck he is.” You said, the bitter tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I know.”

“So… what the fuck do you want from me?”

He smiled and you wanted to claw your eyes out.

“My payment.”

You took a second to look at him and you couldn’t help the mask of disgust that washed over your face.

“Ew, no.” You spat and if your mind hadn’t been going haywire you would’ve enjoyed washing his smirk off his face. “I’m not the one that owes you shit. Go fucking find Sukuna if you want him to pay you so bad.”

You stood up, chugging some of your beer before turning to empty the rest in the sink. Your hands shook and you weren’t sure if they were from anger or fear.

“I could do that. I could waste money and resources to find him, maybe lose a couple of good men in the process.” He shrugs just before looking back to you. “Or I could visit his brother and… what’s his name? Yumi?”

The bottle slipped from your grasp, hitting against the metal sink.

“Yuji” you whispered, suddenly every cell in your body completely aware of the danger you faced.

“Yuji! That’s it.” He clapped as he pretended to be relieved, as if he wasn’t toying with you. “The pink hair does run in the family, don’t you think?”

This fucking bastard.

All of this had been a game.

He knew who you were and a part of you thought his little visit to the bar had only been the beginning of everything.

You couldn’t risk them. Jin, Watsuke and Yuji didn’t belong to Sukuna and Uraumes world, the world you had been inadvertently dragged into. You supposed this was your world too now that the big bad wold had come knocking on your door. You had to fix this and not just for Sukuna but for them, even without him you cared for them. You had grown together and this past year would’ve been unbearable without Jin’s calming presence, or Yuji’s laughter or Watsuke’s foul yet entrataining humour.

You had to do it for them.

“I have money.” You mumbled as you turned around only to find his stupid smirk.

“I don’t need your money.” Naoya scoffed, the thought of taking your money seemingly offensive to him.

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to do a job for me. I need you to get me access to someone’s phone.”

Now it was your turn to scoff.

“Me?” You asked, incredulously. “Why the fuck would you send me? Can’t one of your dogs do it?”

He laughed. “My dogs, as you call them, can’t get to this particular man.” He stood up, walking closer to you and for the first time in a while you felt like prey. He stopped right in front of you, his eyes swiping your body and you had the urge to take a hot scalding shower. “But you,” he tried to caress your face only for you to smack him. “you seem like his type.”

“I’m not fucking sleeping with anyone, you fucker.” You managed to say through gritted teeth, pushing him away.

The moment your hands landed on his chest you saw the rage in his eyes and you thought he would hit you, you saw the intention behind his eyes but the only response he had was a deep sigh as he struggled to keep his cool.

“Fuck him, don’t fuck him, I don’t give a fuck. Get me that phone and we’re through.”

He made his way to your front door and you were finally able to breathe again. God, were you really going to do this? Maybe you could talk to Toji, see if he could help you get out of this shit show. Anything that would help you get far away from the wolf’s den.

“Unless…” Naoya said before walking through the door, his back still facing you. “You want to know where he is. Where they’ve been hiding.”

“Wait.”

The word came out before you could stop it.

“You know where they are?”

He looked at you over his shoulder and he gave you the same smirk you thought he gave to Sukuna when he made his deal.

“Maybe… but we can talk more about that once you get me that fucking phone.”

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

[synity]

I REALLY DO GET IT

(Woozi x femReader)

*Angst · Romance · Hurt/Comfort · Soft ending Hidden feelings · Slow comfort Vulnerability*

what if

What if Woozi never said anything? Not that night. Not ever. What if he just let you leave? What if the silence that choked the room as you whispered “Would it matter if I was gone?” was the only answer you ever got? You waited. One more second. Two. Three. Heart thudding, eyes burning. But he never looked up. So you walked out, every step a silent scream. And he stayed. Head down. Fingers hovering over his keyboard. Still. Cold. Frozen

You had always known that Woozi wasn’t the expressive type. He didn’t text first. He didn’t say “I love you” every day. Sometimes, he didn’t even react when you dressed up just to see him. He'd just look at you with those unreadable eyes and say,

"You're here. That's enough."

But lately… his world seemed to shine around everyone but you.

You weren’t blind. You saw it. The way his eyes lit up at the studio, when the backup vocalist hit the right note. When his producer laughed at a joke you didn’t hear. When a trainee brought him coffee with a bow and a smile. They existed in his world. They understood it. You didn’t.

