#to the point where he had to take his attention away from you for a second. not only that but your attention away from him too

[unholyhelbig]

Hi!

Can I request a yelena x fem!reader fic where they are in a relationship but they’re in a rough patch and aren’t talking about what they are doing that much. They both work for Valentina and end up in the vault together and have different targets. But basically they start trying to defend each other (because they obviously still love each other) and the reader gets hurt. After all that they end up slowly mending their relationship and start communicating more and basically I want some angst with fluff because I’m a total sucker for that.

Ok thank you soooo much!!! 🖤

Title: In the Darkness Together

Ship: Female!Reader x Yelena Belova

SLIGHT THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS

Warnings: Stabbing, mentions of blood, mentions of depression, angst, hurt/comfort, injuries, John being a dick, horrible grammar, I don't proofread

[A/n: Alright, I'll admit that this isn't my best work. I've actually never written Yelena x reader before, I was kind of feeling it out! Feel free to send me some more Thunderbolts* prompts and I'll do my best!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The knife, the kind that people typically use to debone things, had edged past the Kevlar of your tactical suit and sliced into the meat of your side. It had started as a searing, uncomfortable pinch of pain, and had now faded to a dull ache that thudded along with your heartbeat as you trudged through the desert, nose and fingers frigid.

You applied pressure to it, of course. Had done a hack-job of patching it up and breathing through it. You’d need stitches once you got on solid ground, far away from the annoyances around you. The heat that radiated from the deep wound warmed you up, at least, made it easier to round out the back of the group.

It was easy to tune out John Walker from back here. He insisted on leading and you had conceded out of exhaustion. The wind blocked out his gravelly voice as he listed off his successes in tracking and trapping in the military. You could taste sand, grind it between your teeth loudly to block out the rest of his droning.

There was a body next to you, warm and solid and speaking. Your ears were ringing from the gunfire, and you were paying too close attention to the soft pink of Yelena Belova’s lips. How easy they would be to claim if you weren’t vibrating with a certain breed of anger that made you want to prove your point.

What point was that again?

It had been independence before you’d entered that god forsaken vault. Your target had been easy enough to locate and kill, something you’d done so efficiently that they didn’t even get a chance to step foot into the building. But, you were curious too, wondering what had been so damn important that Valentina agreed to this being your last job.

The whole night had been a culmination of punches thrown and blades twisted in the sinew of your stomach and guns fired. You’d watched Antonia Dreykov drop to the floor in a puddle of armor and a faceless mask that you were thankful stayed on, even with a bullet hole through the center.  

“What?” You meant to sound angry, sharper than you were. But it came out sad and broken, even to your own ears.

“You should have let me take a look at that.” Yelena spoke slowly, softly. “It’s not too late, we can stop for a few moments. I can patch you up properly.”

“I don’t need you to coddle me, Yelena.”

You winced, blamed it quickly on the pain. You were turning away her attempt at tenderness. It was the first she had shown in weeks. The two of you danced around one another in the small city apartment you shared. Expertly choreographed moves that involved one toothbrush missing from the cup by the sink at all times.

Neither of you bothered to tell the other when you had a job. You just went. On nights where the two of you happened to be home at the same time, you slept facing away from each other, a decent amount of space between you. Something having shattered along the way, though neither were quite sure what.

Yelena opened her mouth, closed it again. Swallowed hard. She had a crease between her brows that gave way to her worry and you had the sudden urge to kiss it away. It was heavy in your chest, nearly oppressive until you tore your eyes away from hers, stumbled over the heaviness of your boot.

And she was there, of course, she was there. Her hand was on your elbow, holding you up. The concern had ripped through her features in a way that you almost found endearing. This was the most attention the two of you had given each other in weeks. Months.

“Let me take care of you.” Yelena whispered. “pozhaluysta.”

It was desperate, a plea. The word broke like salt rock over her tongue and prickled at the corners of her eyes. Ash clouded her features, marred her skin. Dried blood was against her hairline, head more than likely pounding listlessly. Still, she waited for your signal. One that you gave with a slight nod.

“We stop!” Yelena called out to Walker and Ava, bringing everything to a halt. “We rest for the night. Keep going at daybreak.”

Walker whined at an uncomfortable pitch “Oh, come on. Women need to learn resilience.”

“It astounds me that one agreed to marry you.” Ava replied, shaking her head. She seemed exhausted herself, voice tight, eyes rimmed in darkness. If you stared long enough, her shadow flickered. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. “I could sleep.”

She plopped down onto the hard-packed sand, something that couldn’t be comfortable, but it was finite, deepening the frown lines on Walkers face. He exasperatedly threw his hands up and turned to make himself comfortable on some dusty rocks, shining bright under the moon.

Yelena edged you further away from the two of them, lowering you onto the sand. It still held warmth from the relentless sun, the tips of your fingers digging into the soft barrier. Your back was against a boulder, sprouts of rough buffalograss itched at your forearms.

“Polegche, polegche, detka”

Her hands against you was familiar, something you’d longed for. The tension in your shoulders relaxed, even as she lifted up the soaked fabric of your shirt. It’d dried uncomfortably to your skin, filled your mouth with too much saliva. You swallowed it diligently, letting your head fall back against the rock.

“I would have gotten stabbed in front of you a lot sooner if I knew it would get you to touch me.”

Yelena’s fingers stilled, ghosting over your wound, seemingly satisfied enough with your own patch job. Her eyes flicked up to yours. There was hurt there, vulnerability. There was an insurmountable level of longing that reflected in pools of green. Her cheeks were dusted in red, a trembling breath escaping her before she plopped back on her haunches, arms resting on her bent knees. The two of you stared at each other, beaten and broken.

“I guess we have been kind of stupid, haven’t we?” Yelena let a giggle froth past her lips, sweet and sticky. “Haunting our own house. Each other.”

You shook your head, offering her the small upturn of the lip. “How did we get here?”

There was a blueprint under your skin mapping out exactly how the two of you had ended up like this. Strangers working for the same woman who thought it pertinent enough to pit you against one another in an effort to clean her own hands.

“Lena, when I saw you for the first time, I knew you were the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, and I’m ashamed to say it’s because I recognized a sadness in you that I’d only ever seen when I looked in the mirror.”

Yelena plucked a long, coarse piece of grass from the sand and folded it between her fingers in a nervous habit, she worked the heels of her combat boots further into the ground as if to stabilize herself.

“It was selfish of me to think that I could shove away that dark feeling and the two of us could survive by clinging to one another’s remaining light.” You used the heel of your hand, wiped away tracks of moisture that cut through ash and dirt. “Didn’t take into account what would happen when both of us were surrounded by darkness. There’s nothing to grab onto.”

She sniffed, a heavy and solid sound. “Day in and day out it is all the same. We wake, we go to work, we fall asleep and we try to find something worth living for. You say it is selfish to find solace in someone who feels the same as you. I think it is selfish that we’ve turned away.”

Yelena carefully moved next to you, letting out a groan, her muscles sore and aching from even the slightest bit of statis. Her shoulder was flushed against your own, the sharp scent of gunpowder and sweat filling your lungs, but a citrus that was distinctly your Yelena soothed you.

“Do you ever think there’s going to be a time when we won’t be sad?”

“I do not know.” Her voice broke, “but we can get better at being sad together.”

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, nodded. Wished that the two of you had come to this small realization before you’d been stuck in a vault with other misfits who were hell-bent on ending your lives at the behest of a crooked politician.

Yelena slotted her arm through yours, squeezed it close to her chest. Leaned her head on your shoulder. Your heart clenched fondly at the closeness, not realizing how much you’d missed the simple contact. The softness of her.

You leaned your cheek on her head, breathed in the sweetness of her shampoo. “We should really get a calendar for the fridge.”

“Mm, we can color code.” Yelena nuzzled closer, nosed against your jaw. “Next time we’ll know if we get scheduled to kill one another.”

[karmavongrim]

How to tame your Billionaire fanfic idea

AU where Danny “eldritch-god” Fenton ends up in DC universe and becoming Lex’s assistant and dragging him kicking and cursing to path of being chaotic neutral at the very least.

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“This is so embarrassing,” Lex mutters under his breath. Well, there is one silver lining that came with this situation he thinks and looks at Superman some distance away from him.

The boy scout is still struggling in utter futility against an icy prison similar to his. Lex barely holds back a snort, at least he himself takes his loss with dignity (as much as one can have in such situation). He knows it’s impossible to breakout from the ice encasing them neck to toe so he’s already resigned to his fate and hopes that their jailer chooses to show some mercy for them sooner rather than later.

And speaking of their jailer, he move his gaze from the pitiful man in front of him to a much more appealing sight and what a sight it was.

On a makeshift throne of ice sits his personal assistant Danny Fenton, dressed in pristine dark blue dress shirt and black pencil skirt, his lean legs crossed languidly as he regards them both with a look of a disappointed mother. He manages to catch the attention of those beautiful glacier blue eyes and gifts his lovely assistant his best award winning smile.

“Danny-”

“Don’t even start with me Lex. You are as much responsible for this mess as he is. And no talking while in the chill out corner”, Danny scolds sternly whilst pointing at him and Superman.

No, Lex Luthor doesn’t pout. He doesn’t.

And of course this is the moment Superman decides to open his big mouth.

“Mr Fenton, release me! You have no-”

Danny cuts him off with a literal stop sign he takes from behind his throne.

“And I’m stopping you right there Supes. Both of you are staying right where you are till you can settle you disagreements like proper adults instead of taking it out on the entire city!”

