#still thinking on what to do for today's prompt

[rafeysdeer]

hiii I really love ur writing I eat it up everytimee ❤️❤️❤️😍😍😛

I was wondering if I could request a Jason Todd like thingy where reader is new to Gotham and she doesnt know her boyfriend (jason) is red hood or who he is really . And one night he just passes out straight in bed without even thinking about his suit and helmet and reader wakes up to this masked man in her bed and is like screaming and being like “wtf who the hell are you” “my bf is huge and he’ll fuck you up” and calling Jason and stuff and he’s just like tf?

Ik this request is like all over the place but I just randomly had this cute idea and I thought you’d eat it up 😍

thankkk uu ❤️❤️❤️

rough night (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where jason still keeps being a vigilante a secret from you, and you continue to be clueless that your boyfriend is red hood, until one rough night he forgets something a little important.

a/n: omg hi! i'm so happy with your request, sorry that it take so long, but here it is, i love how your mind work btw, hope you like it, i actually don't think my writing is good on this one, but the prompt is amazing! feel free to send requests!

It was a particularly calm night, at least for you, who had already done your bedtime routine, and were curled up in the couch with your favorite book, waiting for your boyfriend.

You watched on the news that there was a chasing, but this is Gotham, there is always a chasing on the news, you may not have lived here for long, but you are used to the special way of the city, fights, deaths and crimes that flooded the city on an ordinary weekday.

As much as you enjoyed waiting for your boyfriend to get home, so you could go to bed with him, he was pretty late today, and it was already late night, sleep was starting to overtake you, the book slowly becoming less interesting and more hazy, finally making you decide it was time to go to bed.

Now, even though Gotham is a dangerous city, and more than anything, unexpected, you definitely didn't expect that on a cool tuesday night you would walk into your room in your pretty pajamas and comfortable robe and find a huge vigilante lying on your bed, comfortable, as if he lived there his whole life.

And no one can blame you that your first reaction was to scream, scream for your life, while the book falls from your hand, you were in complete shock, the vigilante waking up confused as he looks around and finds you wrapped in your pink robe looking absolutely terrified.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? How did you get into my fucking apartment?" she said frantically as tears began to well up in your eyes as you grabbed the closest thing to you, to defend yourself, which turned out to be the lamp on your nightstand.

And the man lying in your bed looks just as confused as you do, even more, his head tilted to the side, you can't see through the intimidating red helmet, but you're sure if you could, you'd see a huge question mark hanging on his face.

"What do you mean who the hell am I? Have you lost your mind, honey?" And it wasn't until his voice came out modified by the modulator that Jason realized he was still in his full uniform, including his helmet, which explained his girlfriend's complete panic upon seeing him.

"Look, my boyfriend is going to be here any minute, and he's huge and he's going to beat the hell out of you, so please leave."

The words might have been intended to be threatening, but they lost their effect almost instantly when he knew that the boyfriend she was referring to was the one lying on the bed being threatened at that moment, and also by the tears he desperately wanted to wipe from your face.

And, as Gotham is the city of the unexpected, the unexpected happens, and the huge vigilante lying on your bed starts laughing, but not a threatening laugh, or a shy little giggle, he starts to really laugh, the kind of laugh that you throw your head back for laughing so hard, while slowly removing the helmet from his head.

And when your beloved boyfriend reveals himself, the lamp in your hand slowly lowers as your lips part in pure shock.

"Jason? What the hell is going on right now?"

She said while still holding the lamp, and looked at him more confused than ever, and the once scary and threatening vigilante stands up and wraps you in a hug, while you remain in complete shock.

"Did you have any intention to tell me about this at some point?"

Your mind, still recovering from the shock, manages to elaborate and ask, while you return the hug, as tight as you can, still shaking from finding out that your boyfriend is the fucking Red Hood.

"Honey, I'm so sorry, I swear I was going to tell you, I just didn't know if you were going to be ready to hear it, and if you would still be with me after you found out."

"If you would still see me the same way, you would love me the same way"

And now your shock is for a completely different reason, as you pull away from his embrace softly, your brows furrowed in pure indignation.

"Are you kidding me right now? Jason I would love you and be with you even if you were the fucking Batman."

And a comforting smile appears on your face, as you, on your tiptoes, hold his face in your hands as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and for you, he was.

"Jay, I love you regardless of any of this, if you're a secret vigilante at night, your secrets or anything else, because I love you for who you are and I need you to know that."

And now the bright tears in your eyes were for a completely different reason, you just didn't expect him to think that way, when right there in front of you is the man you loved the most in the world.

"God, what did I do to deserve someone like you?" he murmurs into your hair as you're wrapped around each other, you guiding him towards the comfortable bed.

"I ask myself that every day, Jay."

And now, with no secrets and curled up comfortably in each other, as it should be, he whispers to you.

"About that Batman thing, we need to talk."

[beardedjoel]

💗🎉💗CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MILESTONE!💗🎉💗

I’m so happy for you! I found you through Closer, and I couldn’t be happier about it. You’re an amazing writer and such a lovely person!

I’m wondering… what about one of these?🌹the prompt number 1. I love your writing and I cannot stop myself from asking. Perhaps with Joel, or Frankie, or Pero…I’m not picky, I’ll be happy with whatever the inspiration leads you.

Alsooooo… Is it too much if I add a little bit of 💌? I’m curious about your writing process. How do you do it? Is it linear, or do you jump around, and later “paste it”?

wym, you're so sweet and i love sharing this space with you my friend 😘 thank you for sending in this prompt and allowing me to do something special with it. thanks for your patience as i have been painstakingly slow with making my way through this backlog of requests! i'll answer your thoughtful writing question at the very bottom of the post after the one shot, if that's alright!

axel and ember — joel x f!reader

request: "overwhelmed, but happy crying during sex". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! i decided to use this one for something very personal to me. as someone who has dealt with vaginismus, this was challenging to write the last few days but it felt like the right direction for me to go in with this prompt. in no way does this describe the experience every person with vaginismus has (nor 100% true to mine), and it is a lot of hard work to help your body and mind learn to work with the sexual obstacles that come with it. i simplified things for the purpose of this story but still found it really gratifying to write so much from personal experience and feelings that i have dealt with. i highly encourage anyone who has not heard of vaginismus to do a little research as it's something that many, many women deal with in silence or is ignored as much of women's sexual health is. happy reading 💓

wc: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has vaginismus, unprotected piv

“Maybe… maybe it just doesn’t fit.”

You’d said the words, exasperated after trying for the third time that week.

“I don’t think that’s how that works, darlin’,” Joel teases the words playfully, his hair hanging down into his face as he holds himself perched above you. His smile brusquely fades when he sees that you’re genuinely upset. Some days, it hadn’t been that big of a deal, you’d been able to shrug off the frustration. Today, however, you felt frayed and emotional, pissed off that your body couldn’t just behave like a normal body should. It’s infuriating, living in a body that won’t cooperate with your mind, seeing others do with ease what you never could. What you could only have as a fantasy. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” He leans down, kissing you softly before moving from where he’d been stationed on top of you to lay at your side.

Another dream of finally having sex with your boyfriend tonight slipped away in an instant. 

“What if I try the dilators again?” you ask desperately, meeting Joel’s gaze. His warm eyes look back at yours with empathy, and he shrugs.

“If y’want. But maybe you should jus’ rest. We already had our fun, yeah?”

He’d gotten you off, you’d gotten him off. Fingers and tongues and mouths, which admittedly were great, but you craved to know what more of him felt like, more than just the one, sometimes two fingers you could handle without soon wincing in discomfort.

You wanted him inside of you, wanted your bodies joined in the way that you were so cruelly being denied by the universe.

“N-no, you’re right. It was fun.” You flash him a somewhat forced smile, grateful for his patience and love when he wraps his arms around you. Joel had been such a constant with you, so wonderful, and that only made it hurt more that you couldn’t give him this. He’d never pressured you, never made you feel at fault these last five months you’d been dating. In some ways, it had brought you closer, not being able to rush into sex, but it didn’t mean that he’d stick around forever if it meant he couldn’t get the one thing you know men always want.

“We’re gonna get it one of these days,” he reassures you, stroking your hair. “You’re workin’ hard at your sessions and here at home. Don’t tell you enough that I think it’s great, seein’ you tryin’ all of that. But don’t do it for me, okay? Do it ‘cause it’s what you want.”

You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded. You were of course doing all of this work for yourself, so that you could freely enjoy something that should come so naturally to your body. Yet you knew that deep down the pressure was mounting, wanting to give Joel the sexual satisfaction you assumed he craved, something that your hands and mouth couldn’t give him. It was putting up a block between you and your sexuality, making each interaction that much more strained and distressing. You’re surprised Joel caught on to all of that when you’d been trying to put on a brave face for him. 

“I - I know,” you concede with a sigh. “I’m afraid sometimes. That I’ll never be enough without this piece of me.”

Joel’s deep set brow furrows further, looking hurt - for you or for himself, you can’t quite tell. His lips set into a firm line before they part, readying to speak. “I think you’re pretty damn amazing the way that y’are. I want that for us, ‘course I do. But I’d rather jus’ have you, whatever, however you are.”

“You would?” you ask sentimentally, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You laugh slightly, wiping under your eyes, knowing your question is ridiculous but still needing that extra validation that he’s sure. That he’s okay continuing to try this with you, even if it never results in anything. 

“Yes, silly. Why do you think I’ve kept you around all this time?” 

“‘Cause I find us all the good TV shows to watch?”

He laughs, his burly chest shaking with it. “Quit bein’ a pest, I’m tryin’ to be serious with you,” he quips back, trying and failing to hold back his chuckle.

“I know. I know what you’re saying, Joel. I -“ You swallow, your face falling, pulled back into the seriousness of the moment. “I appreciate you. So, so much.” You reach and wrap your arms tightly around him. You relish in the feeling of being close to him, your naked bodies melding together, the heater-like quality of Joel always comforting to you. 

“You’re all the good in this relationship, baby.”

“Who’s being a pest now?” You flick his chest, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter again, giddy at the late hour and the tax of this evening leaving you emotionally spent.

The voice deep inside your mind taunts you as you slowly listen to Joel falling asleep next to you, his breath falling to a rhythmic pattern interlaced with tiny, endearing snores. You hold back tears that come in the dark, feeling so small and alone in this moment, knowing that despite his reassurances, he could never truly understand how this feels for you.

The next few weeks go by with much of the same - you’re busy with life, work, friends, and going to your physical therapy sessions. It was awkward at first all those months ago, laying there bare underneath the sheet while a woman practically had half her hand inside of you, but you got used to it, even started to look forward to hearing about her life and her kids. 

You and Joel try a few more times to no avail, your body once seeming to have a breakthrough before promptly making you inhale sharply in pain, shaking your head dejectedly. 

You try to let it go, let all of it go. Learn that life doesn’t surround this, it simply can’t if you don’t want this pressure, this hole in your heart that you think you need to fill, to eat you alive. This cannot mean that you’re broken, that nobody could want to be with someone born with their factory settings just a little bit off. 

You see it on Joel’s face and in his demeanor, proudly taking note of the change within you. You start to pounce on him every chance you get, fueled by trying to feed this new, insatiable mental freedom you’ve allowed yourself. If you couldn’t have the sex you were dreaming of just yet, you figured that in the meantime you may as well make the sex you are having something new to dream about.

Joel, as predicted, is highly receptive to your new outlook, hands and lips all over you more often than not the second you step through his door to spend the night with him. You find yourself laughing with him when you’re being intimate instead of focusing on that pit in your stomach that worries if this time could finally be the time. You’ve done away with taking it far too seriously to even enjoy when your gracious boyfriend is buried between your legs like it’s his favorite thing. Now, you can appreciate all of it for what it is - a way to connect with Joel, to share something special and fun and sexy together.

You lie in bed with Joel this evening, cackling as you two take turns narrating excerpts from a friend’s most recent read in the romance department that she’d lent you. For inspiration, she’d teased, saying it might help your mind and body become more open to connecting with one another on the topic of sex. You’d taken it with a grain of salt but now it was the evening's top entertainment. You had to admit that she had a point - it did feel nice to read about characters that were so sexually open that anything seemed possible for them.

“The people in these books are unreal,” you manage to get out through your laughter, wiping the stream of tears that coats your cheeks. Joel wipes at the corners of his own eyes, still chuckling.

“Wouldn’t mind givin’ some of these a try one of these days, bet you’d be sexy flipped upside down or whatever the hell they were doin’,” Joel says, propped up on his elbow, his handsome eyes smoldering in your direction. The implication that many of the acts the fictional couple are doing involves things that your body hasn’t been cooperating enough to even go near makes you stiffen for a moment. Maybe a month ago, the comment would have wrecked you, sent you spiraling or feeling self conscious about this perceived insufficiency of yours, but now you let it slide right off your back.