You tried. God, you tried.

You asked about his tracks. He said, “You wouldn’t get it.” You told him he looked good in his new stage outfit. He barely glanced your way. You waited up just to hear about his day he said he was tired. He always seemed tired for you. But never for them.

Even on nights when you dressed up for him putting on that soft gloss he once said he liked, wearing that top that used to make him blush all you got was:

“You didn’t have to do all that. You’re fine.”

Fine. Not beautiful. Not breathtaking. Just fine.

You started doubting everything. Your looks. Your voice. Your place in his life.

Sometimes, you stood in front of the mirror and stared at yourself, trying to figure out what you were missing. What they had that you didn’t. What made them worthy of his attention of the smiles, the spark, the conversations he used to share with you.

Maybe it was your fault. Maybe you weren’t interesting enough. Maybe you became boring. Or maybe… you were just something he outgrew.

And the worst part?

He never noticed you fading.

Not even when your smiles got smaller. Not even when you stopped asking to hear his demos. Not even when you cried alone in the bathroom with the water running just in case.

That night, when you sat on his couch, curled into yourself, watching him through a veil of unshed tears, you felt so far from him like he was behind a glass wall, laughing, working, living on the other side while you slowly drowned in the silence between you.

You stared at the back of his head his soft hair, the nape of his neck, the little curve of his ear where you used to press kisses before he left for work.

And all you could think was:

“He doesn’t love me anymore.”

You didn’t say it aloud. Not quite. Instead, your voice came out in a whisper, a cracked confession:

“Would it really matter if I was gone?”

You didn’t mean forever. You just meant absent. Not here. Not around. Not part of the life he didn’t seem to notice you in.

And the fact that he didn’t answer? Felt like your confirmation.

Like he heard you. And agreed.

You didn’t even realize how long you stood there. Your bag in your hand. Your heart in pieces. Waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he didn’t. So you turned. Took one shaky step toward the door

“Don’t take another step.”

His voice cut through the air like a blade. Cold. Firm. Sharp enough to stop you in place. But not loud. It wasn’t anger. It was fear.

You turned back slowly.

And that’s when you saw it.

His hands trembling. His laptop pushed aside. His headphones thrown onto the floor. His eyes red.

“You really think I don’t care?”

He was standing now. Not distant. Not hidden behind his work. He looked wrecked.

“You think I let anyone into my space? Into my time? Into my heart?”

He took a slow, shaky step toward you.

“You think I sit on this couch with just anyone? Sleep beside just anyone? Write songs while someone else sits in this room with me?” “I don’t. I never did. Not before you.”

You swallowed hard, trying not to cry. But it was too late. Your chest was already caving in.

“Then why…” “Why do I feel like I’m the only one you don’t see anymore?”

His face crumpled.

“Because I’m a coward,” he said hoarsely. “Because when I love something too much, I shut down. I hide it. I bury it so deep, no one can take it away from me.” “That’s what I did to you.”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

He stepped even closer now, reaching for your hand — holding it so carefully like it might break.

“I don’t look at you like I look at my work,” he said, “Because I look at you like you’re the one thing I don’t deserve.” “You’re not just a part of my world. You’re the only part that matters outside of it.”

You could hardly breathe. You wanted to believe him. You needed to.

But still, you whispered:

“Then why do I feel like… like I could be replaced?”

And something in him snapped.

He walked over to his laptop, hands moving with purpose now.

Click. Delete.

You blinked. “What…?”

“That demo,” he said, voice rough. “The one everyone keeps saying is my best track this year.” “I wrote it with her in mind the backup singer. She hit the note. She impressed me. But she didn’t inspire me.”

Another click. Gone.

“If a song makes you doubt your place in my life, it’s not worth keeping.”

You stood frozen, mouth open, heart pounding.

“You want to hear what is?” he whispered.

Then he turned to his notebook. Flipped to the worn, dog-eared page you thought he’d abandoned. You hadn’t seen him write in it for months.

But he had. Late at night. In silence. With all the words he never knew how to say aloud.

He handed you the page.

“This is you.” “Every line. Every verse. Every unfinished chorus.” “It’s always been you.”

Your eyes scanned the words.

Not polished lyrics. Not perfect rhyme. Just raw, honest, desperate thoughts. Written in smudged ink and messy loops.