As he shouts he motions at their surroundings. The spot they currently occupy is a park with a fountain monument… or it used to be before Lex and Superman totalled it alongside with many buildings and structures.

One can hear sirens going off all around as well as shouts from both responders and civilians. Lex can see from his position some folk who have been brave enough to come for a closer look after their brawl had come to an abrupt end thanks to the infamous office siren Danny. He can see few of them recording their rather humiliating state. Oh, this is going to be such a PR nightmare.

“How many times do I need to say this: If you want to fight take it outside the city limits! There’s a perfectly good field not too far you guys could use but no, we need to duke it out like couple of teenagers behind a Denny’s! Almost took out my apartment too! Again!!”

Lex can’t help but wince at the reminder, he knows Danny can hold a grudge longer than even Ra’s and has many times before threatened to move in with his sister Lena and taking their son with him if he didn’t “cut that shit out”. As much as it pains him to admit but most of the time he deserved each tongue lashing he gets whenever he acts to closely like Danny’s “fruitloop” of a godfather.

Of course the Big Blue decides to dig himself even deeper with their already ticked off keeper.

“Now listen here-” He doesn’t get to say much when the ice travel from his neck to cover lover face, effectively cutting him off as Danny levels him truly icy glare.

“I won’t repeat myself. You’re supposed to be a hero yet it seems that you cause as much destruction as the rest of them. You think yourself so high and mighty on your ‘moral high horse’ but here’s a news flash for you smallville, life isn’t black and white; evil isn’t evil just for the sake of it, it very rarely is and people don’t always do good things because it’s the right thing to do. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about your little dick measuring competition as long as you keep the rest of us who just want to live a peaceful safe life out of it. Capisce?”

With each word his eyes glow brighter and more frigged as he dares Superman to try anything, His hand tightening around the stop sign he still brandishes like a kings scepter. For once the superhero lowers his eyes in defeat after he seems to realize that he isn’t going to win this one much to Lex’s disappointment (it would’ve been entertaining to see where this could’ve gone) and that cold gaze is now pinned on the businessman. Lex doesn’t falter but nods his head in submission feeling rather chastised himself from the tirade. Though it left him feeling something *ehem* else too which the tightly packed ice on his body conceals rather well. The way he’s able to talk down Big Blue himself… Damn, Lena was right: he does have a competence kink.

As he tries and fails to think anything else to lessen his ever hardening problem their tentative silence of self-reflection is shattered by a youthful laugh, “Hahah this is hilarious! Guys takes pictures quick.”

Lex wishes he could bang his head against something when a familiar group of teen heroes waltz in and take in their unfortunate state. Kid Flash openly laughs as he takes as many pictures as possible and highly amused Artemis looks on, Robin is tapping away on his wrist device with a smirk while Aqualad seems more perplexed than anything with the whole ordeal. Miss Martian giggles as she follows another teen called Supernova- also known as Conner Fenton up to the throne and its occupant. Dressed in a distinct black and white suit with blue accents that seems to pay homage to another hero there even if they haven’t worn theirs in years. Danny visibly softens at the sight of them and gives his greeting.

“Hey little star, been busy?”

The teen, a male with same hair and eyes as Danny shrugs, “Not really. Nice weapon,” he says and points at the stop sign. Danny shrugs and tosses it to the side.

“You can’t beat the classics, besides the thermos of course. So what are you kids doing here?”

Supernova rolls his eyes, “Big wigs up in the atmosphere want to know whats up. They fighting again?”

Danny nods and mutters, “Yep. Seriously, it feels like instead of being a high payed assistant I’m a glorified babysitter to adult sized children. And just you know that out of all of these children you two are my favorites.”

Supernova snorts, “Sure hope so, considering I’m your only biological one. Anyway I’m going to go and make fun of dad and not-dad, see ya mom.”

Lex can only sigh in resignation as Supernova walks up to him, leaving Danny to chat with Miss Martian about new muffin recipes.

“Hi dad”, he says with a shit-eating grin.

“Son”, Lex huffs. The little shit puts his arm over his frozen shoulder and leans casually over.

“Sooo, how’s it going? Other than pissing off mom for the fifth time this month.”

Before Lex can defend himself another more gruffer voice carries over.

“I would like to know as well.”

Oh look it’s Batman, what a joy. He’s standing by Danny’s throne and examining them, then he turns to the still sitting male. “Danny”, he greets.

“Batman”, Danny gives a two-finger salute in turn.

“Hmm”, comes ever so eloquent response, which Danny counters.

“You can’t tell me they don’t deserve this. I’m going easy on them in my opinion.”

“I know. Saw the footage”, Batman states. Danny raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

A second, then two…

“Carry on.”

He then turns to the two men still stuck in place, “Superman we will discuss about your shameful conduct and disregard toward civilian lives and property.”

He turns to leave since the other is still silenced by ice but not before saying to the assistant, “and Mr Fenton will have no problem in educating Mr Luthor in same manner.”

Danny gives a sharp smile.

“Oh I will don’t you worry.”

And just like that the Dark Knight is gone like a shadow in a broad daylight. Danny claps his hands to gain everyones attention, “Now then, since were going to be here for a while would you kids like to have some triple-chocolate muffins I managed to make before those two interrupted my stress baking session.”

Predictably all of them are on board.

“Ooh me me me!”

“Yes please!”

“Sure why not.”

“I would be delighted.”

“Hm.”

“You didn’t mix sugar with salt this time did you?”

And Lex can only hope that Danny would give him one out of sheer pity.

[separatetheyolk]

F1 Drivers X Disabled M!Reader

ʚɞ featuring: Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz

ʚɞ how f1 drivers would react to learning you're disabled

ʚɞ notes: there are multiple disabilities in this. I wanted to cover a range of them eventually but I didn't want like 27 posts and I didn't want this time to be repetitive. Some such as tics and hypermobility are also rather broad instead of nailing it down to tourettes or hEDS for inclusivity. This is also a smidge self-indulgent lol

ʚɞ Also sorry for going MIA for like two months, will get to asks next!

ʚɞ requests are open!

Lewis Hamilton - Tics

He didnt even notice it at first. Verbal sounds would fall into the backround and smaller motor tics would often go amiss. It went undetected for about a year as they progressively got worse, eventually drawing Lewis' attention towards you more often despite your job shifting to a one which tics couldn't interrupt. Cars hurling around a track at such high speeds meant there was no room for error. Your tics caused too much error as a mechanic and you sure as hell couldn't be pit crew. A sad reality, but reality none the less.

Once he caught on, there was no judgment. He'd make sure you'd know there was no need to try and suppress them around him, no need to feel embarrassed.

Often times he'd take the fall for noises you'd make or cups you'd knock over. You'd insisted he didn't need to if it brought him embarrassment. He insisted you lived your life in a constant state of it. If he could take that away even just for a second, he would.

By the time you'd gotten together, your tics had gotten to the point of hurting yourself or others. You'd resigned from your job at Mercedes at the end of the 2023 season, but was still a familliar face around the garrage on race weekends. Often times walking around with icepacks to your neck or hands given to you by Lewis before he'd go out for practice, quali or the actual race. Each time coming back, having a quick shower and continuing with his checkups in more detail

He'd often hold open cups for you, your phone too if needed.

He'd give you something to keep you busy if you wanted him to which would help the tics to ease off.

Times where your voice was too shot to talk, Lewis wold be your voice, times where you'd suspected something was broken, Lewis would drop everything and drive you to the nearest accident and emergency, times where you had damaged a hand, Lewis would act as a spare. Help you with anything you needed without any hesitation

You'd frequently walk into the hotel room with a warm bath already drawn to help relax overworked muscles.

Charles Leclerc - Hypermobility

You'd met Charles when you were young in karting before you'd realised there were issues with you joints. Keeping in touch throughout both your careers and even after you had to leave yours unfinished.

By the time you both started dating, you had been travelling with him throughout two seasons. He'd watched your hypermobility grow worse over the years of friendship but being by your side for two years had really shown him how it affected you

He'd done research on your disability late into the night, researched braces and other mobility aids. He'd get braces for you to try (with your permission) and would buy extra of the ones you liked.

When the realisation you needed a cane at twenty four hit, Charles was right by your side. Supporting you with this new change and any breakdowns that occurred. Once you had eventually gotten it, Charles would keep it tucked away in his backpack wherever the two of you went, just incase. Reassuring you that you didn't "look stupid" when you used it and that if you needed to, you should.

He'd often act as a post for you to lean on if your knees or hips began to hurt too much. Or he'd just carry you if you said he could.

Of course, dislocations always scared him. Regardless on whether you were able to fix it yourself or not. He never liked when you'd do it yourself, scared you'd pinch a nerve or cut off circulation but those times where the joint just would not go, he was always the first to voulenteer to drive you to accident and emergency.

When you'd decided that a wheelchair would be beneficial, he would push you around if you couldn't do it yourself for whatever reason and help you transfer in and out if you needed it

He would be incredibly mindful of the fact independance was something you still needed, only stepping into help when you'd ask. Or if you were too stubborn, when absolutely neccesarry.

Carlos Sainz - Autism

He hardly understood it at first. He knew sometmes things would be too loud, but he didnt quite understand just how loud they could be. He also didn't understand the whole texture thing.

But with a lot of research and countless conversations he started to understand.

It began with little things first, keeping wireless headphones in his bag whenever you'd need them. They used to be his. But he'd ultimately decided he preferred earphones so decided to give them to you.