You scrunch your nose at him, letting it fall into a sly smile as he flicks his eyes over you in appreciation. “Shush,” you tease. “We need to find out what happens next to… whatever their names are.” This had all been in good fun, and their names seemed secondary to the juicy details of their sex lives. 

“Axel and Ember.” Joel cuts in, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You deadpan. “Right… Someone has been paying attention.”

“Go on, then…” Joel insists with sass, his hand motioning expectantly to the open book in your lap. You smirk before focusing on the page and continuing where you left off. You two read until both of your eyelids get heavy, the words muttered slower and slower, your bodies buzzing hotly with arousal from the content yet far too tired to do anything to make a move on the other person. 

“Tomorrow,” Joel utters in your ear just as you’re moving into that cozy, floaty, drifting sensation before it all goes black. “Tomorrow I’m gonna Axel your ass into oblivion.”

You’re awoken by a kiss, feather light upon your lips. Your lids flutter open to see Joel, his scruffy beard and unbearably cute bed head up close and personal with you. It’s barely light out, the room bathed in the pale blue glow that comes right before dawn. Your skimpy camisole strap has slid off your shoulder, the entire thing askew and leaving one of your tits bared to him. Joel’s eyes seem to be glued there before flicking back and forth between your now perky nipple and your face. His lips close around it, gently sucking, and you writhe, your body turning towards his.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he mutters against your hot skin, breath ghosting over your sensitive nipple. You shudder, your skin prickling with anticipation, the space between your thighs desperately empty. Going to bed so unsatisfied seemed to have done a number on the both of you as you’re now acutely aware Joel pressing up against you, his cock already hard and leaking.

“Joel…” you whine, hips bucking towards him.

He dives in, his lips devouring yours, shifting his body to straddle yours, grasping the sides of your face in his hands. His tongue laps into your mouth and you arch your back into the way his hips start to grind into yours, burning desire low in your belly. You’re already so damn wet from his teasing, more than you’ve ever been, built up longing spilling over from last night.

“I… want to try right now,” you finally manage to gasp out as his lips separate from yours for a brief second. He pauses, looking down at you, his heavy lidded eyes sincere as they dance over your features.

“You sure? It’s okay if we jus’ -”

“No. I’m sure,” you tell him. “I feel so good. I want to feel good with you.” Your fingers dig into his bare back, urging him on.

He only nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He places gentler kisses on your lips before moving to your neck, then down your body until he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts. Tugging those down along with your panties, he moves with certainty and care, adoring your soft skin in every place along the way. 

He touches a gentle finger to your slit, so sensitive and swollen now, and you suck in a breath.

“Holy shit. God damn, baby,” he muses with awe, fire burning in his dark eyes.

You chuckle shakily, feeling your cheeks flush as you avert your eyes shyly. “I - I know. I need you.”

“Can practically feel her puslin’,” he growls, licking his lips, desire clouding his mind.

Your cheeks only grow hotter at his dirty words, pulling your lip between your teeth. “Taking a page from Axel’s book, I see,” you tease him breathily.

“Nah. This is all Joel Miller, baby,” he replies just as he uses his whole hand to cup your slick cunt, the both of you groaning quietly. Joel starts to shimmy his briefs down, leaving him completely stripped underneath the covers with you. You wait for him to climb back on top of you, carefully removing your top and taking you in.

“Perfect.” He smiles, and you wrap your legs around his waist, a silent signal that you’re ready. Joel reaches between your bodies, bringing his cock to your cunt, lazily moving it through the folds until he’s coated in your arousal, each stroke making your hips buck, your need climbing to an unbearable level.

“Please…” you whine, feeling the emptiness inside of you, craving that full sensation you’ve been romanticizing time and time again in your mind.

“I got you, baby. No matter what. I’m right here, ‘kay?” You feel him line himself up, trying to manage your expectations as you nod for him, swallowing down your nerves. Even if it doesn’t work this time, it’ll be okay, you’ll be oka -

The tip of his cock pushes past your entrance, and you gasp, eyes going wide. You both pause, staring at each other in an optimistic, full silence, breathing heavily.

You nod again, mouth agape. “More…” you whisper softly, taking a deep breath, trying to relax your body.

Joel smiles, pressing his hips into you the tiniest bit more. He still slides in with ease, the smallest pinch subsiding when he takes a beat, then pushes a little more, repeating the process a few times. You feel the stretch, the slight burn as your body adjusts, your mind racing at the miracle that’s occurring, barely even able to register it right now.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, starting to shake. Joel leans down to kiss you, a comforting move, but it only pushes his cock in another bit, making you gasp softly at the fullness.

To your shock, when he pulls back the sensation begins to near something pleasurable. “Sorry,” he quickly spits out, his concerned stare meeting yours.

“No. It’s good. A-again. Do that again.” You start to smile in earnest, a toothy grin that you can’t help but feel spread across your face. 

“What… this?” he asks coyly, more overt with the thrust inwards as he pulls his lips into yours. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in and kissing the sensitive skin there. “You’re so wet, so fuckin’ tight, baby. You feel incredible.”

You shudder underneath him, moaning softly as his words travel right to your core, burning with a new kind of eagerness you’ve never felt before. “You feel so good,” you echo back to him as you pant.

Joel starts to move, testing the waters with slow, steady movements. You keep breathing, terrified that any minute the ball will drop or this will have been a dream or some cruel trick your body is playing on you. But the sporadic bursts of discomfort subside with each new roll of Joel’s hips, blooming into something pleasurable and sweet, pulling up from deep inside of you.

Emotion bubbles to the surface before you can even tame it, your eyes brimming with tears when Joel bottoms out inside of you, pulling back and pushing in to the hilt again. It feels good, amazing even, to be so full of him, to celebrate this victory, even if only for today.

“Shit. Sweetheart, you’re okay, right? Are you hurting?” Joel freezes when he sees your watery eyes, every muscle coiled stiffly, his face screwed up in fear.

You shake your head, fighting the urge to sob, but Joel’s faithful, genuine concern puts you over the edge. Tears spill, rolling down your cheeks in profound little streaks, every bit of your frustration and pain and anger from the last half of a year pouring out into this beautiful display of pure joy.

“I swear, I’m happy, I’m happy,” you cry out, immediately cradled in Joel’s arms.

“Good,” Joel breathes out in relief. “You’re happy, I’m the happiest fuckin’ guy in the world.”

His words make the tears flow faster, but you start to laugh amidst it all. “Stop making me cry harder!” you chastise him, hugging him tightly around the neck. 

“Joel…” you say after a long, tender embrace, the two of you soaking it in. His cock still throbs inside of you, reminding you of the pleasure you’d started to chase moments ago, lost to the emotion of the moment.

“Hm?” he asks, pulling his head from where it had been buried in the crook of your to look at you.

“Please fuck me now.”

He grins, the movement lighting up his entire face with a lusty glow before he eagerly crashes his lips with yours again. When you see his eyes again, you swear they’re a shade darker, his cheeks tinged with the color of desire. Low and gravelly, he finally speaks. 

“Grab your god damned vibrator, sweetheart.”

to answer your 💌 my writing process is a little all over the place! i used to write mostly linearly, that was what worked for me and i kind of thought of everything in order. but lately i have been doing a bit more doc hopping when i get stuck. maybe writing a later scene that i have ideas for and feel like it's more fleshed out or going back and polishing older paragraphs and such. i definitely am not a big outliner and plotter, which i'd like to get better about! but mostly everything just lives in my head and gets blobbed onto the doc once i have time to write it, which sometimes leaves things forgotten hehe

(divider by @/saradika-graphics!)

[navybrat817]

Hi Navy 👋

I wanted to send something in for ficlet friday (valentines day). I hope it's alright

Can I request something with Bucky Barnes (maybe beefy bucky) and a shy reader, where they spend valentines day in bed watching movies with cookies, cuddling and kisses and at the end, he surprises the reader, perhaps the reader wants to surprise him as well (you can choose only if you want to 🥺🙈). He is just so gentle and sweet (romantic too) 🥰🫠

With these prompts:

“You give the best hugs.” and “Have I told you I love you today?”

Please? Thank you so much 🥺❤️

Sorry, I got carried away

I hope I did this justice, lovely!

Best Hugs and Kisses

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You spend your first Valentine's Day with Bucky.

Word Count: Over 930

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, sweetness, kisses, cuddling, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You smiled as you snuggled closer to Bucky in bed. You still couldn’t believe it was your first Valentine’s Day together. He had asked you more than once if you wanted to go out to eat or go anywhere special, but you were a bit of a homebody and didn’t mind a quiet day in with cuddling, movies, and treats. You had a feeling he’d enjoy it, too, since he also didn’t mind staying in. He assured you it would be the perfect day, and it was.

You had to admit that cuddling was one of the best parts of the day. It was a perfect moment of closeness, and every little touch built an intimate connection between the two of you. The warmth that radiated from his beefy build created a sense of safety and care, and the soft sound of his breathing and occasional laughter provided a sense of calm. Time seemed to slow down, and the outside world faded away until it was just the two of you. You were completely at ease with the man you loved.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, offering you a bite of his heart shaped cookie. You graciously accepted and tried to ignore the heat that rose to your cheeks when he wiped a crumb away from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Something I think you should know.”

“What is it?” you asked curiously, tilting your head back to get a better look at your handsome boyfriend.

He broke eye contact, only because he brought his mouth to your ear. “You give the best hugs.”

You giggled, partially from his lips tickling your ear and the rest because your face felt like it was on fire. “No, I don’t. You do,” you smiled bashfully, ducking your head down.

All your life you had been a bit on the shyer side, content to stay in the background instead of being front and center. Not many took notice of you, and you still weren’t sure some days how you got Bucky’s attention, but you saw each other in the soft shadows and created your own spotlight together. One you didn't mind sharing with each other. It was a beautiful give and take.

And he really did give the best hugs, enveloping you in his loving embrace every time.

Chuckling, too, he tipped your chin back up. “Yeah, you do. And you give the best kisses.”

Butterflies filled your stomach at the soft touch of his lips, your heart melting from the tenderness. There was no rushing, only a slow and delicate pressure like the brush of a feather. When that kiss ended, he began another and another. They stretched on, neither of you wanting it to end as you shared one breath. They were the kind of kisses that dreams were made of.

He smiled as he pulled away, a soft twinkle in his steel eyes. He likely heard how fast your heart was beating and felt the tremble that moved your body. “See? The best kisses,” he said.

You hid your face in his chest. If he kept talking like that you’d turn into a puddle. But you smiled when you realized his heart was beating as fast as yours. Maybe he wasn't as bashful as you, but it was nice to know that kissing you and being close affected him, too.

“Hey, hey. No hiding,” he said, running a hand up and down your back. “I still have to give you your present.”

“You didn't have to get me anything,” you said once you lifted your head.

The super soldier’s jaw dropped. “It’s our first Valentine's Day. I'd be a rotten boyfriend if I didn't get you something.”

“You’re far from rotten, Bucky Barnes,” you smiled, both of you sitting up so he could reach for the present he had nearby. The heart wrapping paper was sweet and you imagined the cashier swooned when he bought it.

He suddenly looked nervous when he handed it over. “I hope you like it,” he said, tucking a bit of his hair behind his ear.

“I’ll love it,” you promised, carefully opening it. It didn't matter what he gave you since it came from him. “Oh, Bucky…” you whispered, tears instantly blurring your vision.

Inside of the box was a scrapbook titled “Our Love Story”. Blinking the tears away, you slowly opened it and saw a photo of the two of you. It was the first photo you had ever taken together. It was one of your happiest memories. Bucky gave you so many fond memories.

“Do you… like it?” he softly asked as you continued to flip through the pages.

“I love it. Thank you,” you answered in awe. It had how you met, your first date, places you visited, your bucket list, and more. There were blank pages in the back to fill up together, too. It was such a thoughtful, touching gift. “Have I told you I love you today?”

“You have, but I’d love to hear it again,” he winked, pleased that you loved your gift.

You held his face in your hands, not shying away when his eyes met yours. “I love you, Bucky,” you whispered.

His eyes slipped shut, briefly overcome with emotion. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered back.

“Now time for your gift,” you smiled, but he stopped you before you could pull away.

“Later,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you as you giggled. “Right now I want one more of those best kisses.”

You'd give him all the kisses he wanted, today and every day.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist �� Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[darksturnz]

── ⋮ ⌗ “BERRY MUCH. . .” ⟢ DAD.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

happy valentine’s day my sweet loves <3 i hope your day is full of kindness, love n gentle smiles. feeling a bit sappy today so here’s some corny corny fluff. all creds for dad!matt au to @mattscoquette

The first thing you register is the light—a little too bright for how early it should be.