“The girl who sits beside me every night. The only silence I crave. The storm I never want to end.”

Your tears hit the paper.

And suddenly he was there arms around you, holding you like he’d never let go again.

“Don’t you ever think you’re replaceable,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “They don’t know me like you do. No one does.” “And even if they did… I’d still choose you.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to believe him. But you’d spent weeks drowning in silence and silence makes doubt louder. So you broke again, quietly, voice trembling:

“You look at music like it’s everything. You smile at strangers more than me. You tell them your thoughts, your passion you used to tell me that too.”

You looked at him really looked. There were dark circles under his eyes. His voice was raw. And there was something else, too. Guilt.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “I didn’t look at you the way you needed. I stopped speaking the way you understand.”

He cupped your face in his warm, trembling hands.

“But I was never looking at anyone else. I was always looking for you in the quiet. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

He smiled weakly and cupped your face in his warm, trembling hands.

“But I was never looking at anyone else. I was always looking for you in the quiet. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You were crying. Harder than you had in weeks. And when he pulled you into his chest, you clung to him like your life depended on it. He held you close. Tighter than before. Like he was afraid you really would leave.

“I don’t want music more than you,” he murmured into your hair. “I want music with you.”

You closed your eyes.

“Then start showing me,” you whispered. “Because next time I fall apart… I might not wait for you to notice.”

He nodded. Pressed his forehead to yours.

“No more next times,” he promised. “Only us. From now on, I’ll make sure you know that’s enough.”

[magicaloneandmystery]

an extra hand to help you work

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

summary: whatever he might say, Bucky cannot share you with the world. when he wants your attention, he'll get it one way or another.

warnings: mdni. teasing, fingering, a few hickeys, Bucky is a real tease in this one, pet names, mentions of oral

you were ignoring him.

not intentionally, of course, you just had some work to wrap up before you could join him and give him your full attention.

still, you were ignoring him.

Bucky Barnes does not pout but his lips were jutted out in a way that would resemble a pout. he would say he was sulking.

then, an idea came to him. a sure shot way of getting your attention.

he slid off his t-shirt, his sweatpants already hanging low. he knew this would distract you a little, but his plan was not just that. he made sure to spray on his cologne on him, knowing the effect it has on you.

when he entered the room, you were on the desk, typing away at your laptop.

"I'm just done, Buck," you said, sensing his presence. "just five more minutes."

he did not want to wait five more minutes.

so, he came closer to you, the smell of his freshly sprayed cologne distracting you for a moment. you looked at him, your eyes widening at your half naked boyfriend.

"wh- what are you doing?" you said, mind already clouding with the things you could be doing with him instead of finishing stupid work.

"I got tired of sharing you," he shrugged, making you stand up so he can sit on your chair and you on his lap. "c'mon, doll, let me help you finish this work."

your breath hitched, your pussy dampening at his low voice, his breath fanning over your ear, and his hands that were now roaming all over your chest.

"tell me what you're doing," he said, fondling your breasts. he realised you were not wearing a bra, a low hum in his chest appreciating the little detail. he pinched your nipples through the t-shirt you were wearing, a gasp leaving your mouth.

your eyes were closed, your head slightly bent towards him, work forgotten in front of you.

"c'mon, sweetheart," he said, his hands leaving you completely to prove his point. "I don't want to distract you. I promise to not touch you until you complete your work."

the shit eating grin in his voice told you he had already won this round. the little tease.

"Bucky, please," you whined. "please touch me."

"but what about the work," fake innocence coated his voice. "you gotta complete the work, baby. I'll reward you for it. instant gratification."

"okay," you said, hands returning to your laptop, eyes focusing on the document in front of you.

he was true to his words. his lips claimed your neck, while his hands started roaming your body again.

he was attentive, stopping his ministrations the moment you stopped working, keeping you half distracted and your heart beating wildly.

his hand moved down to tease the hem of your shorts before he slipped past the waistband, continuing his trek down your body. the heat from your core and your moist panties made him smirk, you could feel it on your neck.

he gave you a sharp suck and bite, his fingers pressing down over your core. "already wet?"

you had stopped working again, your mind focused on his hand. "mm hmm." you simply responded to his question.

"keep working, baby," he reminded you, rubbing you through your panties. you opened your legs wider, giving him easier access to your pussy.

when he stopped, you whined again, missing his touch.