He'd then learned what stimming was. Shaking your hands, rolling back and forth on the balls of your feet, stepping side to side, walking in tight circles. Once that had been discovered, he started to carry around fidget toys.

Oh and then there were times where you'd go nonverbal. While he couldn't constantly have his phone charged to use the notes app, he did steal a notepad from one of the many hotels you'd both stay in during the racing season. Sometimes you'd use it, which did make it easier, sometimes even the feel of pencil on paper was too much input for you so it would be yes or no questions. Harder to work with, but he'd learned which ones to ask eventually.

Then there was the struggle of clothes shopping. Certain textures were too scratchy, or bumpy or just didnt feel right in ways you couldn't describe. Oh and the people. And the lights. And the sound. Carlos had quickly learned that breaking up the shopping into multiple days throughout the week would be easier. So, you both decided that leaving clothes shopping for the breaks inbetween seasons would be better. No pressure to get shopping done in any timeframe and you knew exactly what shops there were and what ones done clothing you liked.

When it came to travelling, Carlos would bring bedsheets he knew you liked from home. Both of you learning very quickly on the first night of the 2024 season that some hotel sheets were just not right. Leaving you both looking for bedsheets you liked wandering around the malls of Bahrain using every coping mechanism you could think of.

There would probably be talks of assistance dogs. If that was a yes, Carlos would search high and low for the best training services out there. And he would probably become more pissed than you if you were denied access due to your assistance dog.

He also learned what safe foods were after questioning why you'd eaten the same food for the last week. He wasn't a fan of the lack of variety but he'd never push you to eat something you weren't comfortable with.

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

"Caleb becomes a wet rat (and gets unpixelated?!)"

Chapter 7: Helpless

Pairing: Caleb x GN Reader

Word count: 1105

Genre: Reverse isekai, fluff, romance, comedy, supernatural, angst, slow burn

Rating: General Audiences

Triger Warnings: none

<< previous next >> Tumblr Chapter List Ao3 Link

---

The following night, once dinner had been served and dishes cleaned up, Caleb settled down by himself in a corner of the couch. After inviting him to join you in the warmth of the bedroom and Caleb refusing to budge, you gave him one last glance and retired to your room by yourself for the night.

The living room lamp left a warm and ambient glow around the room. Silence filled the air and Caleb’s thoughts started to wander off. You had left him with much to think about.

For whatever reason, the last scene you had played through came to his mind.

He had watched himself kiss the hand of a sleeping woman (MC, you had called her.. He thought.) and left to deal with the cleanup operation.

Caleb was starting to understand a bit of the premise for this game that you seemed to like playing. The main character, which you, the player was taking the role of, was a hunter “he” had grown up with. From the orphanage to his days in the DAA. Someone his other version was fixated on his entire life. Someone important.

It was a stark contrast to his own reality. The people in his life came and went. None of them were a constant, just a fleeting memory, ending on a sour note a lot of the time. The classmates who envied his genius and followed him in the hopes of getting attached to his name, the researchers that wanted a piece of his strength. The soldiers who betrayed him at the end of their lives. Even the woman who took him in got murdered.

Most of them forgotten, locked away in the back of his mind, never to witness an ounce of his attention again. Others, dead. For the better. According to him, anyway.

Caleb couldn’t wrap his head around the thoughts of wanting to protect someone to the point of obsession. There was a certain level of intimacy and understanding you would need with someone, to reach that point in your life where you would do anything to protect them. He never got to that point with anyone. The closest form of mutual understanding he had with anyone was that if he crossed them, he would be killed, and if they crossed him, they would be killed. 

The only time he felt close to someone was when he was dreaming. A one sided, yet deep understanding of the other’s emotions. And even those dreams, of someone that might or might not exist, were blurring visions. It was a ridiculously lonely situation.

Yet, there was possibly a version of him out there who had the chance to experience mutual understanding, instead of seeking one seemingly crafted by his mind. Even if it was in a story, playing out on the screen in the form of a roleplay game.

For the first time in his life, 

Caleb envied the thought of what could’ve been.

…

Caleb, to his discomfort, woke up hungry. Before, whenever this happened, he would’ve just gotten straight out of bed and whipped up something quick for himself. Now, however, the story was different. And his tiny cat paws couldn’t hold a single thing, much less a knife or chopsticks. He was stuck like this unless he somehow magically gained human hands again.

It had only been very few days since he came into this world, and he didn’t know how long he would be stuck like this before you woke up and served breakfast. Or if you woke up for breakfast at all. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands (paws).

He hopped off the couch and walked over to the kitchen area, sniffing the air. He was trying to remember where you put the cat food when the familiar scent of the food from yesterday’s dinner hit him. You had served him some kibble in a bowl, which was currently lying with the rest of the clean dishes next to the sink.

He jumped up onto the counter under the cupboard that smelled like cat food, sitting there for a moment and eyeing the cupboard to figure out his next move.

I should be able to reach it, right?

He jumped with his front paws aiming for the door handle.

As soon as the door opened, a box of cat kibble came flying out, spilling like rain everywhere.

…

You were brushing your teeth in the bathroom when you heard a loud thud and a “MREOW!” which suspiciously sounded like the cat in your living room. The speed at which you then proceeded to run out might've put even Usian Bolt at shame.

“Mmph-!” You stared at the scene in front of you with the brush still in your mouth.

Caleb was sitting on the kitchen counter, with cat kibble lying everywhere. From the counter to the floor. The cupboard on top was hanging open with the cat food box lying on the ground. And Caleb sat there, with his little paws tucked close to his body and his ears drooping low. He looked guilty as hell, not even looking at you. Just staring down, at the counter, at the evidence of the crime he just committed.

Your shoulders slouched and you shook your head. What a start to the weekend.

You went back to your bathroom and rinsed your mouth quickly, wiping your face as you walked back to the crime scene.

You looked at the cat which was now trying to push the kibble together, his paws doing an absolute amount of nothing against the food. It wasn’t even angering at that point. You just pitied him.

“You.. were you hungry? You should’ve woken me up earlier instead of trying to get this on your own, smart boy.” You said as you gathered the kibble together. He stepped back as he watched you clean.

As soon as the area surrounding him was clean, you looked at him. Surprisingly enough, he looked back at you, meeting your eyes. His ears were still drooping. 

“You could’ve gotten hurt.” You said firmly. He looked away as you kept staring.

He can’t really understand me, can he? 

..I wish he would trust me more.

You sighed as you reached out for him slowly. He didn’t flinch or move away, just staying still, looking down. Does he feel guilty?

You pet him gently. His paws shifted a bit as he leaned in towards you, head still hanging low.

For a reason you didn’t understand, your heart sank.

He looked so.. Helpless.

Like a child who was struggling to fit into his surroundings.

---

Taglist: @roseapov @mangooes @zukini-01 @browneyedgirl22 @mavix @staristoo @hohoooowhy @pirana10 @lunia-likes-pomegranet @bertieorangy @heyimseli @xxnessinessiellexx @mcdepressed290 @mentaltrouble2201 @stardustsunflowers13 @I-lover9 @destheoren @ixloom819 @super-nerder @mazlodowki @friedmagazineprincess @celestialzdiviner @deadghosy @fishwasher8 @dummiebunny @etsuniiru @wegottastayfocus @astraecho @multisstuff

A/N: You can DM me or comment if you want to be tagged in this series and it'll be done in the future parts !!

[hedwig221b]

Hi love, I was wondering if you have any fict recommendation on Issac being Derek and Stiles baby in a non-sexual way? Extra points if Isaac is de-aged. I'm a sucker for them taking care of puppy Isaac. It also works if it's just a Sterek fict where Derek (and therefore Stiles) are a parental figure for the pups aka Isaac, Erica and Boyd.

Love you

Hi! Yes, I adore kid fics

Werewolf Daycare by dinolaur

Sure, Stiles thought someday he'd be all right with being responsible for some kids. But not when he's seventeen. And not when those kids are actually five werewolves and a hunter who are all inexplicably toddlers again. Freaking witches, man.

We Got Claws by Onlymystory

Peter, Isaac, and Scott get de-aged. Stiles and Derek take care of them.

kids these days don't respect their elders by HalfFizzbin

Isaac is a temporary toddler, and Derek needs a babysitter.

Loving Isaac by QueenOfAngst21

A regular patrol around their land takes a turn for the worse when Derek and Isaac run into a unwanted visitor. Just when Derek thinks they are in the clear, he wakes to find not his beta beside him but a crying blonde haired baby right where he left Isaac. The pack stumbles over themselves as their alpha and emissary navigate this new dynamic and find each other along the way. AKA Isaac is de-aged, Derek and Stiles try to reverse the change but they find something better along the way

Of Puppy Piles and Sugar Dreams by StarShineForMe

In which Isaac and Scott get de-aged, the pack must learn to bond and protect their own, and Derek ("Dewek!") and Stiles ("Sti-ewes!") are mates…even if it takes them forever and two toddlers to realize it. “Oh, God.” Stiles buries his face in his hands, water dripping down his wrists. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Derek whips out a towel, wrapping it around Stiles’ forearms, pulling them away from Stiles’ body so he can look them over. “I’m fine,” Stiles says, a little blankly. Erica and Boyd have set Issac and Scott back onto the floor, tickling them both into fits of giggles. He huffs out a noise that’s not quite a whimper, not quite a laugh. “Just wondering when the hell I ended up in my very own episode of ‘Teen Mom’.”