Frowning, you stir beneath the covers, slowly stretching as sleep clings to you like a second skin. Something isn’t right. Normally, you’d wake to the sound of Matt shuffling out of bed, or the soft babbling of Leylani as he brought her in for morning cuddles.

But now? Silence.

Your stomach twists slightly as you rub the sleep from your eyes and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The nursery. Maybe they’re both still in there.

Padding barefoot down the hall, you push the door open, only to find an empty crib.

Okay…so now the panic sets in.

You don’t even think—you just move, your feet quick against the wooden stairs as your heart pounds. The moment you reach the main floor, you exhale sharply, relief washing over you at the sight before you.

Leylani is fast asleep in her swing, chubby little fingers curled into loose fists, her small lips rising and falling with each little breath. The swing hums a soft lullaby, its gentle sway keeping her in deep sleep.

And then there’s Matt.

Sweet, sleep-deprived Matt, hunched over the stove like an overly stressed single mother, a burp rag draped over his shoulder, his free hand perched on his hip as he sways lightly from side to side.

The sight nearly makes you burst out laughing.

Then you notice the AirPods, grinning to yourself, you creep closer and poke his waist.

Matt jumps, spinning around so fast that he nearly knocks over the pan. His expression is wide-eyed, panicked, and—to your utter delight—he wields a spatula like a weapon, as if preparing to defend his scrambled eggs from an intruder.

It’s too much. You lose it.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it, and Matt, realizing what just happened, exhales dramatically, yanking out his AirPods. “Jesus Christ, woman! What is wrong with you?”

You giggle harder. “I—nothing—oh my god—”

“You’re sick,” he mutters, though his lips twitch upward as he sets the spatula down.

You step closer, winding your arms around his waist, still grinning. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

At that, he softens instantly. His arms come around you, pulling you against him as he presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your lips—slow, warm, and sleepily sweet.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

You hum against his mouth before pulling back, glancing at the stove. “What exactly are you doing?”

At that, Matt sighs dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I was trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He gestures vaguely toward the counter, where a tray is set up—coffee, eggs, toast, and a little bowl of cut-up fruit. “I had this whole plan, but uh… Ley had other ideas.”

You raise a brow, prompting him to continue.

“She didn’t fall back asleep until, like, six,” he groans. “And then the freakin’ DoorDasher showed up way too early and woke her up again, and she got all fussy. By the time I finally got her back down, I clearly didn’t have enough time.”

Your heart melts at the sheer defeat in his voice.

“Matt,” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I wanted to.” His hands settle on your waist, fingers tracing absentminded patterns through your shirt. “I mean, it’s our first Valentine’s as parents. Figured I should do something special.”

Your chest tightens, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. “You already do so much for us,” you say softly. “You being here—being you—that’s already special.”

He exhales, leaning into your touch. “Yeah, well…” His eyes flick toward the counter again. “There’s something else, too, it’s kinda silly.”

Before you can ask, he steps away and grabs something off the side. When he turns back around, he’s holding a small canvas.

Your breath catches the moment you see it.

It’s a tiny, painted strawberry. But as you look closer, you realize—it’s made from Leylani’s footprints.

Beneath it, in Matt’s careful, slightly messy handwriting, are the words:

“I love you berry much, Mommy!”

Your throat tightens.

“Matt…” Your voice wobbles, your fingers ghosting over the dried paint.

“I saw something like that online,” he murmurs, suddenly shy. “And I dunno, I thought it was cute. So, uh… I got the stuff and did it last night while you were sleeping.”

Tears prick at your eyes.

Matt immediately panics. “Oh, shit—wait, don’t cry—”

A watery laugh bubbles out of you as you clutch the little canvas to your chest. “I love it,” you whisper.

His shoulders slump with relief. “Yeah?”

You nod, stepping forward to kiss him, slow and deep.

“Yeah.”

Matt melts into the kiss instantly, his hands settling on your waist as if he never wants to let go. It’s slow, lazy, and filled with so much warmth that you almost forget about the breakfast he painstakingly tried to prepare.

When you finally pull back, his forehead presses against yours, his eyes still fluttered shut like he’s savoring the moment. “So you really like it?” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

You smile, running your fingers through the mess of his hair. “I love it, Matt.” You pull back just enough to glance down at the canvas again, a soft laugh escaping you as you trace the tiny footprints. “I mean, look at this. Her little feet—oh my god.”

He chuckles, watching the way you admire it like it’s the greatest masterpiece ever created. “Yeah, she wasn’t too thrilled about the paint. Kinda made a mess. There’s still some on the back of her neck—I couldn’t get it all off.”

Your laughter deepens. “Matt, how does one even get paint on the back of their neck from a footprint project?”

Matt shrugs. “I dunno, man. She’s creative like that.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is so full it might burst.

Still clutching the painting to your chest, you glance over at Leylani, her tiny chest rising and falling in deep sleep. “She looks so peaceful,” you whisper.

Matt follows your gaze, something unbelievably soft settling into his expression. “She had a rough morning,” he says, but there’s no complaint in his voice—just adoration, just love.

Your throat tightens again, because how did you get so lucky?

You look back at Matt, taking in every sleepy, disheveled detail—his wrinkled T-shirt, the dirty burp rag still draped over his shoulder, the stubble darkening his jaw that he clearly didn’t have time to shave. He looks so tired, but he also looks so unbelievably beautiful, standing there in the early morning light, having sacrificed his entire night just so you could rest.

And he’s still here, still showing up, still loving you in ways that leave you breathless.

You reach up, cupping his face again, your thumbs brushing over the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “You’re such a good dad,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt’s breath catches.

His eyes soften in a way that makes your chest ache. “Yeah?” he asks, like he needs to hear it again, like he needs it tattooed into his skin.

You nod. “The absolute best.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something—maybe something too big for words—but instead, he just leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips. It’s not rushed, not hurried, just pure love wrapped up in the soft press of his mouth against yours.

When he pulls back, his hands slide down to your waist, tugging you just a little closer. “So…” he starts, a lopsided smile creeping in, “does this mean you’re officially accepting my botched Valentine’s Day surprise?”

You laugh, leaning into him. “I think this might be my favorite Valentine’s Day ever.”

His grin stretches, but then his stomach rumbles loudly between you, and you both freeze before bursting into quiet laughter.

Matt groans dramatically, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “God, I’m starving,” he mumbles into your shirt.

You giggle, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, I was about to be served breakfast in bed, so…”

He scoffs, pulling back with an amused look. “You still can be. I’ll just, y’know, reheat everything and pretend it was fresh.”

You snort. “How romantic.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “I do try.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin before standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “How about we eat in here?” You glance toward the couch. “So we don’t have to wake up ley up.”

Matt’s eyes practically twinkle. “Sounds perfect.”

And it is.

Because as you sit together, plates balanced on your laps, feet tangled beneath the couch, stealing soft kisses between bites of slightly cold eggs and toast, you realize—this is love. Not the grand, extravagant gestures. Not the fancy dinner reservations or diamond jewelry.

This.

A quiet morning. The smell of scrambled eggs. The weight of Matt’s arm draped lazily around your shoulders. The soft sounds of your baby’s swing, lulling her into dreams.

And a tiny, precious footprint strawberry. 

The best Valentine’s Day ever.

authors note: i’m a sucker for corny valentines idc

👥: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @sturniqlo @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696 @courta13 @vanteguccir @whore4mattsturniolo @ellbowmacaroni @meerkatzthings @sturnsrecord @wildfluer @delilahsturns

[kxtsukixoxo]

hiiiii just wondering if i can submit a valentine’s day event req :’))

“so eager, so desperate for me… a little pathetic, don't you think?”” w katsuki and a bratty whiny reader

authors note - I WROTE THIS AND COMPLETELY MISSED THE BRATTY WHINY READER PART. IM SOSOSOSOS SORRY OMG

here’s the valentine’s day event, there’s still prompts available!! ⊹. warnings - nsfw content

you signed up for the late worry-filled nights, when you decided to date katsuki, he was a pro hero after all. katsuki would  tip-toe into the apartment, mindful to not wake you up from your deep slumber. but today was different, you waited up for him, no matter how late he’d come home, you were determined.

the two of you barely spent time together recently, katsuki would leave, before you in the morning, and you were home before him, tired and ready to take a nap, before you’d nap, you’d make his lunch for him to take to work the next morning, with a little note attached to it, expressing your love for the blondehead, katsuki would come home to your sleeping figure and smile to himself, placing a kiss to your forehead and cuddling you in your sleep, the only time you two had together, would be his day-offs or the weekends if you were lucky.

in short, you needed attention. you needed katsuki to make up for his two weeks of physical absence in your life. 

the door knob turned quietly and attentively, as katsuki stepped in, making sure he wasn’t too loud, to his surprise, you were on the couch reading some sort of article, the headlines highlighting Dynamights recent co-operation with the police in a drug bust.

katsuki loosened his gauntlets, as they fell to the floor with a thud, he walked towards you breathing heavily, placing a kiss on your cheek,

“hey baby” you whispered as your foreheads touched,

“you’re up late, something keeping you up?” he chuckled as he walked into the bedroom you two shared,

“nothinnn’ jus missed you” you walked to the bedroom, as you heard rustling him rustling through his closet,

“oh yeah?” katsuki walked out in his usual black vest, and grey sweatpants, sliding his hands around your waist,

“mhmmmm” your finger touched his lips, as the both of you gazed into each others eyes, katsukis lips touched yours gently as you fell into his embrace.

“need you, kats..” you whispered as you felt him smile against your lips

“yeah? what do ya need baby?” your legs wrapped around him instinctively as he carried you towards the bed the both of you shared,  

“beg for me hm?”

your eyes widened with surprise, you always got what you wanted from katsuki, you had him wrapped around your fingers, “please kats-“ you groaned impatiently “need you to fill me up-“.  

“you’re so eager and desperate for me, little pathetic don’t ya think?”

he grunted as he yanked your shorts down as he pushed your underwear aside with two fingers, shoving them into you, as your back arched while he stretched you wide with just his fingers, “you’re squeezin me babe” he chuckled as you whimpered, rocking your hips “god, i missed this” he huffed out as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

you gripped his shoulders for support, as his fingers curled inside you, “you’re so fuckin’ wet for me hm” he pressed his thumb against your clit, causing you to throw your head back, moans spilling out of you, swiftly. your nails dug into his shoulders, “atta girl, you’re doing so good for me” that was enough to set you off, orgasming on katsuki’s fingers, his eyes never left yours as he pulled his fingers out, licking them thoroughly. his sweatpants fell to the ground with a thud as he lined his cock with your overstimulated cunt, katsuki let out a guttural moan as he slammed into you, “fuck you’re so right for me-“

you trembled beneath him, and katsuki loved it. you rolled your hips, his grip on you tightened as he picked up his pace, “i’ll fuck you so good tonight you’ll be missing me every second you’re away from me-“ katsuki’s chest heaved as he panted heavily, watching you with lust-filled eyes, he kept a rhythmically-fast pace as he bounced you on his cock,

the sound of skin plapping against skin, drowning inbetween the sounds of your moans and katsuki’s panting, “you feel so fuckn’ good baby” he dipped down, placing a kiss against your lips, as your noses brushed against each other while he pounded relentlessly into you. “kats- close-“ you whined as he held you tightly

“cmon baby, show me what this pretty cunt can do” your hands slid down his back, leaving scratches, katsuki fucked you through your orgasm relentlessly, the type of way that could get you addicted to the feel of it, wanting it every day of your life, fucking hell, you could do this for breakfast, lunch and supper instead, you’re filling your guts either way. “atta girl, cum for me” your walls clenched around him as his thrusts began to lose the rhythm they once had “fuckfuckfuckfuckkkk” katsuki fell to the bed, placing you ontop of him, capturing you into a messy kiss 

“missed ya so much baby” 

[lsunstreakerl]

for kink prompt...SH!verse, the possessive jealous threesome that never was with max charles + lewis. either it actually happening or max riling charles up by talking about it 😎

1.9k words because they spend too much time yapping. kink prompt fill! SH lestappen and the threesome that never was. explicit, obviously.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen, (in spirit) lewis hamilton/charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: slight feminization? in a little bit of a derogatory way but that's more so a thing Max isn't willing to admit he likes. I think the most outrageous thing here is charles taking a picture without asking (but it doesn't go anywhere except the private folder on his phone)

"Max, are you mad at me?"

Max is currently firmly on his side of the bed, trying very hard not to be mad at Charles.

It's not even anger, it's just-

"No."

Charles sighs, half rolling over to drape an arm across his waist.

"I don't believe you."

Three points to Charles, because despite how he's behaving, apparently he isn't an idiot.

"That is because I am lying."

There's a beat of silence. Charles is clearly giving him space to elaborate, and Max is very clearly not interested in elaborating, because it's stupid.

Charles grips his waist and rolls them, settling them so that Max is facing him, even though he's avoiding eye contact.

