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goaskangel · 5 months ago

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nanami really loving you on valentine's day!

cw : aggresive, perv nanami, groping, dry humping, breeding(?), alcohol mention, yummy asfff

word count : 1.8k

you may have gone overboard with the cleaning. your apartment doesn’t look lived in, more like an IKEA showroom. it’s not like nanami’s an inspector, he’s your boyfriend. new though, you’re not very close and it’s only been a couple of months but he was manly enough to ask you to be his valentine, how could you resist!

he’s just so perfect, you daydream while flattening the creases of the couch’s pillow. golden and groomed blonde hair, ironed suits, old fashioned manners. how his voice goes softer when he’s speaking to you, his strong teeth and subtle smile only coming out for you. it feels like you’ve won a national prize every time you break his calm and collected attitude and manage to make his pale complex warm up. you dimmed the living room since you planned a casual movie-night with him, hopefully not too casual for him.

god knows he’ll show up in his signature suit and sit up-right while you play a stupid rom-com. that would be kind of nice. finally all alone, together, on a comfy couch. you could crawl onto his lap, tug on his tie, lick on his collared neck. kiss him like you mean it, no fear of the public.

you squint at your suddenly changed thoughts and get up with a sigh, knowing him, he might not make a move. but he’s only a man…?

you wait for the door’s bell. when it comes, you give yourself a few seconds and fix your hair before walking to the door. you can’t make it seem like you’d been waiting, that’d be ridiculous. suddenly your thoughts of changing your clothes because it’s a bit too chilly pass your mind when you see him. like lava streams in your blood, you warm up to a casual nanami. a pretty man dressed in a gray sweatshirt that painfully compliments his skin showed up timely to spend time with his girlfriend on valentine’s, you could faint!

“hello. picked up flowers on the way, these are for you.” he tilts the bouquet, your favorite, towards you gently, grinning warmly, making his eyes squint. you swear you could eat his face.

“thank you, thank you!” you’re handed the flowers as he steps closer to you, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you take them, inhaling the floral aroma mixed with his peppery and woody cologne.

“i love them, but you didn’t have to, really.”

“it’s valentine’s day and the least i could do.” same soft smile on his lips.

you smile, too hard, at his gesture and move to the side to let him in. he kicks off his shoes as you quickly close and lock the front door, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter.

“it’s not too hot in here, i hope.”

“it’s just fine,” he offhandedly observes the room, an appreciation for what you’ve done to the place. he tugs at his sleeves and rolls them up, revealing strong forearms. jesus christ. you snap out of your gaze and rush to sit at the couch, a thick blanket and a couple of fluffy pillows decorated the comfy space. rich chocolate and drinks already set at the coffee-table, and his favorite desserts from a bakery? you pat at the spot next to you and hold back a giggle when he sits next to you. his black pants spreading neatly over his thighs, your eyes carefully wandering to the seam of the zipper, your mouth pooling.

“here, get comfy.” you toss the large pull-over on the both of you, taking in the sight of him, shuffling closer to you and warming up to the blanket around him.

“quite a fine home you’ve got, it’s extremely cozy.” he throws an arm over you.

“i try. it’s not usually this… tidy.”

“what? you’re trying to impress me?” he teases.

“it’s your first time over, i wanna make you feel good an’ comfy.”

“well, it’s working.” he smooths his hand over your hot cheek, the metal of his ringed index finger brushing over you.

you spend the remaining time opening chocolate and bakery boxes, feeding each other and occasionally kissing while a movie plays in the background. you hope for any move during the time he’s with you, any move at all. maybe a lingering kiss. it’s so distracting the way the shadows of the dark room and light source from the tv brighten his sharp features. you’re leaning into his warm chest as his fingers graze over your exposed thighs, sipping the wine you bought that he surprisingly, and thankfully, really enjoyed.

another scene of the characters just talking and spilling lore, he sets the half-full glass down and focuses on you. eyes on the screen but his palm has splayed to soothe and grope over your thigh. he notices your obedience, spreading your legs just by the tiniest bit. his slips his hand into your inner thigh and that’s where you roll your body slowly.

his eyes are now on you, and your bodies mingled under the sheet as you watch the movie. mmm, thank god you wore thin shorts and a random t-shirt. you feel as his fingers graze over your thinly covered cunt, tips coming down to rub your clit. your gaze stays straight but you don’t focus, you’re unable too.

“c’mere,” nanami fixes your slouched posture so you sit with your back on his chest, your legs open and pliable for him to touch and grope at your body.

“kento.” you mumble, dazed, when his hand slides underneath your damp panties to tease at your folds.

“mhm, you’re so beautiful.” he sniffs at your hair as his other hand grips under your bra to hold and fondle your breast. the wine was really getting to you both. a sudden pulse at your lower back as he grinds gently into you, how tight had his pants gotten?

finally, finally, he got his hands on you. even under a blanket, you look down to watch the fabric move in waves as he rubbed your most sensitive parts, the alcohol heightening your senses. skilled hands pacing gentle but greedy circles on your buds as you gripped the remote. you appreciate his sexual activity, it’s just so much more aggressive than you thought he ever could be. his sweet words and gestures all hid his intrusive and perverse actions.

“god, i need to feel you.” he highlights his eagerness with an extra squeeze. you pathetically push the blanket off the couch and with trembling hands, you move yourself to face him. he lays himself down as you sit on his lap. you moan quietly when you feel him against your soiled shorts, bucking your hips down to get more of the twitching sensation below his belt. humping the fat chub under his pants, you craved it more than anything.

“uh-huh, that’s good. baby, you’re so good to me. that’s it.” his hands hold a bruising grip on your hips as you grind slowly but firmly on his hard cock.

“couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he groans when you rub your fat cunt directly on his tip, “this pretty body on mine, you’re so fucking hard to resist.” his cursing going right to your achy clit. you hop off and watch him violently take his belt off, switching your spots and filling the void between your legs with his hips. pulling his sweater off and tossing it as you do the same with your top. his pale skin so handsome and soft with his softer muscles and a layer of fat on his stomach from eating all his favorite breads. so sexy, you wrap your legs around his waist. you shake your head at the condom he pulls out from his pocket.

“needa feel you, your cock in me, please. don’t want anything between us, kento, please please. it’s valentine’s, let me do this for you.”

“perfect girl, you’re gonna kill me.” but he complies, gladly tossing the latex and pulling the confinements of his cock down. you whine at his contents. big and hard, the first time you’ve seen this part of him. you love it, he hasn’t even fucked you and you already love it, love him.

you nod aggressively when he lines his chubby, weeping tip against your soppy pussy. letting it catch a few times as he rocks back and forth, the moves of his sexy hips making you throb. he fulfills his own fantasies of his raw cock on his beautiful girl’s wet cunt whilst she begs for him to fill her up and make her his.