A Pup's Found Family Pt 1 by StarShineForMe

"Don’t wan’ break my plate.” Adult Isaac, several inches taller than Stiles yet somehow seeming just as small as his recent two-year-old self, has had yet to look up from his feet. “Might get in trouble,” he whispers. **Later, Stiles relays their dinner plate saga, picturing perfectly in his mind the furrowed look of concentration he knows Derek has on at the moment. “He’s still our pup, Stiles.” There’s a pause, then Derek continues. “He wants to be little.” Stiles nods, even though Derek can’t see him, overflowing with emotion that he and Derek always seem to be on the same page now. “And I think he knows it,” Stiles agrees. “At least, his subconscious does. And so do we. But how can-“ “We’ll figure it out,” Derek assures him.

5 Times Isaac Age Regressed In Front Of Someone + 1 Time He Didn’t Have To by Warlock_Nerd

Isaac age regresses to help deal with the trauma he had faced as a child. At first, he tried to hide that side of himself but slowly he lets people see. He sees Derek and Stiles as his new found loving parents. Mama!Stiles Daddy!Derek

Scars to Your Beautiful by kat_fanfic

When Stiles and Scott return to Beacon Hills to investigate a mysterious disappearance, the last thing Stiles expects is to fall for their prime suspect. Add to that a very unusual pack and the discovery that there is more to his strange ability to hear pack-speak than he thought, and Stiles is in for more than one surprise.

Story Time by bella8876

Derek honestly couldn’t tell you what the stories was even about. He’d been too busy watching Stiles to pay attention to the story. But the kids had been riveted, on the edge of their seats even, they gasped and laughed and cheered but Derek didn’t hear any of it.

Unprofessional, Ms. Blake. But ARMS. by lalalathisisme

Ms. Blake, Erica's first grade teacher, may have a tiny crush on Mr. Hale, Erica's dad. He's tall, dark, and handsome and she has to remind herself to be professional and try not to climb Mr. Hale like a tree when he comes to pick Erica up after school. It doesn't help that he is completely adorable with his daughter – laughing and smiling and thoroughly impressed by every piece of macaroni-and-glue art that Erica makes. And every day he greets her with a hug, asking her how her day went. And he even says hello to Ms. Blake (“Jennifer” she insists, and yet he still calls her Ms. Blake) when he picks Erica up, looking like he actually cares to hear the random things that happened in class. She doesn't pry. She doesn't even know how to do it without seeming highly suspect. But as it happens, sometimes information is offered up relating to a class project, and she files them away in her brain in the folder titled 'This Is Unprofessional But Jesus, Have You SEEN His Arms?'

Ten Days by hatethesilence312

Derek Hale does not like babies. So when his pack gets turned into babies, it’s pretty much the worst thing that could happen to him.

[masterlist link]

[heart-shaped-pebble]

Imagine Bob trying to cook for you when you're sad. Partially inspired by that one WandaVision scene in Civil War. [gen!reader]; no use of y/n

You were hanging at the tower, clearly upset about something. It was so obvious Bob could almost sense it. Something on your last mission went wrong, he recalled, and you had injurying yourself. Nothing too serious fortunately, "just a scratch," you had told him. But Bob was still worried sick for you, and so was the rest of the team.

"Yelena please, I'm fine. I can fight! I can help!" You had insisted while the rest of them got ready for their next mission.

"No." The black widow repeated, her tone leaving no room for further argument.

"She's right. It's just for this one time, when you'll recover completely you'll come with us." Bucky had tried to comfort you, while Ava had simply winked at you and whispered something at your ear, not-so-subtly pointing at Bob.

John had done nothing more than shrug and offer some sort of sympathetic smile before Alexei - already in the car - honked and they all rushed outside.

So there you where, sitting on the couch while lazily flipping through a book. Your sad eyes scanned through the pages quickly, as if not aftually paying attention to what was written. It killed Bob to see you like that, and he had promised himself to be as useful as he could be at the tower since he wasn't able to fight, hadn't he?

Thirty minutes later he was standing at the couch's feet, biting the inside of his cheek and fidgeting with his fingers. "Ahem." He cleared his throat. You raised your eyes from the book, your look softening when it landed on him.

"Hey Bob. Everything good?" You offered him a tired smile, and he nodded.

"Yes. Can you, uh, follow me in the kitchen?" You tilted your head confused but nodded, standing up and walking with him to the kitchen. Your smile visibly widen when you saw what was laid out on the table, though your eyebrows furrowed when you noticed the mess of pans and left ingredients that was behind it.

"You... you made spaghetti."

"Bolognese." He specified, lifting his finger and then nervously biting his lip. When he noticed the way you were worriedly looking at the mess he had left he rushed to mention he was going to clean everything himself, but that "I thought you might have wanted to eat it immediately."

You let out a soft chuckle, moving to inspect the plate. "Well, it definitely looks good." You approved, nodding while smiling.

Bob let out a sigh of relief and gave you a nervous smile. "Thanks. I tried my best, I followed an Italian recipe online, cut‐ cut the meat myself and all." He gestured around, and that was when you noticed the bandages on his fingers.

"Is the secret ingredient your blood?" You joked. Bob looked down at his hands and hid them behind his back.

"Uh, yeah. As I said, cut the meat myself."

You laughed. "Yeah I can see that."

He shrugged and looked down, "I thought it might have lifted your mood." Your smile softened at his words. You picked a fork and rolled the spaghetting with it, letting out a satisfied moan when you ate this.

"Mood lifted." You assured him, sitting down to eat the rest of the dish. Bob stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking around unsure on what to do now.

Leave. They don't want you there. The voice in the back of his head said, which he tried to push away. But maybe that was what you wanted? For him to leave you eat in peace?

Before he could do or say anything, as if reading his thought you moved one of the chairs next to yours. "Sit down with me. Don't you want to try your own masterpiece?" You told him, taking another fork for him to use.

Bob blushed and sat down, avoiding your eyes, taking a small bite of the pasta you were offering. It did taste good, he had to admit. Beginner's luck, surely. "I wouldn't say masterpiece."

You snorted and lightly hit him on the shoulder. "Flatter yourself for once, Bob. This dish is great. I mean it." You told him with a comforting smile, putting your hand on his wrist. His eyes widened, unable to take them away from your hand. He was blushing so hard he was pretty sure his face had chanced colour.

"T-thank you."

Your smile widened as you leaned in to kiss his cheek, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it. "Thank you Bob. I really needed it."

Bob relaxed under your touch and smiled. Mission lifting your mood- accomplished.

[no-goodbyes-no-regrets]

Happy prompts? Say no more!

Buck watching Tommy play with Jee-Yun and/or Baby Boy Han in Madney’s backyard and deciding that he has to figure out the secret to mpreg ASAP.

big man, tiny kiddie coming right up!

(did i scroll through several lists of Korean baby names just for one throwaway line in this fic? why yes, yes I did)

Future with you (also on AO3)

Rating: G word count: 1392

---

They're in Maddie and Chim's back yard, little Jae-Hyun only a little over two weeks old and so tiny he all but disappears in Buck's hands. His little hand too small to even fully wrap around his uncle's finger.

He's adorable and Buck is completely in love with the little boy.

He'd taken him from Maddie the second he'd walked through the door, both to give her a break and to have a buffer between him and his parents.

Things were better but not perfect.

But today everyone is on their best behaviour to celebrate the newest addition to their family.

The weather is nice, his mom is busy fussing over Maddie, Chim escaped into the kitchen half an hour ago, and Tommy is sitting next to him and softly strokes the baby's head with one finger.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

"I think you're his new favourite person after mom." Tommy says, trying and failing to tear his eyes away from the boy dozing in Buck's arms.

"I don't know about that." Buck says with a chuckle. "I think he's just happy to be held. Jee was like that too."

"Uncle Tommyyyy" Jee whines as if on cue and starts tugging at Tommy's hand. "I wanna fly!"

"In a minute princess. I'm just hanging out with your little brother now."

She gives him an unimpressed huff.

"You can do that later. I wanna fly nowww!"

Tommy bites back a laugh.

"Why don't you come sit with us for a little while? We can fly later."

She rolls her eyes in a way that makes her look like Maddie's mini me and Buck bites his lip and focuses on the little boy in his arms to stop himself from laughing.

"Babies are boring." Jee tells them but lets Tommy pick her up and put her in his lap anyway.

She's a little obsessed with being in Tommy's arms, a feeling Buck can relate to all too well, and sometimes he thinks she might be the happiest member of the Buckley-Han family to have Tommy back where he belongs.

"That's because he's only little. When he's older you can play together." Tommy explains but Jee isn't convinced.

"I want a puppy." she says. The 'not a little brother' goes unsaid but not unheard.

"Yeah I always wanted a puppy instead of a brother too." Tommy tells her and that gets her attention.

"You have a baby too?"

Tommy chuckles.

"He's 8 minutes older than me actually." he moves her in his arms so he can take his phone out of his pocket. "That's him on the left." he shows her a picture Buck remembers taking at the badge vs badge basketball tournament a few weeks ago after someone had suggested putting Tommy on the PD team and pretend to be Rocker.

Rocker's team had been convinced it would work, while he and Luca had done their best to point out the differences between their partners and why they'd get found out in no time.

"He looks just like you." Jee notes.

"That's because we're twins." Tommy explains. "My mommy had two babies at the same time."

Jee looks at him like she's not sure if he's actually telling the truth but doesn't have the necessary information to prove him wrong.

"Is he a fireman too?"

"No he's a policeman." Tommy tells her, deciding to keep things simple. "Like Athena."