"Chéri- I cannot fix it if you don't talk to me."

Max frowns.

"I thought you'd be more interested in talking to Lewis."

Charles makes a face like he's swallowed a lemon, and it's the closest to unattractive Max has ever seen him, which makes him feel slightly better.

"What?"

Well, Max has already gone and stuck his foot in his mouth, why not make it worse.

"Since you two have been so cozy lately."

The root of the problem here is that Max is acting like a jealous, bitchy WAG. Ferrari had done some dumb clothing collaboration for the winter, and it had involved Charles and Lewis and a fucking log cabin. With one bed.

"Max, what are you-"

Max tries to roll back over, but Charles snags him around the waist, pulling him back in. Max ducks his head down, catches his teeth around the edge of Charles' collarbone and nips.

"Ow- Max. What do you mean by that?"

Max keeps his head down.

"Your stupid winter ad went out today, and everyone on the internet is talking about how you are both 'so boyfriend coded' and it is stupid."

Charles is quiet for a moment, and Max is sure he's coming up with some kind of apology, appropriately dramatic for the situation.

Charles laughs.

Max practically gives himself whiplash yanking his head back, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry- Max, baby, I am sorry, really, it is just-"

Max groans and rolls away. Yes, it's stupid. Yes, he knows. Yes, Charles would rather step on a slobbery dog toy than get in bed with Lewis. Still.

"Chéri, come back-"

Charles can barely speak through his laughter, and Max flips him off as he stalks out of the bedroom.

Stupid boyfriend. He turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder in a parting shot.

"Maybe I should go dig up the tweets from 2021, where everyone was talking about how Lewis bends me over after every race- see how you feel then."

The laughter abruptly cuts off, and Max has to fight not to choke on his own sudden giggle.

He turns to poke his head back through the doorway, and Charles is sitting up, duvet pooled around his waist, eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry, what tweets?"

Oh- oh Charles doesn't know.

Max can't stop the smug grin playing at his lips as he tugs his phone out of his pocket.

"You did not see them? It was practically every weekend Charlie, all these accounts saying Lewis puts me in my place after every race, or that I was just being bratty- Lando sent me one that called Lewis my dom once-"

Max lights up, delighted at the way Charles' face has gone shadowy. This whole thing could have been avoided if he'd just apologized.

"I mean, really- if everyone thought he and I were fucking, and now you and him are fucking, we should just invite him in, see if he fucks as good as his reputation."

"Max."

Charles' voice is dark, and Max freezes. When he looks up, Charles' eyes are locked onto his, and they don't waver as he speaks.

"Leave your phone on the counter, and then you're coming back to bed."

Max hadn't intended to make Charles act like... this.

He's not complaining. He drops his phone off on the dresser before making his way back onto the bed, and his knee has barely hit the mattress before Charles is manhandling him, laying him out flat with his wrists pinned above him.

"You can still apologize for that, and we can pretend it didn't happen."

Max is not fucking apologizing, if anything Charles needs to apologize, for doing such a stupid photoshoot.

He raises his chin.

"Maybe you want him on the phone to hear it also? I can moan his name very easily as well, want to hear-"

Charles grips his jaw hard, bringing his teeth down into the meat of Max's shoulder, and Max gasps, jerks at his hands, but Charles keeps them held firm.

"Don't be a whore, Max."

Max hates how those words, in that tone, is rapidly making him hard, pressing his hips up into Charles.

"You really think you would want Lewis here? You want him to see you beg for fingers, start crying on my cock? You want him to see how desperate you get to be full, the way you fall apart if I don't give you something when I'm done?"

Max tilts his head back, because Charles' tone is dark, and he's still holding his jaw in his hand, but Max is grinning.

"Maybe he would fuck me better. Maybe he would not tease, maybe he would not even-"

Charles shoves three fingers into his mouth and Max gags, knows he's dug his own grave.

"What if I said you were right? What if I called him right now, left the phone next to you on the pillow and edged you all night?"

Charles scoffs, pulling his fingers out and wrestling Max's shorts off, pressing his thighs apart, and Max moans.

"You- you would not, you get too impatient to get your dick in me-"

Charles presses his thumb meanly into the tip of Max's cock, and Max jerks underneath him.

"Fuck, you're as wet as a girl, aren't you baby? You want it that bad? You really are a whore, if this is all it takes."

Max twists underneath him, thighs flexing.

"No- no, it is not-"

"Right, of course not. You'd probably love if I called him over, let him see you fucked out and messy. Maybe I'd let him have my sloppy seconds when I'm done with you, yes?"

Max's face is violently red, and he didn't mean for any of this, the way he's so hard it hurts, the way Charles isn't fucking stretching him, the way his words are ringing in his ears.

He opens his mouth to respond, but Charles flicks his wrist again, and Max's head flies back into the pillowcase.

"Charlie,"

Charles continues talking over him, like Max hadn't said anything at all.

"He seems like a tits guy, and you've got plenty."

"They're not-"

Max hates when Charles calls them... that. It makes something in his gut churn, makes him feel hot. He squirms underneath Charles, wants to hide his face or have his hands back, but Charles doesn't give him the option.

Charles laughs at him again, lowers his head around one of Max's pecs and bites, and Max's hips jerk up off the bed, legs wrapping around Charles as tears bead at his eyes.

"Hurts, Charles please, please I didn't mean it-"

Charles lets go, bringing his head back up to kiss Max, wet and filthy and messy.

"I thought you wanted Lewis, no?"

Max bites at Charles' lower lip, pulling him in with his legs to grind against him.

"You- I want you, fuck me, please."

Charles squeezes his wrists together for a moment, grinning against his skin.

"See, I would, but-"

He presses Max back into the mattress, sucking hickies into his throat where they'll be impossible to hide.

"-you are being a brat."

Max moans, half out of desperation and half out of frustration, fruitlessly grinding his hips up for friction. It's not enough.

"Please, I was-"

Charles squeezes at the base of Max's cock, long fingers wrapped around him, and Max could cry. He's not getting fucked tonight. He'll be lucky if he gets off at all.

Charles must be able to see the resignation on his face, and he laughs at him as he brushes his fingers across Max's tip- gets them wet and sticky before bringing them back up to his lips.

"Suck."

Max lets his mouth drop open, and he's trying not to cry around Charles' fingers, even as he can feel Charles rutting against his hip, because it's not fair-

Charles tenses, groaning as his fingers press deep into Max's mouth, grazing the back of his throat. Max gags, feels sticky and wet and hot, and he's not going to come tonight, but Charles still looks so pretty above him.

He's still trying to swallow down the excess saliva when Charles pulls his fingers out, wiping them against Max's cheek.

Charles leans over him, grabbing his phone off the dresser before sitting back on his heels, and Max is still so pent up, so close to coming he really thinks all it would take it just a bit of pressure.

Max doesn't realize for a second until he hears the shutter noise, and then it hits him- Charles has taken a picture of him, debauched and messy, desperate and wanting.

"Oh, oh don't send that-"

Charles huffs a laugh, tossing the phone down by Max as he lets go of his wrists.

"If you want to get off so bad you can call Lewis and beg him."

Max whimpers, because he doesn't fucking want Lewis, he wants Charles.

"You, just you, I only want-"

Charles brushes his fingers lightly against Max's hip, so close to where he wants him, but not close enough.

"That's right."

"Please."

Charles grins down at him, gorgeous and beautiful and terribly mean.

"You can beg prettier than that."

Max feels tears sliding down his cheeks, and he's so close, he might even get there just by Charles taking that humiliating tone with him.

"Please, please get me off, please let me come, only you- I never wanted anyone else, just for you, Charles please-"

"There we go."

Charles finally wraps his fingers back around Max's cock, and Max sobs, gasping as Charles jerks his wrist, and then he's done, feels his own come painting stripes across his stomach, trembling underneath Charles' hands.

"That's it, there you are."

Charles carefully strokes him through it, letting go right before it tips into overstimulation, leaning down to gently kiss Max.

"You were so good for me, you are so beautiful like this, I love you."

Max steadies his breathing, tugs Charles into him to hide his face in his neck.

"Thank you, thank you, I'm sorry-"

Charles presses a kiss into his hair.

"Nothing to be sorry for, unless you actually want Lewis in the bedroom."

The post-nut clarity is starting to hit, and Max recoils slightly.

"Eugh-"

Charles bursts into laughter, peppering kisses on Max's face and cheeks, dropping one on his nose.

"So now it is not okay? You are ridiculous, did you know that?"

Max turns his nose up, avoiding eye contact.

"I of course do not know what you're talking about. I was very mature about the whole thing."

Charles squawks, looking affronted.

"This whole thing started because of you-"

Max is going to pretend he doesn't know what he's talking about.

[oncasette]

heyyyy long time no see BUT could you do sailor song w rafayel for the song prompts?? much love 🪷

idk if this fits the song, but it's what came to mind. thanks for the request xx

For as long as you'd known Rafayel, you don't think you'd ever seen him so tense. Or, not tense. Contemplative, maybe. In his head.

He'd always been quick with his tongue, charismatic, teasing to a fault. Even when he was pouting, his lips seemed to form a smile just as easy, just as quick. Now, though, his brow is sewn tight and his jaw is clenched. The brush in his grip is moments away from splintering and cracking, his eyes are a hazy mix of indigo and mulberry. Watching him from the couch in his studio, you can see the tension rolling off of him in waves. Each stroke against the canvas reads violent—deep onyx and carmine marring the bleached underpainting.

His teeth clack together as he drops the paintbrush in the cup with a grunt. You'd let him stew in his "artistic frustration" for a couple of hours, now, but you figured it was a good time to try and bring him back down.

His muscles tighten as you wrap yourself around his back, joining your hands around his middle. Sea salt tinges your nostrils as you nose the nape of his neck. A kiss follows, then a trail that leads across his paint-stained shoulders. He bristles, but he lets you do as you please. Slowly, he starts to melt back into you.

"You okay?" you ask. He nods, still eyeing the piece in front of him cautiously. It's still in its early stages. You can't make out what the shapes and colors mean, just yet, but in time you're sure it'll stun you just like the others. A memory twinkles in the back of your mind. Cold, dark, blood-red and fiery night. Before you have a chance to fully grasp it, Rafayel is turning in your hold.

Hands find the curve of your jaw, tilting your eyes to his and bringing his forehead to press against yours. It's only a whisper of a breath, a brush of his lips, before he's sealing his mouth to yours and stealing all the air out of the room. One hand slides to your hip to pull you in tighter, pressing you firmly against his body. He kisses you like he's drowning, like you're the only thing tethering him to the buoy at the top of the water, like you're floating away and he can only stay afloat if he holds you tighter than the current.

You only break when your lungs start to burn.

"Raf?" you pant.

"Pomegranate," he mumbles, licking his lips.

"What?"

"You taste like pomegranate today," he says again, running the tip of his nose against yours.

"Is that a good thing?" you ask. He shrugs. The heel of his hand digs into the small of your back.

"Anything's good as long as it's you."

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (14/28)

today's @bucktommyfluffebruary prompt, fittingly, is valentine's day. my fill is here

not me getting my valentine's is a scam agenda all over a fluff prompt. come back, come back, i promise it's still sweet! there's even a hint of spice at the end. tumblr version below.

At the other end of the couch, Tommy looks comfortable in Buck's space, relaxed in a way Buck's only now realizing was unfamiliar to him on their first go around. He doesn't want to rock the boat, but a question has been gnawing at him. He snags the remote and pauses the documentary that's playing on the TV, causing Tommy to look at him questioningly.

"What do you think of Valentine's day?" Buck asks.

Tommy frowns. "I think February was months ago."

When we were still broken up, he doesn't say, and Buck feels fond. They've talked it out so thoroughly, but he knows Tommy still feels bad about it, no matter how many times Buck promises him he doesn't have to.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he says. "I mean, the concept."

"Oh, the concept," Tommy says with a grin. "I don't know. What do you think of it?"

"Uh-uh, no uno-reverso, I asked first."

"I thought you said mutual self-disclosure was key."

Buck rolls his eyes, climbing into Tommy's lap and kissing him. Tommy's hands settle onto his waist, his eyes darkening. Never let it be said Buck doesn't know how to get what he wants from his man.

"I did say that. I also…" He pauses to drop another kiss onto Tommy's mouth, quick and brief as a blink. "...asked first."

"Okay, okay," Tommy says, his fingers curling into Buck's shirt. He pauses, considering. "The rom-com fan in me wants to like it."

"But…?"

Tommy slumps a little so they fit closer together, fiddles with the seam of Buck's sleeve.

"My dad got my mom flowers every Valentine's."

"Ah," Buck says.

"Mm-hm. Every anniversary, too. He was an asshole the rest of the year, but it's like he checked that box in his mind. 'I have done my relationship duty according to the Hallmark overlords'."