"you're not working." he stated simply, looking at the document in front of you both.

"fine," you huffed, starting to type absolutely random words just to get him to finger you.

"good girl," he didn't notice that you were only typing the word pls over and over again. but you were rewarded nonetheless. his fingers moved inside your underwear.

you gasped, continuing to type random letters now, your eyelids dropping halfway, your head slightly bent forward.

Bucky found your clit easily, circling over it once before he dragged his finger down to your entrance, your wetness making things much easier for him. "you're so wet, baby." he teased in your ear before biting it.

you gasped, nodding, your head falling on his shoulder. that finally made Bucky look at the screen. he laughed, the sound reverberating in his chest, a satisfied rumble on your back.

"I guess you can technically say you're working," his eyes roamed the screen, random letters and numbers thrown together as you made a show of working. "your boss is gonna be mad at me again."

you moaned as his middle finger pushed past your entrance, filling you up, and his thumb continued to rub your clit. he sucked a few more hickeys on your neck, biting and kissing the bruises afterwards, while he fucked you on his finger.

your hips started rocking on his hand, desperate for him to go faster. his other hand went under your t-shirt, palming your breasts. he tugged your nipple at the same time he got his second finger inside you, a surprised yelp falling from your lips.

you were panting heavily on him, fucking yourself on his fingers, hands now intertwined in his hair, your work effectively forgotten.

Bucky had half a mind to tease you more, but you were being such a good girl, fucking yourself on him, ruining your work document just to please him, and the sounds out of you, the little moans, whimpers, and gasps, made him change his mind and give you an orgasm or two before he helped you complete your work.

he could feel you tighten around him, your muscles tensing on him as a sign of your incoming release. "Bucky, Bucky, Bucky," you continued to pant, hands tugging at his hair.

he bit your shoulder, his thumb and fingers fastening on you.

"come for me, baby," he whispered in your skin. "I'll clean you up with my tongue afterwards."

the filthy promise was what pushed you over the edge, your mind swimming with pleasure and Bucky. you moaned, a pornographic sound, the rocking of your hips slowing down.

"that's a good girl," he said, one final hickey on the side of your neck being followed by a kiss on your cheek.

you breathed heavily, leaning your entire weight on him, letting him hold you. you stayed like that, his fingers inside you, yours in his hair.

a small ding! on your laptop pulled both of you out of your bubble. it was your boss, asking you for the work that shouldn't have taken more than ten minutes.

you whined, turning your head to look at him with a pout. "can't I just tell her to fuck off?"

he chuckled. "you're turning into a bad girl, baby."

"you love it."

"I do."

[yanderelovebites]

Adding on: Barbara finds out and what leads to them coming back to Gotham

Barbara would be the one to find them. She’d be shocked and be like “WE THOUGHT YOU DIED OR SOMETHING?!” Sibling would be like “Almost did. Was shot. Three time, Miss Gordon. But I’m here. Meet my partner (insert partner). Now if you’ll excuse us we like dealing with the no bat zone, thank you very much. (Insert hero) isn’t nearly as annoying or hurtful.”

That would set it off for Barbara. “You’re telling me you’re hiding from them? Your family?” “Yes, yes I am. Not like they’d care, for fucks sake I got shot because dad didn’t. Anyway, what brings you to (city name)?”

Like she’d be so overwhelmed that ANOTHER ONE OF THEM WERE ASSUMED DEAD AND NO THEY’RE NOT! “This is like Jason all over again.” They’d say “Nah, he actually died first. Harley Quinn found me in time to take care of me before she crawled back to Joker.” That was the real punch to the gut. “You accepted the help of **her**?!”! They’d nod and say “best two months in my life in Gotham, really. Anyway and why is that a problem?” They don’t see this as substantial since Barbara knows what’s going on in the manor. They’d say “look I’m happy here, plus I’ve gone to therapy. I’m healing and this is home to me. Now me and partner need to get going.”

Barbara would be so confused and look into them herself because yeah. I feel like the biological version of sibling would be some type of doctor, usually a surgeon and not because Thomas Wayne was one, simply because deep down they do want to save lives. They just aren’t a hero.

An adopted sibling scenerio I’d envision more of a more passionate career. They’re either in business with a passionate love for their product or my personal favorite, a dog trainer. Specifically they train service dogs.

Barbara would tell the batfam when she gets back and they’re all, except the trio as they’re post sibling’s kidnapping, surprised. They’re alive?