"Girls can be police too." Jee says like she's explaining the mysteries of the world to him.

"Of course. Girls can be anything they want."

"Girls can fly too, right uncle Tommy?"

"Of course. There are a few girls who fly where I work."

"I can fly too!" Jee announces and climbs off his lap. "Come on uncle Tommy! We can fly!" she spreads her arms and starts running around the yard, until Tommy gives in and with a quick kiss and a "duty calls" to Buck, scoops her up and swings her around while she screams in delight.

"He's good with her." Philip Buckley says a few minutes later and Buck jumps. His father has apparently learnt how to appear out of thin air and sits down next to him, both of them looking at Tommy and Jee.

"Yeah... Jee loves him. She's obsessed with flying ever since he told her what his job is."

"I have to admit, I found that one of the more interesting things about him when I first met him too. He said he'd show me around the birds some time."

Buck does a double take. He's still not completely used to the fact his parents know and like Tommy, and approve of their relationship to the point of his father now apparently making plans with him.

"Though with everything that's happened lately, I figured he had other things on his mind than giving me a tour."

"Y-yeah... he won't mind though. He loves talking about the helicopters."

"Maybe next time. Your mother and I are flying back home in a few days. Maddie and Howie have everything under control with this little man." Philip says and tickles little Jae's tummy.

They sit and watch the little boy for a minute until Jee's happy screaming pulls their attention back to her and Tommy.

He's pretending she's getting too heavy and he's too tired to hold onto her and they crash onto the grass together.

They're both laughing as Tommy rolls onto his back and Jee climbs onto his chest to convince him to get up and fly with her again.

Buck winces on his behalf when he notices one of her knees digging into his stomach, but Tommy doesn't even flinch.

"Uncle Buck! You need to come fly too!" Jee decides and Tommy only just manages to move her off his chest before she uses him as a trampoline.

"I think uncle Buck is a little too heavy to fly, princess. He had two pieces of cake earlier." Tommy holds up two fingers.

"I only had two small pieces. Uncle Tommy had two huuuuge pieces." Buck replies. "And he had a chocolate muffin for breakfast. He needs to be careful or he won't fit in the helicopter anymore."

"Are you calling me fat?" Tommy mock glares and turns to Jee. "I think uncle Buck wants to sleep on the sofa tonight. Or in the car."

Jee giggles and Tommy puts an arm around her and pulls her into his side, pretending to whisper something in her ear while looking back at Buck who just laughs.

In his arms Jae is starting to wake up and notice he's not in his mother's arms and decides to let the world know he's not happy with the situation.

"Give him to me, I'll take him inside to Maddie and save her from your mother."

Buck gently transfers the little boy to his father's arms and tries to push away the feeling of emptiness as Philip gets up and walks into the house with him.

"Uncle Buck!" Jee yells his name again and he sees her and Tommy on their backs on the grass. Apparently they've moved on from flying to cloud watching.

She holds out her hand for him and Tommy does the same.

"Come on babe, we've already seen one shaped like a tiger."

"Wow a tiger? Well I can't say no to that, can I?" He gets up and joins the two of them on the grass, leaning over to Jee to kiss Tommy, laughing when she pushes them apart and tells them kissing is gross.

"Just wait until you're older and you find someone you love and want to kiss all the time." Buck tells her, but Jee insists that's never going to happen.

They spend the rest of the afternoon watching the clouds and making up stories to go with them, and when Jee is deep into a story about the unicorn she found, Buck lets his mind drift to a day in the hopefully not too distant future, where it's not their niece he and Tommy are entertaining, but a child of their own.

He turns his head to the side and meets Tommy's eye over Jee's head and they share a smile.

He mouths "I love you" to Tommy, and makes a mental note to invite Hen and Karen over for dinner soon.

[m4rv3l-girl]

The Encounter

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected P in v sex. Fingering. Daddy kink. Plums. 😉

The bar wasn’t anything special, tucked away in the less-trafficked alleys of Bucharest, a place where anonymity was as much a selling point as the cheap drinks.

The neon lights inside hummed faintly, illuminating the faded wooden bar and mismatched stools. The air carried the faint tang of spilled beer and cigarette smoke—a combination that could almost be called charming if you squinted hard enough.

Bucky liked this place. It was quiet, overlooked, and far removed from the chaos he’d left behind in Washington, D.C. He kept his cap low as he slipped onto a stool in the corner, his metal arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket. Nobody here paid him much attention, and that was exactly the way he wanted it.

That was, until she walked in.

She didn’t so much enter as command the room, boots clicking against the sticky floor as she made her way to the bar. Her grungy yet effortlessly cool aesthetic set her apart: ripped jeans, a vintage band tee, and a leather jacket that had clearly seen better days. Her hair fell in soft waves, and when she slid onto the stool a few spaces down from him, her lips curled into a smirk as she flagged down the bartender.

“Plum martini, please” she said, her voice low and honeyed with an edge of sarcasm. “And make it strong.”

Bucky froze mid-sip of his beer.

Plums.

The request yanked him from his own thoughts, stirring something almost primal in him. He hadn’t tasted a plum in decades, but the memory of their sweetness, their simplicity, still lingered. He glanced her way, his curiosity piqued.

The bartender nodded, and within minutes, a martini glass was set before her. She wrapped her fingers around the stem, her rings clinking softly against the glass.

“Not the usual choice,” he found himself saying before he could stop himself.

She turned her head, her brows arching in surprise. Her gaze landed on him—blue eyes meeting hers—and her smirk widened.

“And beer is?” she shot back, taking a deliberate sip of her drink.

Bucky chuckled, a sound he hadn’t made in longer than he cared to admit. “Fair point, doll.”

Her smirk faltered, just for a second, before she set her glass down. “Doll, huh? Bold of you to assume I’d let you get away with that.”

“It suits you,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder.

She studied him for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if trying to puzzle him out. There was something about him—his quiet demeanor, the way his shoulders hunched just enough to seem unapproachable, but not enough to feel entirely cold. The dark baseball cap didn’t do much to hide his sharp jawline or those piercing eyes that looked like they’d seen too much.

“Well,” she said finally, lifting her glass toward him. “If I’m ‘doll,’ what does that make you?”

He leaned back slightly, his lips twitching in a barely-there smile. “Depends. What do I look like?”

Her eyes flickered over him, sharp and assessing. “Like trouble,” she said, her tone playful but her gaze unwavering.

“Not wrong,” he muttered, taking another sip of his beer.

“What’s your name?” she asked, leaning her elbow on the bar as she turned to face him fully.

He hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t used his name in a long time—hadn’t really needed to. But something about her made him want to offer something, even if it was just a piece of himself.

“James,” he said after a beat.

Her lips curled again. “James, huh? Classic. I like it. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, testing the sound. It rolled off his tongue easily, naturally. He liked it, too.

She smiled and took another sip of her martini, and for a moment, the two of them sat in comfortable silence, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

“What brings you here, James?” she asked eventually, her tone casual but curious.

“Needed a drink,” he replied, deflecting. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she could tell he was holding back, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded toward his nearly empty beer. “Well, clearly, you need another. You stick to beer, or are you brave enough to try something new?”

He raised a brow, intrigued by the challenge in her voice. “What do you have in mind, Kitten?”

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and he swore he saw her cheeks flush slightly at the nickname. “You’re really doubling down on the pet names, huh?”

“They fit,” he said simply, his tone low and steady.

“Sure they do.” She waved the bartender over and ordered two shots of plum brandy. “You like plums, James?”

His eyes flicked to her, sharp and almost suspicious. “What makes you ask?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know. You just give me... vintage vibes. And plums feel vintage, don’t they? Old-fashioned. Classic.”

The corner of his mouth twitched again, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen so far. “Yeah. I like plums.”

She grinned, triumphant, and slid one of the shots toward him. “Then this one’s on me.”

He studied her for a moment, the shot glass sitting untouched between them. She was bold, confident, and had an edge to her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But there was something else—something beneath the surface that reminded him of home, of the way things used to be.

With a slight nod, he picked up the glass. “To... plums,” he said, his voice tinged with dry amusement.

She clinked her glass against his. “To plums.”

They drank, and the burn of the brandy was immediate, warming him from the inside out. It wasn’t just the alcohol, though. It was her—the way she laughed softly as she set her glass down, the way her eyes sparkled in the dim light.

“So, Y/N,” he said, leaning closer, his tone teasing but her gaze steady. “What’s your deal? You just passing through, or are you sticking around for a while?”

“Depends,” she said, mirroring her earlier words. “What’s here to stick around for?”

He smirked, his gloved fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

She raised an eyebrow at his response, smirking as she leaned forward. “Oh, I see how it is. The mysterious type. Let me guess, James—you’re one of those guys who likes to stay quiet, brood in the corner, and make everyone wonder what’s going on in your head.”

Bucky tilted his head, her words hitting closer to home than she likely intended. “You saying that like it’s a bad thing?” he asked, his tone light but with a teasing edge.

“It’s not,” she admitted, swirling the remnants of her drink in her glass. “It’s intriguing. Gets people to ask questions. But it’s also a little predictable, don’t you think? Quiet guy, dark past, hiding out in a bar? Feels like I’ve read that novel before.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and almost sheepish. “Maybe. But not every story’s the same, Kitten.”

She leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as she considered him. “Alright, then. Prove it. Tell me something that makes your story different.”