“you want it, sweetheart?”

“more than anything, yes yes yes.”

“no protection, nothing protecting you? you sure, love? it’s risky.”

“don’t care. i’ll have your babies if you want to, if i have to – jus’ give it to me.”

“mmm, babies, huh… you sure that’s not the wine talking?” sick, even if it wasn’t the lust from being slightly tipsy, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop himself.

you could cry with all the teasing he’s doing but you lose your breath when he pushes himself into your perfect, tight cunt. all his. he takes your limp and delicate upper frame to his advantage and undoes your bra. nanami rolls himself deeper into you as he watches your pretty tits bounce with every move.

“so good, ken, thank you..!” as he presses himself into the depths of your cunt. you're unbelievably tight and so warm when he bottoms out as far as he can without really breaking you in.

he’s slow, eager and certainly not collected as he usually is but he takes his time to fuck you. you’re so drunk on lust and sex that you just agree to whatever he says. his pretty girl wants to be all his? have his kids? marry him and be taken care of and fucked so good daily? you nod and babble to all of it. as he speeds up, his sloppy kisses and skilled tongue on your nipples slow and he concentrates on making you both come. the movie ended a while ago and the rooms filled with groans and moans, sloppy and slippery squelches and slaps.

his kisses his thumb wet and massages little circles into your sensitive clit. you writhe at not only the delicious friction but how you tighten up again around his cock, stretching you out all over again.

“close, i’m close. keep fucking me, kento, yes, mhm. yesyesyes..” you jump at the overwhelming, intense orgasm and milk out every single ribbon of creamy cum into you. growling and furrowing his dark brows as he creams directly at your cervix.

“good, good girl.” he snaps through his teeth as he finishes inside you. smoothing his hand over your pelvis and under your naval. gasping and panting as you both collect yourselves. he sinks down to rub his sweating face into your neck, kissing you gently again as you pull and stroke his blonde locks. ending such a day with all his love! <3

happy valentine's day you FREAKS

masterlist

#goaskangel #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami smut #jjk x you #valentines jjk #valentines nanami #nanami x you #nanami fluff #jjk nanami

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jaylaxies · 14 days ago

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PERV NEXT DOOR I LHS

pairing: loser neighbour!heeseung x fem!reader

wc: 602 words.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni! loser hee headcanons, pervert hee.

a/n: hihii! this is honestly js filth! requested by anonnie, brainstormed by me and @hoondrop <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated <3

loser!heeseung who first sees you dragging boxes up to your front door, you’re the new neighbour, neck glistening with sweat, your voice chirping out a soft little “hey! nice to meet you,” when you catch him staring—and he almost drops his drink, nodding like a stunned rabbit while his cock twitches against his joggers at the mere sight of your beauty.

loser!heeseung who moans into his palm the minute he gets inside, trousers barely pulled down, already leaking just from hearing you say his name, “heeseung, yeah? i’m y/n,” and he gasps into his wrist, humping his pillow like you’d touched him instead of just smiling.

loser!heeseung who waits until it gets dark and steals your panties off the stand in your backyard. hands shaking as he clutches the warm fabric to his nose, breathing your scent in with his eyes rolled back, thick cock slapping his tummy as he moans, “she wore these—fuck, her cunt’s been right here—right fucking here,” before falling apart all over his bedroom floor.

loser!heeseung who can’t even last five seconds after spotting the outline of your nipples under your tank top one afternoon. rushes home, trembling, cock already twitching as he falls to his knees by the door, gasping, “i’m so fucking weak. she’ll never love me like this, she’d laugh if she knew.”

loser!heeseung who starts asking if you need help with chores, and he takes your bin out, waters your plants, feeds your cat—just so he can rub up against your laundry while you’re not looking, tongue out, nose buried in your panties like a depraved puppy in heat.

loser!heeseung who you catch peeking when you change near your window, but instead of screaming at him, you just smirk and draw the curtains away agonizingly slow, and heeseung gasps so loud you can hear him, knees hitting the floor as he starts grinding into the carpet, whimpering, “thank you—thank you, fuck, she wants me to see her.”

loser!heeseung who sits on the floor between your legs during your friendly neighbourhood movie night, with you absentmindedly stroking his hair—and he’s shaking, breath caught in his throat, because he’s so close to your thighs, so close to your cunt, and when you cross your legs and your knee bumps his cheek? he creams his pants.

loser!heeseung who starts begging like a pathetic little puppy, “can i kiss it? just once? fuck—please?” and when you finally guide his head between your legs with a smirk, he whimpers like a fucking dog, mouthing over your panties, tears already spilling before you’ve even said anything—and when you coo, “go on then, dumb pup,” he moans into your cunt like he’s been hungry for ages, not caring about his glasses falling down.

loser!heeseung who eats you out like it’s absolutely his last fucking meal, so sloppy, even his tongue shaking against your clit as he sobs, “thank you, thank you, i love you—i swear to god, i’d die here, i swear, i’d never ask for more—” and you haven’t even touched him, but he’s already making a mess all over your carpet.

loser!heeseung who cries when you tease him, calling him a sick loser, “you won’t ever fuck my pussy, hm?” you’d say, moving your panties to the side. he begs you to let him touch you, fuck you, just the tip, and after hours of begging, you allow him to fuck your thighs as he ruts into you like a dog, even more so when you slap his cock, “be grateful for what you have, you pathetic loser.”

perm taglist:

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @hoonprksung @mintchocoddeonut @lezleeferguson-120 @s0shroe @onlyticket-home @meowieshibal

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #kpop smut #enhypen #enhypen headcanons #enhypen reactions #enhypen imagines #smut #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #enha smut

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feedthefandomfest · 6 months ago

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Thank you for all the great tips on commenting on fics! Lately I've been reading a lot of fan translations. I want to thank the translators for their hard work but I feel like I'm saying the same thing over and over again, and I'm hesitant to just comment the same way I would on a fic. Any ideas?

Oh, interesting ask!! Translators for sure deserve the love and appreciation. And saying the same thing over and over (thanking them for their hard work) is totally fine, but I understand the desire to tailor something more specific to the translated fic.

Something that comes to mind is all the different translations of the Odyssey I've read, which really highlighted for me how much the translator's own interpretations and personal creative choices factor into the final product. There isn't a one to one replacement for every word or phrase, and tons of terms have multiple possible alternatives that vary only by the slightest difference in tone or connotation or whatnot. So a really good translation is one that captures as many layers of meaning in the original text as possible, to make the experience of reading the translation just as nuanced and complex.