Buck scratches his fingers through the short hairs at Tommy's nape. "You love Hallmark."

"I do," Tommy admits easily. "But it's not real life. I always used to tell myself…" He trails off and tugs on one of Buck's belt loops.

"What?"

"That if I found someone to love, I'd love them all year round. Treat them right all year round."

"You do," Buck says, leaning down to kiss Tommy again, firmer this time, lingering. "You're so good to me."

Buck feels Tommy melt, tastes the sigh that escapes him.

"Yeah?" Tommy asks, like he's checking. "I'm - I'm good for you?"

Buck's ears perk up at the tone and he gives a gentle tug where he still has his hand in Tommy's hair. Sure enough, the sound Tommy makes is almost a groan this time.

"So good. Do you - " Buck swallows, presses a kiss to Tommy's cheek. They've played around with this dynamic a little more since they got back together, but it still makes Buck's head spin. "Do you want me to show you how good you are for me?"

Tommy nods, firm, breathless, and Buck grins, pulling him in for another kiss.

[chimneyz]

A Heart-Shaped Box

for the @bucktommywinterfest prompt: valentine's day rated m | words: 896 | content warning: implied sexual content on ao3

Tommy groaned as his eyes fluttered open, his bones ached from the long grueling shift from yesterday. His hand dragged across the mattress to find the other side empty, the sheets still warm. It must be late in the day, Evan was not one to get up before Tommy. The sweet smell of pancakes lingered in the air. A giddy warmth swelled in Tommy’s chest. Of course, Evan was making pancakes, Tommy’s favorite for breakfast. 

It took Tommy a while to let Evan take care of him, to do these small gestures. He was always the one taking care of others, he still wasn’t sure if he even deserved to be taken care of. Tommy was working on it, being kinder to himself, but it was a struggle. He was forever grateful for Evan being by his side, showing him he was deserving of love, that he was worth it. 

Tommy’s ears perked up with the creek by the doorway of the bedroom, his head popped up from his pillow, his hair unruly, still a bit groggy. Evan’s bright smile grew as his head popped through the doorway.

“Good morning sleepy head,” Evan beamed.

“Mornin’,” Tommy mumbled happily.

“I-I’ll be right back,” Evan giggled, “Let me grab your breakfast ok?”

Tommy sleepily nodded.

He nestled his head back on the pillow, listening to Evan’s footsteps growing further and further away. As much as Tommy was a romantic at heart, all he wanted to do for this Valentine's Day, was to stay home and to be with his Evan. Listening to Evan’s footsteps coming closer and closer, Tommy shifted his body upright, a yawn escaping his lips. Tommy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as Buck walked in with a tray of pancakes and tea. It was only now Tommy realized Evan was wearing nothing but his apron. 

“Evan,” Tommy giggled, “What exactly are you wearing?”

A blush spread across Evan’s cheeks, ducking his head with a bashful smile.

“Well I think you know exactly what I am wearing,” Evan smiled. He placed the tray onto Tommy’s lap, the heart-shaped chocolate chip pancakes made his mouth water, the smell of the tea filled his nose. 

“This is perfect Evan, thank you.” Tommy leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Oh, that is not all,” Evan’s eyebrows wiggled knowingly.

“Is that so?”

Evan walked out of the bedroom, his bare ass on full display, “What you think all I got you was some breakfast?”

Tommy snorted as he picked up the mug of tea. 

As Evan walked back in, Tommy’s head tilted at the sight of the heart-shaped box of chocolates in Evan’s hands.

“Isn’t it a bit early for chocolates?” 

Evan handed him the box, it was lighter than he expected. “Just open it.”

Slowly, Tommy lifted the lid to the cardboard box, to his surprise instead of chocolates it was colorful origami stars egging him on to open every single one. He looked up at Evan’s bright smile with a quizzical look in his eye, a single brown raised. 

“Unfold the stars silly,” Evan leaned in a little closer pressing his lips on top of his head. 

Tommy gently picked up a bright pink paper star, unfolding it carefully to not shred the paper to bits. He couldn’t help noticing the dopy smirk painted across Evan’s face. Once unfolded Tommy only read one word written on the paper:

Shibari

Tommy’s breath hitched, heat pooling into his face, “So is your plan to tie me up all day?”

Evan bit down on his bottom lip humming, “That is not all Tommy dearest, each star has some little surprise on what we will be doing for Valentine’s Day. I already bought new supplies… new toys for us to play with today.” 

“So we aren’t going to be leaving this room today?” Tommy knowingly tilted his head with a smile. 

“Not if we can help it,” Evan leaned in gently cupping Tommy’s face, pressing his lips against Tommy's own. 

With his body buzzing with anticipation, Tommy leaned into the kiss with a deep humming moan. The mattress moved as Evan placed his knee onto the bed inching closer to Tommy, the tray of food shaking. 

Tommy pulled away forcing a whine out of Buck’s lips. “Sweetheart, I should probably eat this, since… you know… we have a big workout ahead of us.”

Evan giggled, nodding his head, “Yeah probably would be best.” Evan leaned in close to his ear and quieter than a whisper he huffed, “Because I am going to fuck you so hard you are going to see the stars, my love.” Tommy’s spine shivered as Evan grazed his tongue along the shell of his ear. 

Tommy’s cheeks grew red speechless as he looked up at Evan, shit he would let Evan destroy him and resurrect him just to do it all over again.

“Now eat up,” Evan smirked, “We have a long day ahead of us.”

He quickly shoved the sweet pancakes into his mouth with a giddy warmth in his chest. Tommy didn't think that any other Valentine’s Day would top this. 

Little did he know that Evan’s surprise for next Valentine’s Day would be stored in a small blue velvet box with a single question along with it. A question Tommy will immediately say yes to before the question is even finished.

tag list (if you want to be added or removed please interact with this post)

@mmso-notlikethat, @buckhastwohands, @romanbridgers, @rosyhoneydew, @here-there-be-fics

@dangerouscupcakeperfection, @brokenpiecesof, @geekwarrior107, @bidisasterevankinard, @mountedeverest

@samas8, @a-mel0n, @grimmsdead, @comfortpilot, @mayorjack, @ambernotember

[maybetorbie]

and if I have to crawl upon the floor, come crashing through your door

1.1k words | summary: Billy loses his shit and gets into a tussle with Steve, thinking that Steve is cheating on him. But Steve isn't too smart to cheat without Billy knowing, so there's gotta be something else, right?

This is another one of those... "oh boy. You're doing two events in one again?" So yeah. This is for @harringrovemicroficandart 's prompt "valentine, and for @harringrovewinterbingo prompt "lies", figured the art and fic combo could serve as one 👉👈 i wanna do both events! (P.s. i was also inspired to do this after a talk with @tendafoot about plates being thrown!)

Are those flying saucers?

Well, close.

It's actually dinner plates, thrown across the room, by none other than Billy Hargrove, (barely) reformed town asshole. It would be fine if those dinner plates were thrown because they're old, but they're thrown solely for recreational purposes. Hard. The direction they're headed?

Steve Harrington's head.

Good thing Steve learned how to play dodgeball, only this was on god level difficulty.

"Asshole!" Billy cries out, his face a flushed mess, his eyes bloodshot... and, well, his curls? frizzy and flat.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Steve dodges another one thrown at his head, narrowly missing him by a milimeter. "Stop throwing plates at me!"

"You fucking lied to me!" Billy hysterically exclaims, picking up another one from the China cabinet, winding his arm back for another throw.

"About what!?" Steve yells back, his arms defensively rising up.

"You..." Billy momentarily lowers the plate on his hand, taking a puff of his cigarette to collect his breathing. "You really think you can fuck me over, Harrington?"

Steve looks at him with all the confusion his face can muster. "I don't get what you're trying to say! What did I do?" Steve takes the momentary respite from Billy's attacks as an opportunity to slowly advance, in an effort to disarm the blond.

Billy is too observant for that. He raises the plate back up in the air. "Don't come any closer!"

"Billy, talk to me!" Steve asks, still on the defensive, though he's slightly backing away, creating friction on their carpeted floor of their shared, shitty, moldy apartment unit they've been living together in for almost 2 years. "And less—"

another one thrown, missing him by a lot. It wasn't really meant for him. That one was just warmup.

"—less throwing plates!"

Billy shakes his head, face still flushed red, like somebody just knocked the wind out of him. "No, asshole... you... you fucking lied to me,"

"About!?"

"What the fuck were you doing out there today, huh?" Billy gestures at the window of their apartment, as if 'out there' simply means the view outside the window, and not much else. "Think I wouldn't know, you... got some chick on your arm you're gettin' real friendly with, huh?"

"Chick—what chick!?" Steve feels this has gone on long enough. "Billy, enough—you're not making any sense!" Throwing all caution to the wind, Steve lunges at Billy, hurling the both of them down onto the bean bag chair, pinning Billy underneath him.

"Get off me!" Billy tries to shove the brunette away, but his frustration overcomes his rage, all that's left being angry tears rolling down his face.

Steve pauses at the scene unfolding. He remains on top of Billy to secure him, trying to rack his brain for whatever the fuck has gotten Billy so upset. Then it clicks.

"Billy... that chick wasn't like... my girlfriend or something..." Steve softly mutters, his one hand apprehensively trying to cup Billy's cheek, to which the blond tries—and fails—to brush off. "She's Kayla,"

"Fuck Kayla then! What the fuck, you think you can just waltz around this shithole with any girl you want, when I'm working down at the junkyard fixing shit!?"

"Billy..." Steve maintains the softness of his voice, his grip on Billy still firm. "Kayla works at Tiffany's,"

"And!?" Billy gets angrier, akin to a feral cat trying to break out of the carrier at the vet's table, uselessly clawing at the walls of the carrier while throatily growling to no end.

"I was buying something..." Steve is trying to put down something he hopes Billy will pick up.

Billy doesn't pick up shit. "Spit it out and get off me, so I can fucking choke you! Do you know what day today is!?"

Of course Steve knows what the day is. It's the five-year anniversary of their relationship...

And it's also valentine's day.

Yeah, it's that cheesy.

"Of course I know, Billy, that's why—"

"That's why I'm going to fucking kill you!" Billy manages to push Steve off him, jumping off the ground, immediately ransacking the cabinet for anything he can hurl and shatter.

"What, you think I'm fucking cheating on you!?" Steve stands up as his temper equally rises.

"Yeah? Why else would you be acting fucking secretive the past week, always making excuses not to hang out with me!? I'm the best fucking thing that's ever happened to you!"

Steve doesn't really agree with the latter part... but he knows better than to say whatever witty retort he's got brewing up in his mind out loud.

Steve realizes why Billy's upset. Billy's a predictable guy, as it turns out. And the key to figuring out his blond boyfriend's antic is the following; if Billy acts one way, he usually means the exact opposite.

So if Billy's angry like the world's about to give him the world's soggiest cigarette right now... it could only mean that he's very hurt. Betrayed, even.

"Billy... I would never cheat on you,"

"Then why the fuck have you been sneaking around?!" Billy winds an arm back with an especially heavy-looking plate (ceramic!)...

"Because I was trying to get you this," Steve whips it out.

His piece de resistance.

It's a ring. A simple, brushed out golden band.

Billy blinks. His momentum's gone.

Steve approaches him slowly, using the ring as a flare in the dark sea, keeping Billy's attention fixated on it as he gets closer.

Now that they're chest to chest, Steve pulls the ring inbetween them. "Will you fucking listen to me now? Jesus. I bought this for you,"

"What... what is that for," Billy asks, his voice dying on his throat.

"Well," Steve murmurs, "Look, we've been together for a while. I love you, I know you love me, and... look, we can't call it what it is out there, but in here? Can't I propose? Can't I just call you my husband, Billy? My dramatic, disgusting, awful yet lovable husband?"

Billy looks at him, his lips parted in a daze. His eyes still glassy from unshed tears, he swallows the hitch in his throat before speaking, "...You wanted to propose?"

"Yeah. You know I'm really not the smartest guy out there. So maybe it looked like I was sneaking off with someone. It was just Robin, helping me pick out a ring. You share a size with her, did you know that, asshole?"

Billy blinks. It all comes to him. "...I do know that."

Steve sighs. Seems the storm has passed. "Now will you let me put this ring on you, baby?"

Billy wordlessly does as told, putting his left hand up for Steve to do the job.

It shines like a dream.

"It suits you," Steve bashfully grins, despite everything.

"Hm." Billy purses his lips, feeling the ring, rotating it around with his thumb. He sucks in his cheek with what Steve figured out a long while ago to be embarrassment, fixing Steve a look. "I guess I did throw plates at you."

"Now we can cross 'first fight as a married couple' off the list, then," Steve offers the sentiment, asking for Billy's hand to guide him to the couch, which somehow didn't have any plate shards on.