Bucky paused, caught off guard by the challenge. He wasn’t used to opening up, especially not to strangers. But there was something about her—something in the way she met his gaze without flinching, as if she wasn’t afraid of what she might find there.

“I don’t talk much about myself,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “Not to most people.”

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s... complicated.”

She rolled her eyes, though there was no real malice in it. “Everything’s complicated. You’ll have to do better than that.”

Bucky studied her for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Let’s just say I’ve made some mistakes,” he said eventually. “Big ones.”

Her expression softened slightly, though she didn’t let up. “Who hasn’t? The question is, are you trying to fix them?”

He blinked, her words striking a chord he hadn’t expected. It was such a simple question, but it carried a weight he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving his. “Honest. I like that.”

He frowned slightly, confused by her response. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said with a small shrug. “Most people try to hide the messy parts of themselves. Pretend they’ve got it all figured out. It’s refreshing to hear someone admit they don’t have all the answers.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his empty beer bottle.

“Alright, James,” she said after a moment, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Your turn. Ask me something.”

He raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her sudden shift in focus. “What makes you think I’ve got questions?”

“Because everyone does,” she said simply. “And I’m an open book. Mostly.”

He considered her for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. “Why the plum martini?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t strike me as the fruity drink type,” he said, his tone even but his eyes sharp. “Figured you’d go for whiskey or something stronger.”

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough. But the plum martini’s got a little history for me. My grandma used to have this plum tree in her backyard, and every summer, we’d make jam together. She’d let me sneak a few plums while we worked, even though she pretended to scold me for it. Drinking this kind of reminds me of her.”

Bucky’s expression softened, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sounds like she was a good woman.”

“She was,” Y/N said with a small nod. “Tough as nails, but with a soft spot for me. Guess I get my attitude from her.”

“I can see that,” he said, his tone teasing.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or an insult, James?”

“A compliment,” he assured her, the smile on his face growing just a fraction.

“Good,” she said, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand. “Because I was about to ask if you wanted to step outside and say that again.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You’d win, Kitten. No question.”

“Damn right, I would,” she said with a wink.

The playful banter continued, the walls Bucky had built around himself slowly starting to crumble. She was disarming in a way he hadn’t expected—sharp and witty, but also warm and understanding.

As the minutes stretched into hours, they moved from teasing quips to deeper conversations. She told him about her job at a local record store, how she spent her days surrounded by vinyl and vintage posters. He listened intently, asking questions and even surprising her with his knowledge of jazz and swing music from the ’40s.

“You really are an old soul, huh?” she teased, nudging his arm lightly.

“Something like that,” he said, his tone laced with something she couldn’t quite place—nostalgia, maybe, or regret.

She didn’t push, sensing that there were things he wasn’t ready to share. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips. “Well, I think it’s charming.”

“Charming?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “You don’t see that kind of old-school vibe much these days. It’s refreshing.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the way his gaze softened told her he appreciated the sentiment.

Eventually, the bartender called last call, and the reality of the night coming to an end settled over them.

“Guess it’s time to head out,” she said, standing and grabbing her jacket.

Bucky stood as well, his movements slow and deliberate. “You walking home?”

“Unless you’re offering to walk me,” she said, her tone teasing but hopeful.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Come on, Doll. Let’s get you home.”

Bucky shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked beside her, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The streets were quiet, the hum of distant traffic the only sound besides their footsteps on the pavement. Y/N glanced up at him occasionally, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"You didn’t have to walk me home, you know," she said, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, keeping his eyes ahead. "Didn’t feel right letting you walk alone. City can get rough at night."

She smirked, tilting her head toward him. "Are you saying you’re my knight in shining armor, James?"

"Not exactly," he said with a faint chuckle, "but I’ll take the compliment."

The banter came easy now, the tension from earlier melting away with every step. When they reached her apartment building, she paused at the stoop, turning to face him.

"This is me," she said, gesturing to the old brick building behind her.

He nodded, rocking back on his heels. "Looks like a nice place."

"It’s got charm," she said with a grin. "Wanna come in for a drink? Least I can do for my, uh, unofficial bodyguard."

Bucky hesitated, the offer catching him off guard. But there was no hesitation in her gaze, only warmth and genuine curiosity.

"Sure," he said finally.

Her apartment was small but cozy, with mismatched furniture and walls lined with shelves full of books and records. A soft lamp in the corner bathed the room in a warm golden glow, and the faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air.

"Make yourself at home," she said, tossing her keys onto a side table and slipping off her jacket. She disappeared into the kitchen, calling out, "What’s your poison? I’ve got beer, wine, whiskey...water, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous."

Bucky chuckled, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Whiskey’s good."

A moment later, she returned with two glasses, handing one to him before plopping down on the couch beside him. She tucked her legs under her, her knee brushing against his as she turned to face him.

"Cheers," she said, raising her glass.

He clinked his glass against hers, the sound soft and almost intimate in the quiet room.

They sipped in silence for a moment before she leaned back against the cushions, studying him.

"So, James," she began, a playful lilt in her voice. "What’s your story? And don’t give me that ‘it’s complicated’ nonsense again."

He smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "It really is complicated."

"Try me," she said, her gaze steady and unflinching.

He exhaled, his fingers tapping against the glass. He wasn’t sure why he felt the urge to share, but something about her made him feel...safe.

"I’ve been through some things," he said carefully. "Seen and done things I’m not proud of. Spent a long time trying to figure out who I am, where I fit in the world."

Her expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt. She just waited, giving him the space to continue.

"It’s like...coming back to a world that’s moved on without you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "And you’re not sure if you even belong in it anymore."

She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving his. "That sounds...lonely."

"It is," he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "You’re not alone now," she said gently. "You’ve got people who care about you, right? Friends? Family?"

He hesitated, the weight of her question settling over him. "Some," he said eventually. "But it’s not always easy to let them in."

"Why not?" she asked, her tone curious rather than judgmental.

He looked down at his glass, his thumb tracing the rim. "Because once people see the real you—the parts you try to hide—they might not stick around."

She frowned, her grip on his arm tightening slightly. "That’s bullshit, James. The people who matter won’t run. And anyone who does? They’re not worth your time."

Her words were blunt, but they carried a conviction that he couldn’t ignore.

"You really believe that?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I do," she said firmly. "Life’s too short to waste on people who don’t see your worth."

He studied her for a long moment, the warmth in her eyes stirring something deep inside him.

"Thanks," he said softly.

She smiled, her thumb brushing against his arm before she pulled her hand away. "Anytime."

They fell into an easy conversation after that, the topics shifting from heavy to light. She told him about her favorite records and her dream of opening her own little shop one day. He shared bits and pieces about his love for old books and the time he spent tinkering with motorcycles.

The hours slipped by, the world outside fading away as they sat there, two strangers slowly becoming something more.

Eventually, her head tipped back against the couch, her eyes growing heavy. She stifled a yawn, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Guess I kept you longer than I planned," she said with a sheepish smile.

"I don’t mind," he said, his voice low and steady.

She looked at him for a moment, her smile softening. "Well, if you ever feel like talking again, you know where to find me."

Bucky nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. "I’ll keep that in mind, Kitten."

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Good. Now, let me grab you a blanket for the couch. It’s too late for you to be wandering the streets."

Y/N stood up and stretched, the hem of her shirt rising slightly as she reached her arms overhead. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the motion before he quickly looked away, focusing instead on his half-empty glass of whiskey.

"You don’t have to do that," he said, standing and setting his glass down on the coffee table. "I can head out—it’s no problem."

She turned, hands on her hips, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "What kind of host would I be if I let you walk home at this hour? Besides, You weren’t kidding about the city being rough at night. And I doubt you want to deal with random drunks yelling at you from across the street."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You think I can’t handle myself?"

"Oh, I’m sure you can," she said with a chuckle, walking past him to grab a blanket from a basket near the armchair. "But why bother when you can have a perfectly good couch right here?"

Bucky hesitated, the warmth of her offer sinking in. It had been a long time since someone had cared about his well-being like this.

"Alright," he said finally, his voice soft. "If you’re sure."

"I’m sure," she said, tossing the blanket onto the couch. "Pillow’s over there if you need it."

As she stepped closer, her expression softened, the teasing replaced by something quieter, more sincere. "You’ve had enough lonely nights, haven’t you?"

Her words hit him like a gentle blow, not painful but heavy with understanding. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Well, not tonight," she said firmly, her hand brushing his arm as she stepped back. "Now, do you want another drink, or are you good?"

"I’m good," he said, his voice a little rough.

"Alright, then." She gave him one last smile before heading toward her bedroom. "Goodnight, Bucky." -

"Y/N."

It wasn’t loud—barely above a murmur—but there was a weight to it that made her pause. She glanced back over her shoulder, finding him still standing near the couch, one hand brushing through his hair like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

"Yeah?" she prompted, tilting her head slightly, her expression curious.

His lips parted, then closed, like the words were stuck somewhere deep. For a second, she thought he might brush it off entirely. But then his blue eyes found hers, and there was something unguarded in his gaze, something raw.

"I..." he started, his voice quiet. "I don’t want to be alone tonight."

Her chest tightened at the vulnerability laced in his tone. It wasn’t desperation—Bucky Barnes didn’t seem like the kind of man who begged for anything. It was more like an admission, one that cost him something to say out loud.

"Okay," she said simply, her voice soft but steady.

She turned fully toward him, walking back into the living room. Her bare feet padded lightly on the floor as she stopped just a few feet from him, close enough to see the flicker of relief in his expression.