All that to say: I think complimenting the translator on their writing the way you would any other writer is totally valid! If their rendition of a character really rang true, or the tone/mood was entrancing throughout, or they conveyed the humor of a scene really effectively, then you can say it! Because it's guaranteed those are all things they really made an effort to preserve.

I'd also thank them for ensuring that a whole other audience can access and enjoy an amazing story.

Hat's off to fic translators!! If anyone has other tips or suggestions, feel free to share.

#thank you for feeding the ask box #fic translation

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eufezco · 2 months ago

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BRING YOUR BUCKY TO SCHOOL DAY 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

congressman!dad!bucky x teacher!mom!reader

synopsis – bucky shows up for family friday day for your daughter.

fluff

she was ecstatic.

you could see how her tiny legs swung eagerly from the edge of the chair as she kicked back and forth. her hair was pulled into two pigtails that bounced with every excited shift in her chair. she kept looking at the door, eyes wide, for the moment she'd been waiting for all week.

today was her day to bring her dad to class, and saying she loved her dad was an understatement. she adored bucky.

you tried to keep the lesson moving, but the other kids were also whispering and giggling, feeding off her energy.

outside the classroom, bucky stood, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. he'd fought hydra operatives, aliens, and androids, he'd stood in congress facing the most ruthless critiques, but none of that had made him sweat like this. he was trained to face enemies, not five-year-olds in circle time. today wasn't about politics or missions, it was about being a good dad, the kind who shows up on time, brings the juice boxes, and knows the names of at least three cartoon characters.

—alright, everyone! —you announced, clapping your hands once to pull the kids' attention back to you. —it's time for family friday! —she sat up straighter than you'd ever seen her, eyes moving fast from the door to you and back to the door. —whose parent is coming today?

a chorus of voices answered all at one, —rebecca's!

—can i please go get him? please? pleasepleaseplease?

you laughed, —of course, go ahead.

and she was out of her seat like a rocket, pigtails bouncing, sneakers squeaking across the classroom as she threw the door open and there he was, just where he said he'd be. bucky's eyes met hers and everything felt lighter, the tight lines around his mouth eased, his lips curved into a smile.

she threw her arms around his waist. the kids inside the classroom leaned across their desks, trying to catch a glimpse of the man they'd heard so much about. bucky gently placed one of his hands in the back of her head, steadying himself more than her.

—hey, little one.

—guys? why don't you come in with all of us? —you asked.

—come on, —rebecca murmured. she grabbed his metal hand without hesitation and led him inside the classroom with all the confidence in the world. it didn't occur to her, not even for a second, that bucky might be nervous because to her, he was the bravest person alive.

as they walked in together, the class went silent except for some surprised gasp and quiet murmur. they both stood in the front of the classroom. your daughter's small hand still gripped his metal fingers. you watched them as bucky said good morning to the class and the kids responded with a chorus of greetings. you and bucky shared a quick look and you showed him a soft smile that you hoped it'd let him know how proud you were of him.

—thank you, mr. barnes, for being here with us today.

—thank you for having me.

the exchange was so formal it felt funny, like you were both playing roles. —okay, rebecca, —you said, the smile still on your lips. you had to remind professional but they were so cute together. your daughter looked at you and let go bucky's hand to approach her desk. she grabbed the piece of paper she'd been writing all week. she hurried back to bucky's side, —why don't you introduce your dad to us?

she nodded and looked up at bucky, her eyes sparkling with pride. then her eyes focused on her uneven handwriting on the paper. bucky watched her with a curious tilt of his head, eyebrows raised. he didn't know there would be a paper, something she'd made just for him. you didn't tell him about it, even though you'd watched her all week in class draft and redraft the paper, brows furrowed in that serious way she got that was just like his.

—this is my dad, —she started, voice weak at first thanks to the mix of nervous and excitement. —his name is james, but everyone calls him bucky, and he's a 108 years old.

a few of the kids exchanged wide-eyed glances, unsure if they'd heard that correctly. bucky gave a subtle glance in your direction and you couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

—he works in congress. he helps making laws and he has to wear a suit. this suit, —she pointed at bucky's clothes, making sure everyone saw him clearly. the suit was deep blue, the american flag pinned on the lapel. he was so handsome, especially today, with that sparkle in his eyes that only came when he looked at his little girl. —he's also a superhero like my uncle sam and he has fought a lot of bad people with him.

the kids recognized the name sam because if your daughter didn't brag about who his favorite uncle was at least twice a week, it meant she was probably home sick. bucky let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. he always felt like the word superhero was too big for him, like it belonged to the people who hadn't made the mistakes he had. but coming from her, it felt right-sized, even some quiet earned.

—but a long time ago he used to be a soldier and he had to wear this, —she reached under her t shirt, pulling out his dog tags. they dangled from the chain, too long for her tiny frame and almost reached her belly button as she held them up for everyone to see.

—my favorite memory with him is when this summer we traveled with mom to wakanda. i got to see shuri and she showed me a lot of cool things. wakanda is so beautiful, i like it there, —she cleared her throat. she sounded a little robotic reading, trying hard to read each word exactly as she wrote it, which only made her cuter. —i like when he's home. i like when he plays with me and alpine. i like when his hair is long because i can make him pigtails like mine, —she pointed at her own pigtails. the kids in the classroom giggled and so you did.

—i think he's the bravest dad and the funniest and the best one, and he's also my favorite superhero, —she put down the paper when she finished and everyone in the class started clapping for her, even bucky who was trying to hold it together and had to swallow the lump in his throat.

bucky knelt down and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck. —you did amazing, bug, thank you, —he whispered. her arms tightened around him.

—it was great, rebecca, thank you, —you said, trying to hide that you've got a little emotional too. —so now, —you clapped, getting everyone's attention. —who has a question for rebecca's dad?

a dozen small hands raised, waving in the air with urgency. some kids even half-stood in their chairs, calling you ms. barnes! ms. barnes! bucky tried not to smile, it felt strange and right at the same time.

—is your dad a robot, 'becca?

your daughter blinked, caught of guard. —he's not a robot, he's my dad, —she looked at you confused. a robot? you smiled to ease her nerves. you knew why the kid was asking, kids notice everything.

—why do you think mr. barnes is a robot?

the kid pointed at bucky's left hand and your daughter's eyes followed his finger. —that's his arm, —she said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. it was so normal to her that she forgot to mention it on her paper, it was like saying he had brown hair.

—it's metal, —bucky finally spoke, his voice gentle, raising his left arm so the class could get a good look. he slowly opened and closed his fingers, the soft, mechanical sound leaving the kids speechless. —made by really smart people. they built it after i lost my real arm so i could still do everything i used to do.