They sit together, overlooking the mess Billy made.

"Husband." Steve said softly, turning to Billy.

"Husband." Billy returns the sentiment, the afterglow of their fight giving Billy an unreal healthy flush on the cheeks.

"We need to clean this shit up before dinner." Steve gestures at the mess, but he knew better than to directly ask Billy for remorse.

"That shit can wait. Don't we have 'wedding night' on the list, too?"

Suddenly, the idea of cleaning isn't really Steve's number one priority anymore.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

An Acquired Taste

A fluffy coffee shop AU for Day 4 of @paynelandpromptfest. You can either read it below or here on AO3.

Prompt: handmade

Pairing: Edwin/Charles

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Word count: 3k

Summary: When Edwin ducks into a coffee shop to avoid an awkward run in with his ex-boyfriend, he meets Charles, a charming barista with a penchant for terrible latte art. Edwin can’t stand coffee, but that doesn’t stop him from returning again and again.

***

It’s the laugh that draws Edwin’s attention on a busy London sidewalk, the sound cutting through the rush of passing traffic, the tube rumbling beneath their feet, and the chatter of voices around him. It’s loud and braying, with an edge of meanness, and Edwin is sixteen years old again, listening to that laugh as he stammers his way through a presentation. On instinct, he clutches his messenger bag more tightly, as if preparing to have it knocked out of his hands.

Simon Mould is crossing the street about ten meters ahead of him, talking on his phone and smiling the smile that Edwin once found charming before he realized it usually meant Simon was about to say something cruel. He’s wearing a poorly tailored, but undoubtedly expensive suit, with a gaudy watch glinting on his wrist. Most likely, he spends his days doing very little work in a cushy corner office in his father’s company. For his colleagues’ sake, Edwin hopes he’s grown up in the decade since St. Hilarion’s.

But Edwin isn’t in the mood to find out today, not when he stayed up too late preparing for this morning’s lecture and woke up to yet another passive aggressive email from his mother. The last thing he needs is a run-in with his ex-boyfriend.

He should go straight to continue his walk to the university, but that will take him right by Simon. Simon hasn’t noticed him yet, but he will soon enough. His feet moving before his mind can catch up, Edwin heads right at the intersection, keeping his head down as he walks. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees to his dismay that Simon is behind him, still oblivious to Edwin’s presence as he continues his phone call. Simon always did love the sound of his own voice.

The door in front of Edwin flies open and a young woman in impossibly high heels shuffles out, balancing two trays of coffee precariously. Without thinking, Edwin slips through the door before it can close and is hit with the scent of brewing coffee. He’s found his way into a small, cluttered coffee shop packed with mismatched furniture and walls covered in an eclectic mix of artwork. The nearest painting is a downright unsettling one of a young woman whose face and torso are covered in eyeballs of all sizes and colors.

“What can I get you, mate?”

Edwin turns and blinks. Standing in front of him is quite possibly the best-looking man Edwin has ever clapped eyes on. He’s never been one to get starry-eyed over a pretty face, as he learned years ago that pretty faces are often more trouble than they’re worth. But there’s something about the barista’s bright, beaming smile and his warm brown eyes that leaves Edwin unable to look away.

The barista tilts his head questioningly and Edwin blinks, realizing that he’s been staring too long. Frantically, he looks at the menu, his eyes falling on the first thing he sees. “A latte, please?”

“What size?” Charles, the name tag pinned to the front of the barista’s uniform reads. It’s surrounded by a variety of colorful badges. 

Edwin’s frazzled mind takes the opportunity to remind himself that he doesn’t actually like coffee, but there’s no turning back now. “Small.”

“Whole milk okay?”

“Yes.”

“Any flavor shots?”

Dear lord, who knew ordering a cup of coffee that he doesn’t want would be so complicated? “No, thank you.”

“That’ll be four pounds.”

As Edwin fumbles for his wallet, he chances a glance over his shoulder in time to see Simon strolling past the coffee shop, still laughing into the phone and oblivious to Edwin’s presence. He passes by without sparing the shop a glance.

“Been here before, mate?” Charles asks as Edwin hands over his credit card.

“No.” Edwin still feels a little dazed under the force of that smile.

“Thought so,” Charles says. “Figured I’d remember you, wouldn’t I?”

“Are small, plain lattes an unusual order here?” Edwin’s voice comes out more acerbic than he intends.

But instead of bristling or snapping back, Charles laughs.

“I took a detour on my way to work today.” Edwin isn’t sure why he feels compelled to offer information about himself. Surely, Charles is just being friendly to a customer. He doesn’t actually care if Edwin has been here before.

“Well, I’m glad you stopped in. Coming right up, mate.” Charles grins at Edwin and turns away. With heroic effort, Edwin manages to not ogle his backside.

“What do you do?” It takes Edwin a moment to realize that Charles is still speaking to him while preparing his latte.

“I’m a linguistics professor.” Edwin expects that to be the end of the conversation, as very few people want to know what being a professor of linguistics entails.

But Charles’s expression brightens. “That’s awesome.”

Edwin’s cheeks feel warm. “I think so. My students would disagree.”

“What’s your favorite language?”

In his years of studying linguistics, no one has ever asked Edwin that question, but he doesn’t have to think hard about his answer. “Aramaic.”

Charles arches an eyebrow. “Aramaic?”

“It’s a Semitic language that originated in Syria. It’s something of an endangered language in modern times, but it’s fascinating…” Edwin trails off. “But if I get started, I’ll be here all day and I’ll miss the opportunity to give this lecture to a group of bored university students.”

“Save it for next time, yeah?” Charles slides the latte across the counter.

Edwin picks up the cardboard cup and gazes down at the foamy surface. There’s some kind of shape there.

“It’s a bow tie.” Charles points to his own neck. “Like yours!”

“Ah.” Edwin reaches up to tug at the bow tie around his neck.

Charles shrugs, looking rueful. “Doesn’t really look like a bow tie, does it?”

“It definitely doesn’t,” the other barista says without looking up from the drink she’s making.

“Oi!” Charles scowls at her, the expression belied by the twinkle in his eye. “Not all of us are famous artists.”

“If I was famous, do you think I’d be up at 8 AM, making fucking flat whites?”

Charles turns back to Edwin, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Crystal over there is a latte art magician. I’ve been trying to learn.”

Edwin looks down at his drink. “It doesn’t look entirely dissimilar to a bow tie.”

“Cheers.” Charles says with a laugh. “Hear that, Crystal? Not entirely dissimilar. Just for that, mate, you get a discount next time you’re in.”

Edwin is smiling as he leaves the coffee shop. A glance at the sign tells him it’s called Live A Latte, which is an absurd name for a business. He shouldn’t even remotely be tempted to return. Especially because when he takes a sip of his drink, he finds it just as bitter and unpleasant as coffee always is. Certainly not worth four pounds. His modest salary doesn’t give him much room to be wasteful.

But when he glances through the window, he sees Charles laughing with Crystal, and he feels a pleasant little swoop in his belly.

For the first time in his career, he’s late to his lecture. He can’t bring himself to care.

***

Edwin does not intend to go back to Live A Latte, because it’s absurd to go out of his way to get a coffee that he won’t drink, just because the handsome barista was kind to him. But he finds himself thinking about turning every time his morning walk to work takes him past the street the shop is on. Perhaps he could develop a liking for coffee if he drinks enough of it. Many people seem to like it, or at least find the caffeine worth the bitterness. His friend, Niko, who developed a coffee habit while completing her thesis, calls it an acquired taste.

He lasts just over a week before he gives in and returns to the coffee shop.

“Welcome back,” Charles says as soon as Edwin steps in the door, smiling past the three people in line in front of him. “Small latte, yeah?”

And Edwin was going to peruse the menu to try and find a drink more to his liking, but he nods, feeling his face flush. Because it’s been over a week since he was in here and Charles has undoubtedly made countless lattes since then, but he remembers Edwin’s order.

Charles does indeed only charge Edwin two pounds—the “proving Crystal wrong discount”—and when he goes to make Edwin’s latte, he says, “So, tell me about Aramaic, mate.”

No one except Edwin’s colleagues in the linguistic department have ever asked Edwin to talk about Aramaic to them, and then usually only under duress. But Charles nods along and asks questions as Edwin talks, seeming genuinely interested.

“Of course, if you ask Dr. Dolls, only the Latin languages are worth studying,” he says as Charles hands him his latte. “He has a shameful disregard for the Semitic and Germanic languages, never mind the thousands of other languages spoken worldwide.”

“Sounds like a wanker,” Charles says.

“Indeed. He was my thesis advisor. It was hell.” Edwin glances down at his latte and sees a smiley face grinning up at him. “Well done with the latte art, Charles.”

“Thanks, mate.” Charles beams at him, just as lovely as he was the first time Edwin walked in. Edwin has been hoping his memory exaggerated. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Was the third eyeball intentional?”

“Oh, bollocks.”

***

It keeps happening. Edwin keeps taking detours to Live A Latte on his way to the university. He eventually upgrades his small latte to having a caramel flavor shot, which makes it no more palatable, but does cost him an extra fifty pence. He also adds a blueberry scone to his order, which is at least very good and gives him something to snack on in between sips of coffee.

Quickly, he learns that Charles works Tuesday through Friday mornings. If any of the other baristas notice that Edwin never stops in on Mondays, they say nothing. In the few minutes it takes Charles to make Edwin’s latte, they talk about a variety of things. Edwin learns that Charles is something of a jack of all trades, moonlighting as a bartender, a boxing instructor, and a youth cricket coach when he’s not working as a barista.

“If you like cricket, you should come see my team play sometime,” Charles tells Edwin. “We always need more people cheering in the stands.”

Edwin, who has never understood cricket and gave up trying years ago, asks, “Are they any good?”

“Nah, bloody awful. But most of them are eight, so who can blame them?”

That day, the latte art is a cricket bat, which just looks like a square with a line, but Edwin still praises it.

They talk about cricket and linguistics and Charles’s attempts to learn Hindi so he can converse with his mother’s relatives back in India. 

“I’m pretty shit at it. Afraid I’m going to tell one of my mum’s aunties to fuck off accidentally.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Learning a new language just takes practice and patience.”

“How many languages do you know?”

“I’m only fluent in six.”

“ Only six. Bloody slacker, you.”

They talk about St. Hilarion’s and the state school where Charles went and Edwin’s tabby cat, Thomas. They talk about the flat Charles shares with Crystal and Niko’s continued attempts to set Edwin up with every eligible bachelor at the university.

“The last one was a professor of economics,” Edwin says. “And he told me five minutes into the date that he doesn’t see the point of linguistics when Google Translate exists.”

Charles guffaws. “What’d you say to that?”

“I told him I didn’t see the point in economics when I could just Google stock prices. There was not a second date.”

“Shame, that.” Charles’s eyes sparkle. “Good-looking bloke like you probably doesn’t need to be set up.”

“Try telling Niko that,” Edwin says dryly. “She’s worried that I’ll die alone.”

“Nah, that’s not going to happen,” Charles says with perfect confidence that Edwin feels is entirely unearned, but still leaves him with a spring in his step all day.

Every time Edwin stops in, Charles adds some kind of art to his latte. Sometimes, it’s nearly recognizable, like the leaf, and sometimes, it’s a mishmash of incomprehensible shapes, like his attempt at a giraffe.

“You can tell it’s a giraffe! Because of the neck, see?”

“I thought it was a snake.”

“Snakes don’t have legs, mate.”

“Neither does this.”

It’s not really a friendship, Edwin keeps reminding himself firmly, nor anything else. Charles is being friendly to him because he’s at work. But for Edwin, whose only real friend is Niko, those few minutes of being smiled at every morning are as addictive as the blueberry scones. He’s aware that, much like coffee, he’s an acquired taste: always a little too awkward and snappish for most of his family, colleagues, and students. And given his continued failure to develop a taste for coffee, that’s not an encouraging thought.

But he cannot help but want, just a little, watching the way that Charles’s hands move deftly as he makes Edwin’s latte and drinking in the sound of his laugh. Every time he tells himself that he needs to stop wasting his money on a hopeless infatuation, he walks into Live A Latte, is greeted by Charles’s beaming smile, and knows he’s doomed.

***

He’s been a regular at Live A Latte for about three months when he stops in one day and finds Charles behind the counter, his smile edged with nervousness.

“Already got yours made, mate,” Charles says. “It’s on the house today.”

“Ah.” Edwin doesn’t know whether to be flattered or disappointed. A free latte and scone is a nice gesture—his wallet is feeling the effects of all these barely touched lattes—but this means he has no excuse to linger for a few minutes of conversation. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Anything for my favorite customer.” Charles slides the latte across the counter with a wink.

Flushing, Edwin picks up the latte and glances at the shapes in the foam, frowning. “Is that… a three? And an eight?”