"I’ll stay for a while," she added after a beat. "Come sit with me?"

For a moment, he just looked at her, like he was trying to figure out if she really meant it. Then, with a small nod, he moved toward the couch.

She settled into the cushions, patting the spot beside her. He hesitated only briefly before sitting down, the proximity bringing a faint warmth to the air between them.

"Do you do this for all the random guys you meet in bars?" he asked, the faintest hint of a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

"Only the ones who don’t bolt when I ask for their names," she shot back, her tone light but her eyes steady on him.

A low chuckle escaped him, and she felt the tension in the room ease slightly.

"Guess I made the cut, then," he said, leaning back slightly, his metal arm resting along the back of the couch.

"Guess so," she replied, leaning back as well, her legs tucked under her.

For a moment, they sat in silence. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, it felt... comfortable. Like they didn’t need to fill the space with words.

"Thanks," he said suddenly, his voice soft.

"For what?" she asked, glancing at him.

"For... this," he said, gesturing vaguely to the room. "For not asking too many questions. For not running the other way when you saw—" He stopped himself, his jaw tightening for just a second.

"Hey," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You don’t owe me an explanation. Whatever it is, whoever you are—it doesn’t scare me, okay?"

His eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment, she thought he might say something else. But then he just nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a quiet smile.

She reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing lightly against his metal hand where it rested on the back of the couch.

"It’s not the first time I’ve met someone carrying a heavy load," she said softly. "And it probably won’t be the last. But you don’t have to carry it alone tonight."

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly at her words. He looked down at her hand, the way it lingered against his, warm and steady.

"Why are you so nice to me?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving.

"Maybe I just have a soft spot for mysterious guys with good taste in whiskey," she teased lightly, though her tone held an undercurrent of sincerity.

His lips twitched into a real smile this time, one that reached his eyes. "Lucky me, then."

They sat there for a while longer, the only sound the steady tick of the antique clock on the mantle.

She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, and Bucky wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against his was a stark contrast to the cold metal of his prosthetic, a reminder of the vast differences between them. Yet, in that moment, all he could feel was the connection that had grown stronger with each shared secret, each stolen glance.

The couch was not built for two, but somehow, they made it work. Her legs curled underneath her, and she fit perfectly into the space beside him. He could feel her breathing, slow and steady, as she dozed off, the events of the evening catching up to her.

Bucky watched her, his heart beating a rhythm that was both familiar and new at the same time.

He knew he should be on guard, his instincts honed for danger, but all he wanted was to hold her, to keep her safe, to let the peace of this moment seep into the cracks of his damaged soul.

With a gentle sigh, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a brief second.

The room grew quiet, the air thick with the unspoken tension that had been building between them all evening. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, and she searched his gaze for any hint of what was to come. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a silver glow across her features, making her look ethereal, like a creature not of this world.

Bucky’s thumb traced the line of her jaw, the pad of his finger brushing over her cheekbone before his hand found its way into the softness of her hair.

He felt the warmth of her breath against his neck as she exhaled a contented sigh.

Slowly, as if afraid she might break, he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving hers. The space between them narrowed, the anticipation building like the crescendo of a symphony. Their lips met, tentative at first, as if testing the waters of a newfound intimacy. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as the walls they’d built around themselves crumbled to dust. It was a kiss filled with the promise of something more, a silent declaration of the feelings they’d both been too afraid to voice.

Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair as she pulled him closer. His hand found the small of her back, the touch sending shivers down her spine. The kiss grew hotter, more insistent, as the passion between them ignited like a wildfire. They broke apart for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their eyes searching the other’s for any sign of doubt or regret. Finding none, Bucky leaned back in, capturing her mouth once more in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

Their bodies aligned, and she could feel the steady thump of his heart against her chest.

——-smut——-smut———smut——-smut——-smut——-smut——-

It was a comforting rhythm, a reminder that he was real, that this moment was not just a figment of her imagination. His hands moved to the zipper of her jacket, pulling it down with a whisper of sound. She shrugged it off, her eyes never leaving his as she revealed the soft fabric of her blouse beneath. The air grew charged as he placed his hand on her bare skin, the warmth of his touch sending waves of desire through her.

Their kisses grew more frantic as they moved closer, the fabric of their clothes seeming to melt away as their hands explored each other. The couch creaked under their weight as they shifted, the springs protesting against the passion that had taken them over. They were a tangle of limbs and emotions, a dance of need and want that neither could resist.

Bucky’s hand found the zipper of her skirt, his movements deliberate and sure. She lifted her hips, allowing him to slide it down her legs. The cool air kissed her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pulled her closer, his hand moving to the hem of her shirt, lifting it to expose her stomach. His thumb traced the delicate line of her belly button, sending a thrill through her.

He paused, his hand hovering just above the fabric, waiting for her permission. She nodded, her breath hitching in her throat. He pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in just her bra. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but she trusted him, knew that he would never hurt her. He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as he placed a gentle kiss just above the lace.

Their hearts pounded in sync as they continued to explore, each touch a new discovery, each kiss a silent confession of their feelings.

The night was theirs, a stolen moment in time where they could be free of their pasts and the weight of their futures. For now, there was only the here and now, and the unspoken promise of what was to come.

The couch was not a bed, but it was where they found themselves, tangled in the fabric of their desires. He took his time, his hands worshiping her body as if it were the first time he’d ever felt skin so soft, so alive. She responded with equal fervor, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer.

Their movements grew more urgent, the tension coiling tight within them, demanding release. With a groan, Bucky lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms tight around his neck. He carried her down the hallway, her heart racing as she felt the cold floorboards under her bare feet. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle, casting flickering shadows across the walls. He laid her down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers.

Their kisses grew deeper as Bucky unhooked her bra, his gaze dropping to the swell of her breasts.

He kissed the delicate skin, tracing the lines of her collarbone with his tongue before taking a nipple into his mouth. She arched her back, a gasp escaping her as he teased her with his teeth. His hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every inch of her softness. The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that resonated through her very core.

Her own hands were not idle, her fingertips exploring the planes of his chest, the ripples of his abs, and the firm muscle beneath. She felt the metal of his prosthetic against her skin and paused for a moment, her eyes searching his for explanation, soon after she realized she didn’t care right now. He took her hand, kissing her palm, before placing it back, his gaze never leaving hers. He was hers, all of him, the good and the broken.

With trembling fingers, she unbuckled his belt, the clank of the metal echoing through the room. He helped her, his eyes filled with a fierce longing that matched her own. They shed their remaining clothes, the fabric pooling around them on the floor. His skin was hot against hers, the scars a map of battles fought and lives saved. She kissed each one, her lips a silent promise to cherish every part of him.

Their bodies aligned once more, and she could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, against her thigh. He hovered above her, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. She offered none, her eyes filled with a fierce love that was as unyielding as he was. With a whispered, “Darling,” he circled his thumb over her clit.

Her hips bucked at the contact, her body begging for more. He complied, his touch growing firmer, more insistent. She was so wet, so ready, and he reveled in the sweet sounds of pleasure she made, the way her breath hitched and her body quivered under his touch. He slid two fingers inside her, the warmth of her welcoming him home. She was tight, a perfect fit for him, and he knew he was lost, irrevocably, to the feel of her, the taste of her, the way she made him feel alive again.

Her hands roamed his body, tracing the scars that crisscrossed his chest and abdomen. They were a testament to his past, but she didn’t see them as marks of weakness; she saw them as badges of honor, proof of his strength and resilience. Her fingertips danced over the smooth metal of his arm, and she marveled at the way it felt under her touch. He was a man of contrasts, of steel and velvet, and she wanted all of him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Kitten,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and ragged. “I want to taste every inch of you, make you scream my name until you lose your voice.”

Her cheeks flushed at his dirty talk, but it only served to stoke the fire burning within her. He knew exactly what to say to make her blush, to make her feel wanted. His words painted a picture of carnality that had her heart racing and her body aching for more. She felt his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she knew she wanted the same.

“Bucky, please,” she whimpered, her voice thick with need.

With a smirk that was both predatory and tender, he whispered, “You’re dripping for me, doll. Does the thought of my cock filling you up turn you on?” His words were like a dark promise, a seductive taunt that had her biting her bottom lip. She nodded, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she felt a gush between her legs.

“Good girl,” he praised, his thumb flicking over her clit in response to her desperate plea. His cock was heavy and thick, a testament to his desire for her. He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss that made her toes curl. He could feel her hips rocking against his hand, her body begging for release.

As their kisses grew more fevered, Bucky slid his fingers from her pussy, bringing them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, tasting her sweetness, watching the way her eyes widened at the erotic act. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he knew she was on the edge. He lowered his head, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and down to her chest. He took one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, while his hand continued to work her clit. The sight of her, writhing beneath him, was almost too much to bear.

With a groan, he positioned himself between her legs, his cock poised at her entrance. He paused, his gaze locking onto hers. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gruff with need. She nodded, her eyes dark with desire.

Slowly, he pushed into her, inch by inch, watching her face for any sign of pain. She was tight, a taut heat, like a fist gripping him, but she was slick and welcoming, her body yielding to his. He felt her walls stretch around him, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. He’d been with other women before, but none had ever felt like this, like he was coming home after a long and brutal war.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, darling,” he muttered, his jaw clenched with the effort to go slow. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in short gasps as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him. She nodded, her nails digging into his back. “Good, good girl, let me in,” he encouraged, his voice a low growl of pleasure.