—and it's so strong and cool, and he can still do everything, like throw me really high in the air and catch me, and also this! —rebecca looked at bucky and he extended his metal arm straight out in front of him, wrist locked. rebecca jumped and wrapped her hands around his forearm, legs swinging beneath her like a tiny acrobat.

a chorus of whoa and giggles filled the room. they asked him a lot of question about his arm: can it break a door? (only if the door really deserves it) can you use it to open pickle jars? (yes) does it hurt, mr. barnes? (not anymore) can it fall off?

—it's not like legos! it's part of him! can your arm fall off? —you daughter said, defensively.

—okay, you can sit now rebecca, thank you, —you jumped gently in before it turned into a debate. she looked at her dad one last time before moving to her desk, —next respectful question for mr. barnes? not about his arm, please, —some kids lowered their hands. —what about if we ask him about his job? —a hand in the back shot up. —yes?

—do you have to do homework in congress?

bucky chuckled, then gave a kid a serious nod. —oh yeah. lots of homework. i have to read really long reports, like this long, —he held his hands apart. —sometimes more. and then i have to write notes and be ready to talk about them in front of a bunch of people.

you bit your lip, fighting the urge to laugh. he did not read a single one of those reports. you shot him a quick, teasing look and he just smiled back at you, as if to say, don't spoil my fun.

—do you live in the white house?

rebecca looked from her sit right, then left, eyebrows raised like she was trying to figure out if the question was a joke. —no! he lives in our house. with me and mom and alpine.

bucky pressed his lips together and nodded, —she's right.

you watched as the questions kept coming, one after another, each more curious than the last. no other dad or mom who had attended to friday family had ever received so many questions. the kids were absolutely fascinated by bucky. and he was handling perfectly, laughing with them, answering to every question kindly, never rushing, making sure each child got their turn, even one of your shyest kids asked him if he could shook his metal hand. bucky looked at you for a quiet okay, then rolled up his sleeve just a little, offering his hand to the kid.

he was doing great and your daughter seemed to know it. she sat up a bit taller, legs still swinging from her chair. while bucky was talking, you caught her sneaking glances at her classmates like saying, see? that's my dad. and the look of pride in rebecca's face as she looked at him calmed every nerve in bucky's body. of course, rebecca didn't know about this but last night, after he tucked her in bed, bucky came into your room, worried about today. what if rebecca realized he wasn't as cool as the other dads? what if she ended up embarrassed by him?

you managed to reassure him enough to get him to sleep but nothing you said compared to the reassurance he felt now, because as he stood there in front of the classroom, surrounded by eager little faces, rebecca's blue eyes, like his, were shining. she wasn't just smiling. she was beaming, like bucky was the best part of her world.

and in the middle of this precious moment, you couldn't help but notice the couple of seats empty at the back of the class.

some parents decided not to bring theirs kids to school that day. when you sent that email to them, announcing that rebecca's dad was next in line for family friday, the last thing you expected was to called into the principal's office the next morning, where you found a handful of moms and dad already seated. are you sure that's appropiate? with his past? some of us are uncomfortable. we don't want our children near him.

you sat through the meeting, jaw tight. be careful, that's my husband you're talking about. you said to one of the moms who was getting to comfortable talking about bucky, tossing around words like unstable and dangerous. you explained that he was pardoned, publicly and legally, so there was no reason to question him. and you said enough, there was no reason you needed to list the therapy appointments, the years of community word, the fact that he woke up every morning wondering if today would be the day everyone finally saw him for who he is, not who he was, all of that for people like them.

and the principal had to side with you. there was no reason for him to stay out of family friday and even though bucky didn't know why those kids weren't here today, and if he asked you wouldn't tell him the truth, you couldn't help but feel bad for him. because he showed up here today just as a dad, doing what be knew best, being there for his daughter.

he stayed during the break and the kids wasted no time. a small group, leaded by rebecca, rushed to him. come on, mr. barnes, we'll show you the reading corner. bucky looked slightly overwhelmed but the smile never left his lips. you moved with them, pointing out little projects hanging on the wall and bucky nodding, paying attention. when the kids huddled up in a corner, discussing which drawings he absolutely had to see first, bucky reached out, his arm slid around your waist as he pulled you closed and you let yourself lean into him.

—you're doing great, —you whispered.

about the drawings, he had already found the one he was most interested in. stuck to the wall, it was almost everything green with colorful flowers and a big lake so he guessed it was meant to be wakanda. in the center were three figures one with your name, next to you it was written me ('becca) and dad (bucky). alpine was there too, a little white cat in the corner, she didn't travel to wakanda but that didn't matter to rebecca, she needed to be included in the drawing.

he pressed a kiss to your temple. you looked at the clock on the wall, —okay, guys, mr. barnes needs to leave now, —you could hear a collective complain, —let's give him a big thank you for coming today.

a chorus of thank you, mr. barnes rang out from the kids, some of them waving excitedly, others wanted one last fist bump from bucky as they called his name, even one, the quietest of your kids, moved toward him and he pressed a golden sticker star onto the vibranium of bucky's hand. —thank you, buddy, —the kid hurried to his place.

rebecca ran to his dad and bucky was quick to catch her in a hug.

—can you stay a bit longer?

—i wish i could, bug, —he pulled back enough to see her face, brushing some dark brown locks like his out of her eyes. —i have to go back to work, but thank you for sharing your class with me, i had so much fun, —rebecca's face scrunched in disappointment, only focusing on the fact that bucky needed to leave. —i'll see you later at home.

—before dinner?

he nodded and she threw her arms around his neck again, tighter this time, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder. when she finally loosened her grip, bucky gently set her back down on the floor. you walked with him to the door, some kids calling his name one last time. he let out the biggest breath when the door of the class closed behind you, like he'd been holding it in the whole time.

—how was i? i think she was happy, wasn't she? she seemed happy.

you nodded, smiling. —you were amazing, buck, —you tucked in the lapels of his suit jacket, running your thumb over his u.s. flag pin.

—i kept thinking i'd say the wrong thing or that i'd embarrass her.

you shook your head as he spoke. —you didn't. you were patient and funny. she kept looking at you like you hung the moon, —bucky rubbed the back of his neck, you asked, —did you hear what she wrote about you?

bucky's heart shrunk remembering it, her daughter's tiny voice reading out, all proud, and let's said, a bit cocky, like she already knew her dad was the best one. —i want that paper. i'm gonna frame it and put it up in my office.

you laughed and tugged at the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down to you and pressed a kiss to his lips. he hummed into it, like he'd been craving that exact moment since he slipped out of bed in the early morning. once you pulled back, he placed another quick kiss to your lips.

—i'll see you at home. i cannot wait, i want to hear everything she said about me again, every word.

you playfully slapped his chest, —do not let it get to your head, mr. barnes.