“Bloody hell, no, that’s supposed to be a six.” Charles grimaces and scrubs a hand through his curls. “It’s supposed to be my phone number.”

Edwin stares at him, because he cannot have gotten that right. He must be missing something.

“In case you want to call me sometime,” Charles, who now looks like he wants to sink through the floor, says. “But like, no pressure, mate. You’ll still be my favorite customer, even if you don’t.”

Edwin blinks. “I…”

“Oh my God.” Crystal leans around Charles. “He’s finally asking you out so I don’t have to keep listening to you two flirt about fucking Aramaic.”

“Enough of that, thanks.” Charles steps in between Edwin and Crystal, shielding her from view. “But, uh, yeah, I am.”

His eyes are warm and hopeful and Edwin realizes that this is actually happening. Charles, who is kind and charming and lovely and can make Edwin’s entire day with only a short conversation and a smile, wants Edwin to call him.

“You’ll need to just give me your number,” Edwin says. “Because this is gibberish.”

Charles laughs, bright and happy, and something in Edwin’s chest goes warm. “Yeah, fair enough.”

***

Edwin wakes to the smell of coffee. He stretches luxuriously, finding himself pleasantly sore in several places where he hasn’t been sore in a long time. Glancing around Charles’s bedroom, he takes in the sheets that needed to be changed at 2 AM and are now discarded in the corner and his own clothes strewn about with no regard for wrinkles. Under the mess, the room is very much Charles, with a shelf full of old records, an overflowing closet, and a cricket bat propped against the wall.

Since Charles is already up, Edwin slides out of bed only a bit reluctantly. Since his own clothes from the night before are a wreck, he finds a t-shirt with Live a Latte’s logo on the front that looks like it should fit and heads into the kitchen, where he finds Charles puttering around in nothing but a pair of pajama pants and a white undershirt. His eyes linger on the trail of bruises he kissed into the side of Charles’s neck.

“Morning.” Charles turns to him with a sleepy smile. “Sleep okay?”

“Very well, thank you.” Edwin crosses the room to him, smiling as Charles pulls him into his arms.

“I made coffee. Want some?”

Edwin is still half-asleep and drunk on a night of excellent sex and the feeling of Charles’s warm arms around him, so he’s not thinking when he says, “No thank you. I don’t care for coffee.”

Charles pulls back, eyebrows shooting up. “What?”

Too late, Edwin realizes his mistake. “It’s too bitter for me. I’ve been told it’s an acquired taste, but I’m afraid I never acquired it.”

“What about all those lattes I’ve been making you for months?”

Edwin desperately searches for a change of subject. “Is that the time? I really should be—”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Charles’s grip around Edwin’s waist tightens. “It’s Sunday. You already told me you have no plans today.”

“Well.” Edwin tries to adopt a look of haughty dignity that’s surely belied by the fact that he can feel his face turning beet red. “You wanted to hear more about Aramaic.”

“So you just kept coming back?” Charles’s smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“The scones are quite good.”

“Admit it, it was for the latte art.”

“Your latte art is terrible, Charles.”

“Oi. You liked that kangaroo I did last week.”

“I thought it was a bloated mouse.” At Charles’s giggle, Edwin’s lips tug into a smile. “I will admit, you may have been something of a draw.”

“Was I, now?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Already has. You’re bloody adorable, you know that?” Charles pulls him into a kiss. His mouth tastes like coffee, which isn’t exactly pleasant, but Edwin thinks he’ll get used to it. “But, mate?”

“Yes?” Edwin nuzzles into the soft spot under Charles’s ear.

“You know we serve tea, yeah?”

***

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or comments on AO3.

[scary-grace]

pretty please will you write [bouquet] but reader gives flowers to tomura <33333

Thank you for the prompt! This got angsty and I apologize. Hopefully I can redeem myself with the third prompt! Post-canon, 2.1k, angst.

memory garden

The bouquet you buy gets bigger every year.

You’re in the interminable line at the florist’s, you and a bunch of guys in business suits and wedding rings, identical guilty looks on their faces, and somehow your bouquet is the biggest one. Not for the first time since you picked it up, you wonder if you’ve overdone it. White roses. Red roses – deep red, not bright red. Periwinkle-blue buddleia, ferns, baby’s breath, and ivy. It’s a lot of flowers. A lot of money. And it’s not like the person they’re for is going to appreciate them.

But it’s one day a year. One bouquet, and it’s the only bouquet he’s going to get. You kiss your pastry budget goodbye for the next week and wait for your turn at the checkout counter, feeling like shit for even thinking of buying something smaller. So what if you’ve got the biggest bouquet in line? It’s worth it. You don’t need anybody else to understand, which is a good thing. You barely understand the impulse yourself.

The last few Valentine’s Days, it’s been bright and cold and sunny, a picturesque winter day. Today it’s raining, and you check the forecast on the train with increasing dismay. It’s going to be a swamp by the time you get there, and you’ll be going home cold and wet and muddy. You’re already tired. It was an awful week at work, but when isn’t it, really? You work in Homicide, and in spite of society’s supposed great leaps forward since the war ended, people are still in the business of killing each other. If you didn’t have your quirk, you’d work anywhere else.

But you do have your quirk – Red Cap, which gives you a heads-up and flashback every time you walk over a spot where someone died a violent death. Working Homicide really is the only job you’re good for, although in the aftermath of the war, you were embedded with the national coroner’s office, walking the battlefields to identify victims, perpetrators, and causes of death. It’s not what you want to do with your life, but it pays. Enough that you could probably stand to get more than one bouquet, one day a year. But there’s only one day of the year where you can buy a bunch of flowers without anybody asking why.

As you’re putting your phone away, one of your friends texts you about a last-minute blind date – some friend of her boyfriend’s whose date fell through, who’s going to be a total wet blanket and ruin their night if nobody distracts him. Will you go on a pity date with him? You’re not his type and he’s not yours, but all you have to do is keep him busy for a little while. With an offer like that, how can you refuse? You text back one-handed. Sorry. I have plans.

doing what?? I know you’re single

I have plans, you type again. Even if your plan was to get plastered and forget about tomorrow, you’re not going to go on a date where you’re so obviously the consolation prize. And you wouldn’t be that much of a prize, either – once people hear about your job, and your quirk, they’re usually not interested. Sorry. I hope you can work something out!

The exclamation point feels forced. You tuck your phone away and stare out the window at the rain, the bunch of flowers rustling in your shaky hands.

The view out the window reminds you just how much Japan has changed. It’s been almost eight years since the war, and everywhere that matters to anybody has been rebuilt, bigger and better than before. Every city’s skyline bristles with skyscrapers, every highway has wider lanes – and in between are places that aren’t important enough to merit a rebuild, places that have been patched back together haphazardly or been allowed to fall into disrepair. Bigger cities, empty villages. More pretty city parks, fewer nature reserves. And every so often you’ll look out the window and see a dark shadow across the landscape, a scar that will never heal. Or so they say. People say time heals everything, and sometimes, you almost believe them.

Once you reach your destination, you’ve still got a ways to go. This part is uncomfortable. It always is, not because the terrain once you’re off the main road is rough, but because everywhere you step is a place someone breathed their last. This is the final battlefield from the Villain War. You’d say the number of deaths that occurred here is countless, except you have counted. That’s how you know where to go.

The rain soaks through your clothes as you pick your way across the barren, muddy field. At one edge of it there’s a shrine to all the heroes who fell, not just here but in the entire war, and on important days, there are people queuing up to leave offerings and pay their respects. You keep walking, hating the way your feet squelch in the mud. The longer you stay in touch with a particular piece of earth, the more information you pick up about the death that occurred there, and you saw enough the first time.

The death site you’re looking for is at the far edge of the field, pushed up into the shadow of the mountain that rears up nearby. It’s unmarked, of course. It would be unattended even if it wasn’t. No one mourns the wicked, after all, and Shigaraki Tomura, the Symbol of Fear, was as wicked as they come. Or so they say.

When you found his death site, what you witnessed through your quirk brought you to your knees. That’s not how it usually goes for you, how it usually went by that point. Almost every person who dies is scared while it happens. A lot of them are confused. A lot of them are angry or hurt or betrayed. But none of them are all of those things at once, and empty and lost and hollow at the same time, and while you’ve walked over many death sites, Shigaraki’s is the only one that’s ever taken you down. And when you got back up, you couldn’t see him as the monster he was any longer.

You thought reading the book the surviving members of the League of Villains wrote would help clear your head, or at least remind you who you were really losing sleep over. When that didn’t work, you went to visit the book’s author in prison. Spinner wanted to talk about Shigaraki, his best friend and his only friend, but nothing he said matched what you saw. Deku, who killed Shigaraki, never talks about him at all, and you can’t explain to anyone that you’re haunted by the last moments of a villain who was horrifying and tragic in almost equal measures. So you had to find something else to do.

You reach the far side of the field and come to a stop. You moved a rock a few years ago to mark the death site, so you wouldn’t have to step on it and retraumatize yourself every year, and you stop a meter or so back from where you know the edge lies. And then, like always, you hit a wall. You could keep doing this for the rest of your life, and you’ll still never know the right thing to say as you set down the bouquet. The last few years, you’ve just set it down and left.

But that thought’s in your head again – one bouquet, one day of the year. He doesn’t have a shrine or a grave marker, and you’re the only one who knows exactly where he died. If you only got one visitor every year, you’d want them to say something. Anything.

Anything, from you, is usually a bad idea. “I’m still working at Homicide. The murder rate hasn’t dropped back to pre-war levels yet. I go walking over two or three crime scenes a week, and none of them have ever been as awful as what I felt when I walked over yours.”

So what, you can imagine him saying. You get to walk away. This was my whole life, and I died as I lived. Do you expect me to feel sorry for you or something? “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. That’s not why I’m saying that. I just – I wanted you to know that it really was that bad. All the pain you felt, all that anger – it’s unbearable. I can see why you’d do anything to get away.”

You wouldn’t do what Shigaraki did, you don’t think. Then again, you don’t have that kind of power. The only person you can torment with your quirk is yourself. “I don’t know why I come out here. Or why I bring flowers. You probably hated flowers,” you say. You can imagine his response to that, too: Yeah, no shit. “I never met you, but I can’t unsee what I saw. I wish I’d never seen it.”

You feel that way about everything you’ve seen and felt through your quirk, but this especially. “I wish I’d never seen it, but I did see it. And it would be wrong to look away.”

That was something you remember from that first flashback, the one that laid you out in the filth on the battlefield. The way the emptiness inside him yawned wide, a gaping void no amount of rage and destruction could fill, a desperate howl that still echoes through your mind –  look at me, notice me, save me – a cry for help that went forever unanswered. It’s too late for Shigaraki Tomura. Whatever you could possibly do rings hollow, and he’ll never see it, anyway. The longer you think about it, the more miserable you get. You need to go, before you spend another Valentine’s Day crying on the train home.

But to leave the bouquet by your makeshift marker, you have to cross the death site. As you hesitate, you hear that voice in your head, cobbled together from every newscast of the destruction of Jaku City or the final battle that took place here: This was my whole life. You get to walk away. You steep yourself and cross onto the death site, and like always, it hits you like a knockout punch. All you can do is stagger to the marker, set the bouquet in its mason jar down at the foot of the stone, and stagger back out, your eyes burning, struggling to breathe.

You’re doubled over, gasping for air, when you hear the voice. “I didn’t think you’d come this year.”

Your stomach lurches. You stagger backwards, foot-first into another deathsite, and struggle to get your balance, searching for a safe place to stand. “Because of the rain,” the voice continues, raspy and rough. His voice. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

You’ve always thought your quirk might snap your mind someday. You just didn’t expect it to happen like this. If you’re already crazy, you might as well answer him. “Until I stop seeing it.”

“Forever.”

It’s been eight years. Nothing else has clung to you like this. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Forever,” the voice repeats. “I never stopped seeing it, either.”

You’re talking to a dead person. A ghost. You’ve walked over hundreds of death sites, and you’ve never met a ghost before. But if anybody was going to become a ghost, it would be him, wouldn’t it? Unhappy, unable to let go, unmissed and unmourned by anyone but you, and you can barely be called a mourner when the most you do is show up with flowers one day a year. He probably hates flowers, and hates you, like he hated everything before. “I’m sorry,” you say. Shigaraki Tomura’s ghost makes a questioning sound. “I’m sorry no one saved you. I wish it wasn’t too late.”

You turn and leave without another look at the death site, and Shigaraki Tomura’s voice follows you. “Maybe it’s not.”

You’re losing it. You really must be. As soon as you get home, you’re taking a leave of absence from your horrible job and going to therapy, so you can learn how to live with your quirk and not let it cling to you and leave a bouquet at a supervillain’s death site without having a psychotic break. Maybe it’s not too late. What does that mean? It means you’re going crazy. That’s all this was. You walk stiff-legged across the battlefield, sicker with every step, never looking back. If you see his ghost hovering over the death site, you’re going to lose your mind for good.