Bruce obviously is relieved they’re safe, but then upset they never came home. I feel like he’d find Harley in jail and speak to her, pretending he’s asking in favor of Bruce Wayne, but she’d be like “Aw that poor kid? Yeah, I remember them. I was runnin’ from some people angry at Mr. J while we were on break. I hid and there the poor sugar was, three bullet wound. The guys must have been amateurs ‘cause not one hit any vitals. Bandaged them up and told me about their home life, didn’t blame ‘em for not wanting to go home. Why? Whatcha need about that sweetheart?” She laughs and says “Sounds to me they’re doin’ just fine on their own. Lemme guess, their family worried bout em?” Batman said they thought they were dead and she laughs again, “I didn’t hear anything about that. The amount of criminals here? Yeah, if they were to know that they’d fight over who hands em over. All for money.” He then says, “So you knew they’re a Wayne?” Harley nods, “Of course, I did!”

Dick is one of the worser to hear about all this. How could they prefer HARLEY QUINN over them? Or leaving Gotham than going back home?

Dick doesn’t understand it at all and is quite upset.

Jason isn’t as upset as everyone else. Jason isn’t anywhere near as yandere or obsessed because he’s been where she’s been sorta. His was way more traumatic, but he understands not wanting to come home. He also understands making herself something that isn’t Wayne, he’s actually kinda proud she could just move on. Yes this does make the rest of the family annoyed.

Tim? EXTREMELY annoyed that this is how they find out. He looks into it and there they are with their lover. He’ll be concerned if they’re a villain kid. He’ll look through everything and feel a pang in his heart. They wanted to help people. And they have.

The worst person is DAMIEN. Damien has been HAUNTED by images of her death and Alfred’s. He needed this, more than anything. He’s the worst one. He won’t settle for her ‘being happy’. For some time the others would attempt to keep him away from doing something irrational, especially Jason because again he gets **why** they didn’t come home.

The longest time it’s how it is. Bruce doesn’t want to compromise what appears to be a happy life for them. Especially when the hero in her current city says she’s doing okay, thinking he’s trying to help ‘Bruce Wayne’ feel okay about the child who went missing. Jason holds Damien back with the help from our three post-batsibling kids. Then it happens. Joker gets involved in the city because he being the dick he is, somehow knows the Bat’s identity (like in SOME iterations of Joker) and Joker decided to target batsibling. Batman is called via league and while helping the hero, Harley does turn on Joker once she realizes exactly what he was planning to do. Does joker question it? A little because it’s out of character for her to turn on him like that.

While they’re trying to save them by dealing with Joker, their partner would have found their way up. It’s even better if this is a villain kid because they probably hijacked their parent’s stuff to do this. Just when they think they’re safe they hear a gun go off and it got the partner.

Imagine bat sibling balling their eyes out, holding their lover’s corpse, while the heroes and Harley try to apprehend Joker. Then he goes for another shot which was in line to hit Batsibling, only for Harley to take the hit. This would be the last shot Joker could get.

Now if it’s a non-villain kid, it’s because Batman pinned him down, if it is a villain kid, the parent showed up and shot the gun out of Joker’s hand with one of their weapons and started to beat the crap out of him (didn’t kill him because that’s too good for him)

Villain would have been held back by their hero finally and once they’re calm (and joker is in custody lol) they’d tell the hero to let go. They’d have a whole ‘why so you can actually kill him’ and Bat sibling through choked sobs would say “He’s their son, (hero) please.”

That’s when Batman’s attention would solely look back at them. They’re no longer a child… a grown adult and they just witnessed what Bruce could only assume was their first love get murdered in front of them, trying to save them. He felt choked. “(Hero), let them go to them.”

The villain parent would rush by their dead child’s side and cradle them close. Their own child was gone FOREVER. Sibling would try saying sorry, that if they hadn’t come to save them, but villain wouldn’t hear it.

After the body is taken away, after everything… Bruce does talk to Sibling because while clearly he made his mistakes, if there was a time to be the father he’s supposed to be, it was then. At first sibling doesn’t want to hear it but Bruce ends up hugging them and saying what he could say. That he understands they just watch someone they really care about get shot and there was nothing they could have done to stop it from happening.

Sure the situation was different from when his parents died, but the emotional trauma was the same variety.