—too late for that, ms. barnes.

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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 2 months ago

Text

Feeding the Pitt Crew - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 3.2k words. Based on this request: i love love love chef!reader !! could u maybe do a short compilation of all the times she has given food to the pitt crew ? :) Scenes are not in chronological order. This is a companion piece to Flesh Wound.

Warnings: innuendos. Mentions of PTSD, suicide, military-related accidents, and death. Family fluff, more innuendos, the chef is a damn catch and Abbot thanks his lucky stars he has her.

a/n: I got very hungry while writing this. also stay tuned to the end for some deleted dialogue that was too funny not to share. Divider credit!

1. Jack’s Birthday

Jack was working on his birthday. Well, it technically wasn’t his birthday yet, but when the clock struck midnight, he’d be a year older. He stopped counting the years after he turned 34.

Jack’s birthday might not be that important to him, but it was definitely important to you.

You got out of the restaurant a bit later than you normally would after going through all the closing tasks with your staff, but you’d still make it to the Pitt by midnight if you walked briskly.

There was a lull at the Pitt—the kind that made staff afraid of getting comfortable. No one dared to say the Q or S word. It seemed too right. Doctor Abbot sat at one of the dictation desks, squinting at some new test results. He was still in denial about needing reading glasses.

The high counter partially construed Jack’s view of you as you walked up to him. He was so focused on his charting that he didn’t spare you a glance.

“If you have any questions or concerns, please return to your room and activate the call light. Our staff will be with you as soon as possible.” Doctor Abbot droned. The speech was practiced, he could recite it in his speech. On one occasion, he had. You had to stifle your giggles into a pillow to avoid waking him up. He’d be the first to admit that his bedside manner wouldn’t always get him a five star review, but he was a damn good doctor.

“Is that so?” you smirked, your head tilted to the side as you assessed him. Forget the lingerie set wrapped up in a black gift box, tied with crimson ribbon in your closet at home, you should get him some damn glasses for his birthday.

Your boyfriend finally whipped his head to look at you. His features instantly softened at the sight of you. He rounded the desk and led you to the staff break room with your joined hands. He was trying to keep a low profile, and based on the gift bag in your left hand and to-go container in the right, he figured giving you his one-on-one attention away from the prying ears and eyes from the likes of Myrna and the night shift nurses was in his best interest.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asked almost rhetorically. Before the deserted room’s door could shut, you were already unboxing a homemade slice of cake (with the promise that the rest of the cake was in his apartment fridge, waiting for him to devour) and had pulled out candles and a matchbox.

Jack watched you work with his toned arms crossed over his broad chest. He attempted to feign his baseline stoicism, but it quickly fell apart as he watched how excited you got while lighting the candles.

“You know, it’s against hospital policy to have an open flame,” the doctor informed you while wagging his finger. Jack knew his words didn’t even sound that convincing to himself.

“You were never much of a rule-follower anyway,” you quipped back, showing him a toothy grin as you finished up. The chocolate ganache layered cake was adorned with just a few candles.

“Figured it would be a real fire hazard if I brought out all fourty-some candles.”

“Smart-ass.”

“Think you can take the heat?” Jack stepped to you, invading your personal space. His intense eyes never left yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He was tired, sure, but his seemingly ever-present fatigue was the furthest thing from his mind as he, who notoriously hated celebrating his birthday, stood alone in the break room with the woman he loved. Every year he spent with you just tasted sweeter and sweeter.

“Oh, I know I can,” you responded, flirtatious desire dancing in your eyes. You stepped back from Jack to give him room to blow out his candles, but not far enough to loosen the firm but gentle grip of his large hand on your hip.

With a dramatic inhale and gentle exhale onto the art that was your baking, the gray, gruff, bordering on geriatric, trauma physician blew out his birthday candles at 12:02 a.m.

“Happy birthday, Jack,” you smiled sweetly and pressed your lips to his.

2. Steelers Win the Super Bowl

The Steelers won the Super Bowl for the first time since 2009. Naturally, the Pitt was receiving an abnormally high amount of drunken party-related injuries. In all honesty, Pittsburgh’s fans were giving Philly’s Eagles rowdy fanbase a run for their money.

The betting board listed all different possible scores, plays, fouls, end zone dances, the variety of celebration-related incidents and injuries night shift would encounter in the Pitt, and finally, what kind of snacks Mrs. Abbot would be bringing in for the crew.

Earlier in the evening, Jack was told he wasn’t allowed to bet on the last item specifically.

“You know too much. It’s like insider trading.”

“Yeah, you’ve probably seen what she’s bought in groceries over the last couple of days. Or maybe you even talked about it!”

The security staff and techs volleyed back and forth as Doctor Abbot grew more and more annoyed. He just wanted to place a damn bet on what songs his wife’s favorite artist would be performing during the halftime show.

Doctor Abbot swore he had no idea what his wife had planned, or if she was even going to visit.

“Psh. She always visits when she knows your ass will be too busy to eat something on your own,” Shen interjected as he posted his bet on the board.

True.

When you walked in with two large boxes with Abby’s printed script on the sides in your arms, Abbot barely noticed the boxes threatening to escape your grasp. No, Doctor Abbot was much more transfixed by the little number you’d decided to show up at his workplace in.

Your knee-high boots, fishnets, and tight leather mini skirt were more than enough to catch the eye of a concerning majority of hospital staff and lucid patients, but it was the oversized Steelers jersey you’d borrowed from Jack’s closet that had him subtly readjusting himself in the middle of the Pitt.

Shen and one of the security guards you’d seen at least half a dozen times generously offered to take the boxes off your hands and to the staff lounge. A few newer staff members were drawn toward the aroma, but instead of following the food to the break room, they stayed swarmed around you as you slowly made your way through the Pitt. Your boots, unfortunately, were not made for walking.

Jack huffed and wrapped up as quickly as possible, his eyes rarely leaving you. The junior staff surrounding you clearly weren’t aware that you were the Mrs. Abbot, otherwise, they certainly wouldn’t have been pushing their luck by flirting with you. As if the massive rock on your ring finger wasn’t enough of an indication that you were not available.

Doctor Abbot finally finished up and began his leisurely stroll toward his wife. He might’ve had more urgency if he wasn’t tired to his bones, if his muscles weren’t achey in a way that he knew only a warm bath with you tucked between his thighs would soothe.

That was until you started to bend over to adjust your boot.

Jack was at your back in an instant, preserving what modesty you had left. The leather skirt had ridden far too high up your thighs for his comfort. The junior staff scrambled away at the deathly dagger glare Doctor Abbot dealt to each of them.

Jack’s hips pressed firmly against your back, his hand splayed across your belly, pulling you against him. His lips were mere millimeters from your skin as he whispered into the shell of your ear.