Curiosity gets the better of you, though. You look back just once, once there are no more death sites to walk over and the only memories in your head belong to you. Shigaraki’s death site is easy to miss if you don’t know what to look for, but you know what to look for – and even from this distance, you can see that the bouquet you left for him is gone.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

ok with the joke post today that referenced the ol' DA kink!meme cullen tiddy fic. it is abundantly clear that so much fandom history is just... lost or unknown to people who have gotten into the series after 2017. Like, you have to understand that while that fic was a bit of a meme for a week or so, it was not even close to the most outlandish thing on the board or the weirdest kink there. it just got more notice than others that spilled over to tumblr.

2015 was BEFORE the big sweeping purity movements really got a hold on people in fandom. people were allowed to be WEIRD, both as crack but also treating it seriously. it was an anonymous forum, which was also key here--there was no linking the posts back to someone's AO3 or tumblr unless they wanted to. And that meant prompts and fills both got wildly more creative than a lot of things i see now (though to be clear: there are absolutely still people writing wild & unhinged things for every fandom, and posting them happily to AO3. it's just a smaller percentage than it used to be).

the kink!meme had such insane variety but in part that was also because it was a designated positive space. writing quality varied WILDLY but the community held much closer to "don't like, don't read/comment" than AO3 does in 2025. and because people felt like they could experiment, it led not only to fun/funny situations with characters, but also some honestly moving and very beautiful writing as well.

and i do mean the porn as well as the 'serious' fics that ended up there. i think actually it was really good for fandom to have people who'd read through these prompt lists not just looking for pairings or tags they shared interest in, but ones they might not but felt like exploring anyway. being able to take a kink or a character you don't personally love and taking it apart and asking "what makes this compelling? why are people interested in this vs something else? what about this character and this setup can lead not only to something sexy but something profound?" is both good as a writing exercise (targeting an audience besides yourself) and a personal one (seeing the world through someone else's view). it was fun! and i think we should bring it back.

maybe later this weekend I'll go dig up some of the ones I remember most--both the fun/funny unhinged stuff AND the serious ones--and make a little compilation. do people who weren't on the kink!meme even know about the inquisitor x skyhold fic. or the one where quiz fucks a rift. or the one that's DA2 from Orana's perspective that was so beautiful and moving I could never replay DA2 without thinking about it again.

so anyway yeah. you should check out the archive. go dig around (click through the "part [#]" links below each game title and go through the pages however you like) and find somehing fun or beautiful or sexy.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 141 (Safe and Sound?)

Ash's family, friends, and pets rejoiced over his safe return to a brisk Brindleton Bay - where it still would not stop snowing. Gord followed Ash like a guard. Hazel, who'd been watching Lavender with Heather and Conrad in Sulani, warmly embraced her nephew when he raced to greet her. "Ashy, I'm so glad you're safe."

"Me too, Auntie Hazel. But we totally outsmarted the time travelers! And Felix Psyded and the Grim Reaper helped, too!"

Hazel nodded and pushed out a smile. Heather had told her everything by text from the flight home, and she was still trying to wrap her mind around the whole thing - just like Heather and Conrad. Time travel was one thing, but murderous hitmen and vengeful exes were another thing altogether. Ash seemed the least disturbed by the strange reality he found himself in, which was at least something the adults could take comfort in.

Lavender was unaware her brother had been kidnapped, least of all by time travellers, instead thinking he'd stayed an extra night in San Myshuno with his other family, but she was happy to see him again nonetheless. "Ashy want to read with me?" she asked, sitting next to him on the living room sofa.

"Sure, Lava," he said, and she handed him their worn copy of The Giving Tree. As he read, his voice trailed off, and suddenly he looked up with a smile. "I just got an idea!"

"Like the icy chippy?"

"No, this one will work. All we have to do is tell Mom and Conrad we want them to finally get married."

Lavender looked at him wide eyed as she shook her head. "Mommy said no snow."

"I know, but Mom really missed me while I was gone so she'll say yes. Especially if we tell her we'll plan it and promise there won't be snow."

Lavender cocked her head slightly. "How we gunna plan a wedding?"

"Auntie Hazel will help us, I bet. And Uncle River, too!"

"I want wedding cupcakes!"

"No cake? Just cupcakes?"

Heather smiled as she listened to them from the computer, where she answered an email from Marisol Quesada, the artist in Ciudad Enamorada who she'd commissioned to work on her video game's concept design.

She would agree to her children's plan when they presented it to her; with another baby on the way, it was well past time for her to make things official with Conrad, and now she was up against fitting into a wedding dress with a baby bump. The sooner, the better, if there was no snow. But for now, as her life returned to normal, she refocused on Marisol.

(Thank you @igglemouse for inspiring another crossover with your incredible storytelling. I love your words as much as we love Marisol's artwork!)

The artist's emails were professional, her work was incredible and they had a similar vision. She hoped Marisol wouldn't be upset that her latest response to their collaboration was a few days late; Marisol was always prompt with her replies. Heather wasn't sure how to say she'd had to focus on her kidnapped son instead of the latest proofs, so she made up an excuse about pregnancy fatigue - which wasn't entirely a lie, anyway.

While Heather focused on designing Furever Friends: Stray Valley and her clinic, Conrad was dealing with Ximena and Rafa's cases - what had once been slow investigations taking years off his life were now meetings with judges and lawyers and filing evidence for discovery. But he still found time to help Hazel and River plan his wedding to Heather.

River came to Brindleton Bay for a vet appointment with Duchess and suit fitting with Ash and Conrad, and as her morning sickness finally subsided, Heather was more than happy to focus on her work.

Her regulars were excited for the new clinic, and she was excited to give pets and their owners an even better place to heal when feeling sick. But for now, the old clinic that helped make her the vet she was today still felt like a home away from home.

(Heather would never think of asking her recycle disciple brother not to hug his bag of trash while in her clinic. He loves it too much!)

A few nights before the wedding, Ash was wearing his wedding suit around the house in anticipation, and once his homework was done and he'd helped Lavender stack blocks, he sat down to watch his father on Simlandia National's 6 o'clock news. But even Conrad was intrigued enough to sit and watch when he realized what they were talking about.

"We bring reports this evening of a turquoise-haired man named Emit Relevart, who told several sims in Willow Creek Park he's a time traveler from the future asking for help with his latest mission. Police in Willow Creek say the man is harmless but annoying, and he's unwilling to leave the park until he's found a fellow time traveler and several stolen items he believes have been dropped through time. Sims are asked to beware of Emit Relevart when walking in or near Willow Creek Park, and officials advise against following him through any strange looking portals. Guard your safety, Simlandia."

Ash's eyes bulged. "More time travelers?"

"We don't know that for sure," Conrad said carefully. "Emit Relevart could be a hoax."

"But his name is time traveler backwards!"

"That could all be part of the hoax," Conrad assured him.

"I wonder if Emit knows Marco and Ximena in the future."

"After what happened in Sulani with Rafa, hopefully Ximena's still behind bars in the future, and Marco's gone. He was off the grid for years, but when he died in Sulani, we found a death record for him in San Myshuno."

"So if you time travel but then you die in the timeline where you already exist, your other self dies, too?" Ash considered the questionable and confusing science of time travel - still a bit much to grasp for a genius nine-year-old - but Conrad didn't know how to explain it any better, either.

"Are you worried more people who knew Ximena and Marco will try to find you again?" he wondered, and Ash nodded. "The Landgraabs increased security, and your mom and I will never let anyone hurt you. Same as always," he said.

Ash soon refocused on the wedding, which carried his excitement through the evening until Heather and Conrad tucked him into bed. He fell asleep with his blankets curled around his shoulders, bundled under heavy cotton sheets in the cool spring night of Brindleton Bay.

While he slumbered, Marco's ghost stood over him with a frown. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[rekino2114]

Hey dude, love your works and thanks for doing these x reader content. Also may I get a valentine's prompt 1 with min jeung. I remember your love confessions with the drdt girls and thought: lol imagine if min confessed on valentines day

Min jeung asking you to be her valentine

Pairing:min jeung x gn reader

A/n:Happy Valentine's Day to everyone! hope you enjoyed the event. I'm probably gonna do a few more posts for it in the next few days, but save the others for next year. Funnily enough today an anon requested a min valentine's day prompt that I don't know if I'm gonna do so I hope you still like this

"Uh........min are ok? You're shaking a lot"

"No"

"O-oh"

"What happened? It's the first time I've seen you so.......nervous"

"That's the thing I don't know why! I've never felt like this before. It's like when I don't know which answer to put on a test but ten thousand times worse, I feel like my life is gonna end if this doesn't go well!"

Teruko and Xander exchanged looks and looked back at their friend

"I.....see"

"So what is so important?"

"........You're gonna think it's stupid"

"We'd never, we're your friends min, and whatever is bothering you must be a big issue that we're going to help you through right teruko?"

"Uh.....yeah sure.....I guess"

".....I.....uh.....so you know how today's valentine's day"

"Yeah.......a girl asked me to hold the flowers she was gonna give her boyfriend but I made them wilt"

".....what do you mean you made them wilt?"

"I dunno one moment I was holding them the next they were dead.......and I had to pay her back"

".......your luck needs to be studied"

"A-anyway, what does Valentine's Day have to do with your problem min? Wait, don't tell me, you wanna ask someone to be your valentine?"

"........yeah"

"That's great, who's the lucky person?"

"Y-y/n.....but to be honest I'm the lucky one, they hang out with me so much"

"Oh that makes sense, they're so nice to you"

"Yeah that's part of why I love them"

"......that's it?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"From what I've seen they really like you too so I don't see why they'd reject being your valentine"

"But......what if they don't like me"

"Uh?"

"There's a big difference between if they like hanging out with me and if they like like me, I don't wanna ruin our friendship......it's the best one I've ever had"

".....oh sorry then"

"No it's fine it's just.....I really love them, it feels like they really understand me....the real me, they never asked me to do their homework or help them with tests, and even when I offer to help them they're always so nice and tell me not to overwork myself, it feels like they see me as......me...... not the ultimate student"

"Wow....that....must be a beautiful feeling"

"It really is"

"Then that's the sign that they're the person for you, if you really want my advice go and confess, they sound like they like you just as much as you like them"

"B-but"

"No buts, you really want to be y/n's girlfriend right?"

"Y-yeah obviously"

"Then you're gonna do it. You can do it!"

"............"

"Come on say it! You can do it!"

"I-I can do it"

"With more confidence, you can do it!

"I can do it!"

"That's the spirit! Now go over there and win them over with the best confession they've ever seen"

".....y-yeah"

Teruko just sighed looking at the scene, but put a hand on Min's shoulder and gave her a reassuring nod

"I'm sure you'll do great min, just go there and be yourself"

Min nodded back at her friends who gave her thumbs up as she went over to you with a box of chocolates behind her back

"H-hey y/n what's up?"

"Hi min, everything's great......."

You tilted your head noticing that she was sweating bullets

"Wanna talk to me?"

"Y-yeah actually, it's very important"

"Oh really? What is it?"

"D-do you.........do you......."

Min suddenly pulled out the box of chocolates she was holding and looked down scared to see your reaction

"Do you wanna be my valentine?"

"......of course"

".....R-really?"

"Obviously, you're great min, you're pretty, nice not to mention incredibly smart, why wouldn't I agree?"

"S-so you like me?"

"I think like isn't strong enough"

"........you don't mean you....."

"Love you? Yeah min, of course I do, like I said before, you're incredible and I love everything about you"

"...................."

"H-huh min are you OK......you look...spaced out"

"S-sorry, I just didn't expect it to go this well, so are we......a couple now?"

"Sure......at one condition"

"....w-what is it?"

"Can I......see your eyes?"

Min's pale skin became almost completely red at your request, but she still gave you a silent nod to make you understand she agreed.

"Thanks"

You used your hand to lift min's bangs away from her face and were met with her beautiful purple eyes

"Your eyes are so beautiful, I love seeing them just like I love you"

Min blushed even more as you retracted your hand and wrapped it around the box of chocolates again

"So now we are officially a couple, do you mind going on our first date today? I bet they do some cool stuff for valentine's day around town"

"Y-yeah I'd love nothing more"

"Great, see you then there"

You once again got closer to the student and kissed her cheek, making her explode into an even redder color than earlier, before turning around and waving at her

"Happy valentine's day"

Min couldn't even answer as she kept her hand on her cheek, still a bit shocked

"........y/n........."

She smiled incredibly brightly and giggled a bit, so happy to have finally found a lover and especially a person who could see and love her for who she actually was

"Happy valentine's day to you too"

[loumauve]

Sable pic spam bc I'm ridiculously attached to this buggy game