Bruce would also take full advantage of it and suggest they come back home, telling them about three new siblings she never got to meet and holding the info about Alfred, since they just lost their partner. Them, knowing they couldn’t afford to live in the apartment without their partner and knowing this city would just torment them with the past, agreed to after they put in for a transfer and go to their partner’s funeral. Bruce stays in a luxury hotel in the city, texting Tim who’d handle this the best in his mind, what was going on.

But this isn’t some tragedy you walk away from for family and magically heal over night. Nor can they really heal in the bat mansion, especially not without Alfred.

Add more about when she comes back in another reblog.

You know I’d love a batfam neglects batsis/batbro that starts not when they’re brought into the family… but show it as nightmares, flashbacks, etc. warning dead Alfred.

Have batsis/batbro move on in another hero’s city as to avoid them. Have them live happy in whatever profession of their dreams after finding themselves. Not the version behind Wayne manor, truly them. Fall in love with someone (maybe a hero kid or something. Hell secret villain kid) and every time they feel good they hear news of justice league, of bat man. Some nightmares… flashbacks…

Have each unfold the story slowly until you get to the climax, what TRULY happened. They didn’t come to this city under the best circumstances no. The reality was they were kidnapped for a hostage situation and Bruce never paid, forgot them and thought it was a fake. A scam. They survived by mere luck. They shot them and left them to rot, but much to their surprise Harley Quinn found them and helped them—it was one of her ‘redemption’ periods before going back to the Joker but she still saved them. A villain saved their life when their own family wouldn’t. That’s when they left, when she went back. They had no reason to stay and built a life away from them all. Have them confess to their lover about what happened….

Then switch to the bat family currently.

Cassandra, Steph, and Duke never knew them. They look at the few portraits of them in the manor and wonder what they were like, they don’t have the full story. The others had other varying reactions when they’re brought up. They had so many questions but since Alfred’s death, there was no one willing to tell them.

Tim still kept an eye through his skills and connections hoping to find them. He had figured out first after he noticed their lack of presence about the call Bruce had awhile back that he had a hostage situation. Bruce had been second to hear the conclusion that Tim had, that it was no scam because they had batsis/batbro. He knew they were likely dead but he couldn’t rest until a body is found… or they come back.

Damian gets quickly irritated, but he has nightmares at night that he’d never admit to or tell anyone about. He was younger, but they weren’t strong. Normally that would make him disregard them or just insult them when mentioned… but he can’t. Not anymore. At first, he’d just remember how he treated them, not these horrific nightmares, but then Alfred died. The nightmares came, repeating how Alfred died… then images of all the things that could have happened to batsis/batbro. In some, he saw a demon-like version of himself killing them… it shouldn’t bother him… but it does.

With Dick, he would wander close to their room when he was in the manor. He’d go in and look at their school achievements and the photos they had with coaches and instructors… with Alfred. He didn’t get nightmares, he barely slept since they told him what probably happened. So, so many unkept promises he’d probably never get to make up for. One picture had disappeared from the room, he never knew who had it.

Jason felt pissed every time he remembers anything about them. He avoided the manor more than ever. He blamed Bruce, but he knew deep down they all had a contribution. He was horrible to them in life and he fully believes they’re dead. He doesn’t see how they wouldn’t have come home if they were.

Then there’s poor Bruce. He lives in denial. That they’re somehow still alive. That missing picture? He took it out the frame and kept it with him. It was one of their birthdays, they had baked their own cake with Alfred and Alfred took a picture of the two of them after. He remembers he never made it home to wish them happy birthday. He made so many mistakes, let his vigilante work consume him so he forgot he had more in his life besides it. And it’s likely he lost that for good.

All means they’re obsessed about finding the truth, finding them. But when will they realize they aren’t in their city?

[slimesludge-space]

All because of some stupid pants?- Part 7 (Final)

Note: °~° oh this got chonckyyy. My lord.....I thought this was shorter

°~~°~~~~~~~°~~°~~~~~°~~°~~~~°~~°

Resting his head against his hands in attept to process his new reality. Simon felt the silent tug of his sleeve causing him to flicker his eyes up and hold his breath. You didn't look up at him, clutching your book as an anchor as you silently tugged his shirt. Knowing better than to question you at the moment, he followed silently by your side and took a moment to glance down at your hand. His heart sank a little as he took in the way you gripped his shirt, your hand clenching onto the book as you kept your head down and your gaze foward. He's seen this type of headspace before, it was when he first met you. Words were hard and you did better in doing than explaining. Simon followed without a word as he was lead to Uncle Will's shop once more.