“Trying to put on a show, hmm?” His warm breath fanned against you, and you wondered if your husband could feel your bounding pulse.

“Only if you’re the one watching,” your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned back into Jack’s strong form. Abbot hummed and squeezed your hip before gently pulling away. He intertwined his fingers with yours as you both joined Shen and half of the nightshift crew in the staff lounge. Your eyes widened to see that more than half the food was already gone, but you were happy nonetheless that it was being enjoyed.

Jack took in the spread you’d thoughtfully crafted for his crew. Buffalo chicken dip sat in the center of one of the Abby’s catering boxes, surrounded by fresh-baked pretzel bites. In the other tray, an assortment of veggies was wedged between hummus and your secret ranch recipe.

Jack grazed on the snacks, but never strayed too far from your side. His hand rested on the small of your back that was exposed, his thumb softly massaging your skin; You’d styled his Steelers jersey to a cropped fit by cinching it with a black and gold scrunchy.

Like always, it didn’t take too long before the momentary peace in the Pitt was interrupted. Doctors Shen, Ellis, and Abbot’s pagers all lit up simultaneously as an incoming trauma alert was called out over the PA system.

Jack pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and shamelessly squeezed your butt with his large hand before performing a final raid of the snack spread, shoving a combination of celery, pretzel bites, and buffalo chicken dip into his mouth before jogging to the ambulance bay.

3. Memorial Day

Memorial Day was always a tough day for Jack.

For most of the country, it was a day off from work and an excuse to cook out or spend an afternoon at the pool.

To Jack, it was a reminder of all the men he’d served with who died in action. Those who died from all-consuming PTSD and self-inflicted wounds. It reminded him of the accident that killed several servicemen—the one that he was lucky enough to survive, minus a leg.

Every year, you let Jack decide what to do for the day. Sometimes he drove for hours on end with no destination in mind. Just him, the open road, and a sense of control. Other years, the two of you stayed inside with the blackout curtains drawn and watched hours of shitty reality TV as sweet aromas wafted from the kitchen. Blue Bell vanilla ice cream paired perfectly with your chocolate chunk cookie recipe.

When the fireworks went off, Jack buried his head against your neck and held onto you like a lifeline.

Abbot joked that he’d put on at least a couple of pounds around his midsection since he began dating you. You simply shrugged and told him you were into it; into his stubble and graying hair, his soft tummy and firm, rippling arms, his “DILF vibe”, as you called it.

This Memorial Day, Jack decided he wanted to celebrate. He’d spent years mourning, and he always would. This time around, he wanted to celebrate his friends’ lost lives and honor the sacrifice they’d made.

Only after you’d checked with your husband multiple times to make sure he was okay with it did you invite Abby’s staff and the entire PTMC ER crew over to your home for a Memorial Day cookout. Half of the Pitt was scheduled to work, but the night staff made sure to stop by before their shift started, and the day shift arrived not long after, still in their scrubs and exhausted, but motivated by the promise of Mrs. Abbot’s food.

Jack insisted on manning the grill.

“This is where I shine, baby,” he insisted while checking over the grill and propane valves.

“Sure, honey,” you conceded with a light hum. You let him cook the burgers on the condition that he wear his “I rub my own meat” apron. It didn’t take much convincing.

More than one party guest groaned when they saw you weren’t preparing the hot dogs and burgers yourself, but their moods quickly turned around when they took in the sight of your kitchen island. No counter space was visible. The marble slab was covered corner to corner with various side dishes and desserts. Certainly, anybody with any dietary restrictions at the party could find something to enjoy.

This year, when the fireworks danced across Pittsburgh’s sky, Jack didn’t go inside. He didn’t draw the curtains. Instead, he held you tightly on his lap, surrounded by his friends and found family around your backyard bonfire.

4. The Bake Sale

You and Jack agreed early on in your relationship that kids just weren’t in the cards for you two. Given how dedicated you both were to your respective careers, it wouldn’t be fair to bring children into a home that was empty half the time. Neither of you wanted to give up your ambitions. It was a selfless decision, really. Every child deserves loving parents who want to have children, and that simply wasn’t you and Jack.

That didn’t mean you weren’t an absolutely kickass cool Aunt, though.

When your niece’s school ballet recital was coming up, your sister told you the PTA was arranging a bake sale fundraiser. Before she even finished her sentence, you agreed to help out. You would do anything for your little niece.

The morning of the recital, Jack watched his home turn into a bakery. You generously allowed him to taste test and even enlisted his help… in washing dishes and rearranging things in the kitchen to make room on the counter for the dozen pans you’d churned out.

“Honey… are you running the bake sale by yourself?” Your husband asked as he carefully slid slices of banana bread into small cellophane bags.

“Oh gosh, no! I’m just helping out a bit,” you called over your shoulder, wrist deep in powdered sugar. What an odd thing for him to ask.

Jack looked at the packed kitchen counters with his eyebrows raised. He loved your baking and cooking more than life itself, but there was no way you were going to sell out of this many treats.

The recital was beautiful. Sure, the kindergarteners weren’t exactly ready to be recruited by the New York City Ballet Company, but the joy on their faces and adoration from their families filled the room. The love was palpable and warm. It was comfortable.

Jack bought a bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath for your niece. Ballet wasn’t his thing, but he loved spending time with you, no matter what you were doing. Motherhood was never something you craved, the same way fatherhood wasn’t something Jack ever pictured himself in. But the love you felt for your nieces and nephews? It knew no bounds.

Just as Jack suspected, your desserts were a hit at the bake sale and outsold other contributions by far. But, you were still left over with a surplus of treats that had the other PTA moms in shock. You and your husband had tasted more than your fair share of desserts during your baking spree, but you didn’t want the food to go to waste. You knew exactly the place to deliver the boxes of spare treats.

It was weird to see Doctor Abbot in the Pitt without his uniform. His jeans and collared button-up shirt stretched across his broad chest in a distracting way. Your husband caught you staring and winked at you with one of his signature smirks.

Abbot moved through PTMC’s halls with practiced precision. He knows the hospital like the back of his hand and could navigate it blindly. He knows it almost as well as he knows you.

Normally, your husband wouldn’t have you carry anything or lift a finger. But the Abby’s boxes and bags were too much to carry alone, even for him. So he carried the heaviest and told you where to scan his key card while you balanced a single light bag on your shoulder.

The two of you slipped into the Pitt, almost unnoticed amidst the chaos. Almost.

“Aye! Abby’s is here!” The charge nurse announced across the Pitt, earning the attention of every staff member. You waved to everyone with a kind smile while Jack used his chin to attempt to secure the top box in his arms. Doctor Ellis wasted no time making her way over to the couple, plucking the top two boxes out of Dr. Abbot’s hold and blowing a kiss to you as she passed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Abbot,” she grinned and disappeared into the staff lounge. Jack spared you a sideways glance, you shrugged in response.

You and Jack didn’t even make it halfway down the hallway to the breakroom before a flurry of staff members had taken the boxes and bags out of your hands, calling out Thank you! You’re the best! Mmm, this smells amazing!

Once the metaphorical dust settled, leaving you and Jack both empty-handed and alone in the hallway, you chuckled to each other.

No, the food would certainly not go to waste. Not on the Pitt crew’s watch.

5. The Soup Kitchen

At least once a month, Abby’s made an appearance at soup kitchens throughout Pittsburgh for unhoused people in the community. You had half a dozen tried-and-true recipes that were always a hit among guests, but you were ready to try something new. While you could’ve had Jack taste test for you, you knew he’d just tell you he thought everything you cooked was amazing. Which was true.

Usually, Abby’s was closed on Mondays, but you made an exception today to invite a handful of PTMC’s finest to sample the new soups. The physicians, nurses, and techs alike mingled in the dining room while they snacked on stray saltines.

You cleared your throat and commanded the room effortlessly. Jack stood to your side, his hands clasped behind his back. A small smile graced his face as he watched you in your element. The trauma physician admired the way your engagement ring glimmered in the light as you gestured to the spread in front of you.

“Listen up! Here’s the deal: Help yourself to some soup. Give me your feedback directly, or if Jack has threatened you,” you added pointedly, pinning your fiancé with a nonlethal glance, “feel free to write it down and leave it in the suggestion box. Constructive and complimentary feedback are equally appreciated. If you take leftovers home, I expect you to volunteer with me at a soup kitchen event at least once over the next couple of months. Got it?” You looked at the small crowd, smirking at the way they were practically drooling.

“Yes, ma’am!” They enthusiastically agreed in unison.

“Alright, kids, dig in.” You didn’t have to tell them twice. Kids, even though the majority of the present staff were older than you, your fiancé included. Nobody objected as they eagerly served themselves.

You leaned against Jack, who was already slurping the last drops of soup from his first bowl, and rested your head on his shoulder. It was nice to see the Pitt staff letting loose. Abby’s was your second home. You had worked tirelessly over the years to make it an inviting place for people to enjoy good food and relax; it was so rewarding to see the frontline workers let their guard down and take a deep breath.

Jack pressed a kiss to your forehead—it was like he could sense your racing thoughts.

“You do good work, baby,” he murmured sincerely against your hairline, massaging the small of your back with his free hand.

“You too, Doctor Abbot.”

a/n 2: Here's the deleted dialogue mwah. *set during the Steelers Super Bowl scene. Jack is taking in his wife’s arguably semi-scandalous outfit* “Aren’t you cold, baby?” “A hoe never gets cold.” “Don’t say that!” Jack replies instantly, exasperated. “Relax. I’m only your hoe.” Damn straight. “Also, I’m approximately 4 drinks deep, so I’m not feeling much of anything right now.” “That sounds more like it.”

COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED!! They keep me motivated to write more <3

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

#The Pitt #Jack Abbot x Reader #dr. abbot x reader #Jack Abbot #Dr. Abbot

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thatonegrimm · 6 days ago

Note

omg hi i love your writing! can i request the saja boys getting sick (like after they took care of the reader)?

Thank you for the request! The boys getting sick after taking care of you? Karma in the cutest form 😌💕 Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader – Now They’re Sick

They took care of you when you were sick. Quietly. Diligently. Without complaint. And now?

Now they’re the ones sniffling, shivering, and stubbornly pretending they’re not dying.

------------------------

🧿 Jinu

You found him bundled on the couch, Derpy curled against his feet, a tissue box balanced on his chest.

“I’m not sick,” he said, sniffling.

You held up a thermometer. “Then explain the fever and the fact you’ve been horizontal for five hours.”

He coughed.

“…I’m just resting my eyes.”

You sat beside him, gently lifting his bangs to press a cool cloth to his forehead.

He blinked slowly, lips slightly parted. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you said softly.

He stared at you. “You’re not gonna like… feed me soup with a spoon, are you?”

You smiled. “Depends. Would that be too embarrassing?”

Jinu flushed and sank deeper into the blanket. “Maybe. But also… maybe yes.”

So you did. Quietly. Carefully. Even when he tried to act unfazed, he leaned into every small touch.

Later, as you refilled his tea, he whispered, “Thank you… for remembering how to be gentle with me.”

------------------------

💪 Abby

You noticed something was off when he sneezed and nearly knocked over the kitchen chair.

“…Abby?”

He blinked at you. “What? I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating through your hoodie.”

He paused. “Okay. Maybe I’m medium-fine.”

You herded him back to bed, which was not easy, given he insisted on carrying you for half the walk like he was proving a point.

Once down, he buried himself under the comforter and blinked up at you with watery eyes.

“I was gonna make you soup today.”

“Well,” you said, brushing his hair off his forehead, “now I’m making you soup.”

He grinned weakly. “Marry me.”

“You can propose after you’re not dripping onto the pillow.”

When you brought him soup and his favorite blanket, he looked like he might cry. But instead, he just pulled you close and whispered, “I like being babied by you. Don’t tell anyone.”

You tucked the blanket tighter around him and kissed his temple. “Your secret’s safe with me, furnace boy.”

------------------------

📚 Mystery

You found him sitting cross-legged in the hallway, head tipped back against the wall, eyes half-closed.

“…How long have you been there?” you asked.

He blinked at you. “…Time isn’t real.”

You crouched. “Okay. Fever confirmed.”

He didn’t argue—just let you help him up and guide him to the couch like he’d suddenly lost all bones.

“I thought demons didn’t get sick,” you said gently.

“I didn’t think you got fevers either,” he murmured.

You wrapped him in two blankets. He didn’t resist.

You handed him tea. He took it wordlessly.

You offered to sit beside him, and he leaned into you without saying a word.

Later, when you gently rubbed his back as he dozed off, he mumbled something that sounded like, “Better with you…”

You never asked him to repeat it.

You just stayed close.

------------------------

💋 Romance

Romance had already texted you four times before you got home:

🍷: Baby I’m dying. 🍷: The fever has consumed me. 🍷: If I don’t make it, delete my search history. 🍷: Bring pudding.

You stepped into the apartment to find him in a robe, sprawled dramatically across the couch with a cold pack on his head and a tissue sticking out of each nostril.

“Oh my god.”

“I’ve never known suffering like this,” he croaked. “I think I hallucinated you just now. Are you real?”

You pinched his cheek. “Real enough.”