Dear god he wasn't ready but he followed behind you with his head down. The familiar sharp bell as he waited for that same slogan that's been haunting his dreams at night but it never came. Confused as he looked up and William didn't offer them a glance, noticing the way he silently put down his newspaper and gave him a stern look. Did the old man knew from the beginning? Simon wasn't easy to trick and this man had managed to make him feel like shit with kindness. Guess the saying 'kill'em with kindness' was more affective than he originally thought.

You tugged his shirt a little harder when you felt him slow down. Voice small as you glanced up at Will "what size did you get him?"

Will couldn't help a smirk as he crossed his arms and proudly spoke up '3XL little lady' and you nodded as you took him to your favorite aisle. Simon gulped, feeling a little nervous as he leaned down in attempt to whisper once he got out of earshot

"I'm actually a 2XL... nearly tripped on my ass with the ones he got me. Fuckin near-killed me the first couple of days"

He nearly winced as you stopped in your tracks. Sifting through the different colored pajama pants before snapping up to look at him with a serious look and bluntly said loud enough "good." Before looking back at the racks. He can hear William snort and choke on his tea while hiding behind the other aisle, his dislike for the store was only growing.

Simon stiffened as you chose a pair. His eyes pleading for you to choose something else, anything but those. You gave him a deadpan look as you pressed them to his chest and pointed to the Will. Simon slumped and just trudged to the counter, his ears turning pink as he set down the pants and William cackled like a madman. Here he was, lieutenant Ghost. Buying pajama pants that were gonna kill him. Not just any pajama pants. Nope because that would be too easy. And Simon Riley forgot one thing about you. And that was that you were petty as hell when you wanted to be, you had always preferred the pettiness of inconveniences. Bright Bonita pink pants, with little glasses of milk, chocolate chip cookies and oreo cookies with each character having an adorable smile on them. Will had the bright idea to look back at you and ask if you wanted a bag which you politely declined. Simon grunted as he clenched his jaw and yanked out his wallet.

"Just give me the damn price already" plopping the cash on the counter and Will gleefully thanking him for his time.

You gave Will a small smile and held open the door for Simon, the bright pants tucked under his arm and noticeable from a mile away. You headed back to your place with Simon trailing behind you, if people were giving him a raised brow, he wasn't acknowledging it.

Simon sighed in relief when he made it to your place, stopping at the entrance of the livingroom with a slight frown. You had changed up the place and he didn't like it. He glanced around the place and noticed that it didn't feel like....you.

Knickknacks and small souvenirs you picked up randomly were gone from the shelves. Your books were carefully in order like usual but each one had sleeves and covers that hid the titles of the books, each one in a soft neutral color. The blankets and plushies that sat proudly on the couch were gone and instead replaced with a solid color and uncomfortable looking pillows and blankets you'd use to burrito yourself to read were now hidden away from sight. To him, the place turned into something you'd find in an open house brochure. Needles sewing in remorse through his heart when he looked around for any sign of YOU, the things that made it feel like home were gone. Was this all his doing? Did he really fuck up THAT bad? Did his little bird feel so hurt to hide everything that made you who you were? To hide the things that only made him fall more in love with you?

Simon swallowed the knot in his throat and turned back to you, ready to fall on his knees and beg you to take him back. To beg for forgiveness and kiss away the pain he caused, that everything you were was all he needed.

You pointed to the bathroom when he turned around and said in a voice that left no room for arguments "change"

Simon glance down at the pants and just quietly walked into the bathroom as you waited in livingroom. Your ears perking up at the sound of the plastic wrap ripped open then grew concerned when you heard a muffled curse. You winced when you heard what was possibly Simon hitting his head on the shelf you added a few days ago and a confirmation of a growling "fuck", your guest bathroom was always the smallest part of your place.

Simon rubbed his head with a scowl as he used his other hand pull his pink pajama pants up in order to not trip on his ass, already using what he's learned from the first death trap. He muttered to himself before finally looking up in his bulking form as he stood infront of you in all his bonita pink glory. You snorted immediately as you burst into laughter. Clutching your stomach from the sight of Simon slightly waddling and holding the sides of his pants up like a princess trying not to step on her dress. As humiliating as Simon felt, his heart warmed at your laugh and slowly stepped closer.