He immediately pulled your hand to his lips—germy and all. “My love… will you cradle me like the fragile rose I am?”

You stared. “Only if you blow your nose first.”

Romance obeyed, then curled dramatically into your lap.

You fed him pudding while he recited imaginary poetry about “death by cuteness.”

Later, as he dozed off with your hand on his chest, he mumbled, “No one’s ever spoiled me this much. I’m gonna get sick more often.”

You smacked him with a pillow.

Gently.

------------------------

🔥 Baby

He was on the floor, hoodie up, wrapped in a blanket like a pissed-off burrito.

“You got sick after one forehead kiss,” you teased.

He glared. “I didn’t get sick. I’m heat-regulating.”

You knelt beside him with a warm drink. “Oh yeah? And the sneezing?”

He sneezed.

“…Coincidence.”

You placed the mug in front of him. “It’s honey and ginger. You wanna taste it?”

He stared at it, then took a sip without making eye contact.

“…Tastes like affection.”

You grinned. “It is.”

He grunted and curled closer to your side.

You ran your fingers through his hair, and he grumbled something about “gross” and “clingy” but didn’t move away.

A few minutes later, he mumbled, “Don’t get used to this.”

But he didn’t let go of your hoodie sleeve the entire time.

------------------------

M-List

#kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja boys x reader #baby x reader #jinu x reader #abby x reader #romance x reader #mystery x reader #kpdh

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c1phra · 2 months ago

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Hugo relationship headcanons... please..... feed the starving........

... ❝ RELATIONSHIP HCS! ❞ ft. hugo x reader

𝒾. ⠀FEATURING : an assortment of headcanons about your relationship with hugo!

꒰ contents ꒱ mild spoilers for hugo's backstory i guess? gn!reader. fluff. headcanons. wc : 1052

꒰ notes ꒱ HIII ANON!! thank you for the request hehe i hope this is to your liking, i'm still getting a grasp on his character :")) + @rainswept hugo tag <3

a relationship with hugo is not easy. not at first, at least.

despite his collected exterior, the scars of his past still sting when pressed, and it's a pain not easy to ignore, no matter how much he tries to convince himself he has healed. it takes a while to allow himself to open up enough to begin the relationship in the first place, let alone let his guards fall, one by one...

but he'll manage. he's nothing if not resilient; give him time, patience, and the chance to ask you out himself, and he will be the most attentive lover you've ever had.

it starts with the classic: flowers, a huge bouquet that takes two hands to hold, and a box of chocolates. he's calm when he's handing them to you, his voice even as he spits out the confession speech that took hours in the mirror to prepare, but his mind is going haywire, worrying about whether it's too much, too soon. maybe he should have stuck with just the chocolates after all, or even just a smaller bunch of roses, or something else entirely—

he's thankful you don't let him languish in his thoughts for too long, cutting off his overthinking with a simple “yes.” it takes all he can to restrain himself from breaking out into relieved laughter at your response.

it's all history from there. when you're with hugo, nothing is ever boring; he'd consider it a personal affront for his beloved to be disinterested when they're out with him. no matter what you're doing, be it an extravagant day out, or quiet night in, there's always something to look forward to.

the more elaborate dates are what he leans towards in the beginning, as a means to impress you—dinners at the most high-end restaurants, and tours of art galleries—but it's the simple ones where he truly shines. when all of the grandeur and showiness is melted away, when it's just the two of you curled up under a weighted blanket with some trashy rom-com playing in the background, that's when he truly feels at home.

at the start of the relationship he's careful with his affection. even the most innocuous gestures are subtle tests, experimenting to see what you are and aren't comfortable with. pet names are one of the first things he tries out, a genuine “darling,” or “sweetheart,” slipped into the teasing, overly sappy “honey-pie,” and “snookums.”

when it comes to physical affection though, he tends to be... flighty.

a part of it is the natural touch-starvation that comes with being deprived of gentle touch for so long, but another is the fact that he simply doesn't know how to respond to it. it's not that he's opposed to the feeling, he simply prefers to be the one to touch you, to ensure he keeps some level of control over the situation.

it makes it easier. safer. if he knows if and when it happens, he doesn't have to worry about the instinctual recoil that happens whenever you suddenly grab his arm, or the overwhelming swell of emotion in his chest when you kiss his cheek. after a while, the instinct starts to dull, but it never quite ceases fully.

in any case, he doesn't stop you from touching him, (he doesn't know if he could bring himself to, even if he wanted to) but he favours the touches that he's warned about beforehand. ask for a kiss, and he'll never refuse; motion for a hug, and his arms will be open and waiting.

he tends to mirror what you like; every touch—even the ones that seem casual—is another test of what you're receptive to. once he's satisfied with his understanding of your boundaries, your wants and needs, he's more than happy to indulge you—no matter how much or how little you like.

one thing he does like is when you're walking together, he enjoys having you hold his arm, instead of his hand. it feels so much more intimate somehow, having your hands linked through his arm. he can't help but glance over at you every few seconds, a wide grin breaking over his face as he realizes how lucky he is.

hugo is extremely perceptive to how you feel, almost scarily so. there's no use trying to hide anything from him. surprises, secrets, suppressed feelings, he notices it all. if there's an issue in your relationship, he doesn't let it linger; he sits you down and confronts it together.

and if you're having problems of your own, he's also there to help. he might be slightly overzealous with helping you fix whatever you have going on, but he's more than willing to just listen if that's what you need. either way, he can't stand the idea of you keeping something to yourself when it's clearly troubling you.

somehow, despite his directness when it comes to resolving conflict, the first “i love you,” takes a while. it's a difficult sentence for him to muster up, even if it's been months since you got together. in a way, it's the weight of it that holds him back. speaking it aloud

so he saves it for a moment that seems casual, perhaps to steel his nerves slightly, or to simply soften the blow. it happens when you're half asleep, mid-way through your nightly routine. he's on his way to the kitchen for a glass of water when he pauses by you in the bathroom, kisses your temple and whispers an “i love you,” into your hair.

in fact, you're so tired that you don't even notice it at first, simply humming in response as he ducks out of the room. it's a few seconds later when the words finally process, and you almost drop the toothbrush in your hand.

what follows is you dashing to the kitchen to confront him, a flurry of questions on your lips. he's frustratingly impassive with his responses, an air of forced calmness about him, as if he hadn't just shocked your entire system. the bewilderment on your face is amusing to a degree, but there's an anxiousness that accompanies it; one that doesn't ease until he hears those sweet, four words that he's been craving ever since the day he asked you to be his.

“i love you too.”

#₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ mari's writing #—stellaronhvnters.#zenless zone zero x reader #zzz x reader #hugo x reader #zzz hugo x reader #hugo vlad x reader #x reader

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