Slowly your laughter turned into a sniffle as tears burned your vision, as funny as the sight was, it didn't change everything that happened. This no longer felt like home. This was the worst fight you had with anyone in your own home, your own room making you tear up and walking to the livingroom made you relive the words he had no problem in growling out at you. Desperately trying wipe away tears and bitting back a sob. It wasn't fair, why were you the only one hurting and why did you think to bring him back to your place just to make fun of him.

Simon panicked and quickly pulled you into a tight hug. Freezing when he noticed how much smaller you felt. The way his hands brushed against your side and pressed softly to feel the barely there border of muscle that covered your ribs. You haven't been eating as much. You didn't look severely under weight but you definitely shed the weight you'd gain when he was with you. Fuckin hell he ruined a beautiful girl that did nothing wrong to him from the beginning. He held you gentler than ever and whispered softly, his voice wavering at your tears soaked his shirt.

"Shh it's okay lovie, fuck... I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I was an ass, I hurt you so fuckin bad and I regret all of it. Please love, don't cry" he craddled your jaw in his hands and you whimpered which only broke his heart. Pressing his forehead against yours and nuzzling you. His hands threading in your hair to gently scratch your scalp, something you had always melted at but only made you whimper now. His thumb brushing away your tears as he whispered apologies.

"I'm fuckin sorry...you're my heart that I never.....I didn't want to hurt you" his voice cracking and the knot forming quicker than he can get his words out.

Your voice broke as you looked into his eyes "you dont get to do that. No walking away, I don't care if we fight but...y-you don't get to just leave" gripping his shirt like he was bound to disappear again. Simon blinked back tears and nodded. He sat down on the floor and pulled you into his lap. Arms wrapped around you when your breathing quickened. His arms were heavy but secure in the way you need in order to calm down. You weren't one to neglect your meds but now he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He tilted your chin and lean in to kiss you but you covered his mouth and shook your head. Sniffling and swallowing back your cries "don't. I dont kiss and make up si....that....to me..that's...that's just...you can't just fuck the hurt away, or kiss to forgive. That's not me and I don't know if I can forgive...Simon, you called me a slut" you mumbled the last part because it still hurts. Sniffling as you looked down at your hands and picked at your fingernails. Simon frowned and muttered "I know. You've always been good to me in ways that I've never thought were possible before"

Simon gently placed his hand between yours. Gently keeping you from picking your skin till it bleeds. Resting his temple against the top of your head "My anger got the better of me. I did wanna talk about the clothes.....I fucked up a good thing with you"

You weren't sure why but now it didn't feel right to talk him about how you felt anymore. It didn't feel as safe as it once did but you pushed that feeling to the side no matter how much your instincts screamed at you.

"I don't trust you. You never talk and I'm not expecting you to tell me your life story. That's something you don't have to tell me if your not ready" you looked up in the eye and craddled his cheeck. Your heart hurts as he leaned into your touch and kissed the palm of your hand "But I atleast want you to look me in the eye and say 'I don't like it' even if I don't understand what that means. It gives me enough to know that you need space."

Simon cried, buried his face in your shoulder. Because you were right, you had done that so many times with him. You had given him space and offered silent support. He had offered his support in the same way, anchoring you in ways that the meds failed. Physical contact was your comfort, hiding in his side when crowds became too much. He wasn't sure where you two stand in this relationship.

You let him cry, rubbing his arm. He was remorseful. You saw it in the way his figure trembled with each quiet shaky breath. He was hurting and here you thought he was gonna jab at you with another insult to burn you. There was a part of you that knew you were gonna regret this in the future. Your friends would be disappointed but you knew you weren't alone if this thing goes sideways once more.

"I don't forgive easy but...Promise you won't leave again?"

Simon stiffened for a second before quickly nodding and holding you as close as possible

"Not leaving anymore. I promise sweetheart, you've got me forever and thats not changin" Simon pressed kisses to your shoulder. He knew it would take more than this to get you to truly forgive and he was gonna put in the work. He finally got another chance at having his little bird be his forever. And the first thing he was gonna do was get this place to look like home again.

°~~°~~~~~~~°~~°~~~~~°~~°~~~~°~~°

*was not prepared for 7 parts* ×~×