The moment he was fully seated within her, he stilled, savoring the feeling of being connected to her in this most intimate way. He knew he could lose himself in her, drown in the warmth of her body, the sweetness of her kisses, and he never wanted it to end. He watched her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth parted in a silent plea for more. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin as he began to move.

Her legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper, her hips rising to meet every thrust. The bed protested, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady rhythm that matched the beat of their hearts. Bucky’s hand moved from her hair to her throat, his thumb tracing the pulse that hammered there. He could feel her tension building, her body coiling tight as a spring.

“Look at me, Kitten,” he ordered, his voice a rough whisper. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his. He could see the passion, the love, the trust in their depths, and it was more beautiful than any starlit sky he’d ever seen. The intensity of their connection was almost too much to bear as he began to move in earnest, his strokes deep and powerful. “Such a good girl for me, so good..”

Her eyes never left his as she whispered “Daddy…”, her voice a soft prayer that seemed to echo through the room. Her legs tightened around him, urging him closer, deeper, as if she could somehow pull him into her very soul. The feeling of her surrounding him was more intoxicating than any serum, more potent than any battle high.

He groaned at the sound of that word on her lips, his hips driving into her with renewed vigor. It was a name he’d never been called, but it fit him like a glove, a role he’d never known he’d crave. She was his kitten, his doll, his darling, and he was her protector, her daddy.

Their rhythm grew more erratic, their kisses messy and desperate as they chased their release. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, her body tightening like a vice. He knew she was close, could hear the whimpers that fell from her lips as he picked up his pace. His own orgasm was building, a pressure that grew with every thrust.

“Come for me, doll,” he whispered, his voice a mix of grit and desire.

“I want to feel you come around my cock. Let me feel it.”

Her eyes widened, and she threw her head back, her back arching as the orgasm crashed over her like a wave. She screamed out his name, her body shaking with the force of it. He watched her, his own pleasure building, his strokes becoming more erratic as he felt her walls convulsing around him.

The sight of her, writhing in ecstasy, was almost too much to handle.

Bucky’s grip tightened on her hips, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. He could feel his own orgasm approaching, the pressure in his balls becoming unbearable. He kissed her again, his tongue delving deep as he felt her muscles tighten around him. His hand moved from her throat to her cheek, holding her face as if he was afraid she’d slip away.

With a final, desperate groan, he pulled out, the head of his cock glistening with her release.

He hovered over her, his eyes never leaving hers as he painted her pussy with streams of cum.

The sight of him, lost in his own release, was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. She felt a tingle race through her, a sense of belonging and satisfaction that she hadn’t known was possible.

They lay there for a moment, their breaths mingling, their bodies slick with sweat. He leaned down, kissing her softly, the taste of herself on his lips. It was an intimate moment, one that she knew she’d never forget. He rolled off her, pulling her close, their limbs still entwined. The bed was a mess of rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, a testament to the passion they’d just shared.

Her cheeks burned with the memory of her slip, the word “Daddy” still hanging in the air between them. She felt vulnerable, exposed, but also a thrill that she’d never experienced before. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Daddy, huh? That was unexpected, Kitten,” he said, his voice filled with affectionate amusement.

He kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I like it,” he admitted, his thumb caressing her cheek. “You make me feel like I can be more than just the Winter Soldier. Like maybe, just maybe, I can be something to someone outside of battle too.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the warmth of his affection wrapping around her like a blanket. She didn’t know how to respond, so instead, she curled closer to him, her head nestling into the crook of his neck. His arms tightened around her, his chest rising and falling with deep, contented breaths.

“I’m sorry, James,” she whispered after a moment, her voice small and uncertain. She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even realized it until the words had left her lips. The term had just slipped out, a product of the intense intimacy of the moment, a word that had once brought her comfort in a different context.

He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a soft smile that made her heart flutter, he said, “Don’t be sorry, doll. It’s just us here. No judgment. If it’s what you need, I’ll be your daddy.” He said lightheartedly, His thumb traced lazy circles on her cheek, the tender gesture at odds with the possessive growl in his voice.

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was a comfort she hadn’t realized she craved, and the way he said it, so raw and unfiltered, made her feel cherished. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Thanks.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

——————————————————————————————————

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while! Though I’d bring this out of the archives! 🫶

[sawmaw]

summer scoundrel

🫀 floyd leech x (fem) reader

🫀 hate sex, sub (a bit switchy. bratty?) floyd, femdom, objectification(?), denial, riding, facesitting, 69

🫀 this takes place during the lost in the book with stitch event! this one is more recent but i was writing it during a huuuge writer’s block and it may or may not be obvious. also i know in the event they can’t take off their clothes but i really don’t care. sorry i like guy tits. anyway!

You were beyond frustrated.

Getting stranded on an island was already annoying enough, but everything else was just piling on; what the hell do you mean there are aliens? Sure, the little blue one was cute and helpful and made the bungalow to sleep in so you didn’t have to get eaten alive by mosquitoes any more than you did, but he was also so energetic and so exhausting… and the other alien was flat-out just trying to rid you and your classmates with robot sharks. Absolutely lovely.

You were also tired of fruit already. You normally loved it, but having it with every meal each day was just rough. Your jaw was sore from chewing coconut, your tongue felt raw from eating pineapple, and you had no taste for more berries and fish. You just wanted a nice steak at this point—rare, so it would be easier on your jaw.

And more, you’ve felt more pent up than you thought was necessary after a few days. Normally when you were on vacation, you would just take care of yourself in the shower if you needed. Here, you have absolutely no chance. None of you were supposed to wander off alone, especially you, being the only one without magic to fight for yourself, so that was off the table. You couldn’t sneak away because someone would eventually find you, whether it be Gantu and his shark bots, one of your schoolmates, or Stitch. You didn’t feel comfortable doing it late at night, either; what if someone hears? How could you even clean up afterwards?

Again, beyond frustrated.

The outfits that everyone were put in certainly didn’t help. You didn’t think you would be one to stare, but you really couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself. It was like that book was just taunting you when it did it. Did Riddle’s shirt have to be tied up like that? Put up just enough to make you want to pick him up by the waist and carry him off to who-knows-where?

Admittedly, you had originally thought your sights would be set on Jack—his outfit really didn’t leave much to the imagination… however, most of your attention was drawn to Floyd.

…Has he always looked like that? Sure, you’ve seen his arms during his basketball games, but (pardon your vulgarity) when the fuck did he get massive tits?

How does he even hide it? Is it just because he wears baggy shirts? Are you an idiot? You feel like an idiot.

You really couldn’t help your staring, or your mind wandering. You silently cursed the universe for it. Why it had to be right now that you see him, when you can’t even do anything about your frustrations, you had no clue.

Yet another night rolls around and you have to sit by the bonfire again, you have to force your eyes to stay on the flames again, you have to constantly bounce your leg in your seat to distract yourself again. You hadn’t said a word in what felt like hours, but it wasn’t much of an issue—everyone else filled in the silence just fine.

Even as it grew later and some of the others slowly trickled back into the bungalow for bed, you stayed put and quiet. You, Floyd, Lilia, and Ace remained—the usual night owls. The other three continued to entertain each other, and sand eventually ended up getting thrown at Ace. Normally you’d laugh, but right now you actually couldn’t give a fuck about your surroundings.

Only when it felt like your eyes would take damage did you finally tear them away from the fire… and immediately to the sand. It really felt like something was wrong with you, you just could not think about anything else. You wanted to see how he’d look with his wrists handcuffed to your bed (or even behind his back), how he’d look on his knees, how he’d look in bondage.

You wondered if he would be good at eating pussy. He looked like he would be. Or maybe not. Maybe you’re just delusional. Maybe you could teach him how to, if he doesn’t. Maybe you could teach him until it’s all he ever wants to do, to bury his face between your thighs, to slowly circle his tongue around your clit just the way you like.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the makeshift bench (it was just a log, but whatever), you could almost feel his tongue on you. You squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to fight off the dull throb between them, the mental image of your hand in his hair burned into your brain. How much longer do you have to be stuck on this island like this?

You’re just curious is all. You’re just curious as to how he’d react if you rode his dick even after he’d already came, how much he’d squirm if you just sit there and edge him until he can’t even properly speak, how he’d—

“So ya stare at me almost the entire time we’re here, ‘n’ now ya won’t look at me?”

Floyd’s abrupt voice forced you back to reality, your attention snapping up to him from across the fire. You immediately realize Lilia and Ace were gone—when did they go to bed? You didn’t even notice.

You blinked at him, silent for a few moments. You thought you were being discreet enough. Still, you don’t really care much to fully deny it. How do you even respond to that?

“…I dunno.” you eventually murmured with a halfhearted shrug. You looked him in the eyes, and you still couldn’t stop yourself from imagining them welling with tears of pleasure as you…

Man, you really need to knock it off. Maybe you should schedule a therapy session soon, this can’t be normal.

He giggled in response, a wolfish grin on his face. “What, d’ya want something?”

Yes. Obviously. Is he stupid? No, he’s not, he probably knew. He totally knew. You wish you could go just one day without something poking fun at you. Fuck that book, fuck the universe, fuck Floyd. For the love of all things holy, fuck Floyd.

“Nope.” You tried to play it all off, you truly did, but it just wouldn’t work. Of course, that only made him want to prod even more.

“Your poker face sucks, Shrimpy.” he drawled.

“I dunno, your necklaces.” you lied. Curse your pride. “They’re dumb as hell and they’re loud and jangly when you move.”

His humored snort irritated you to no end, but you still managed to keep a straight face. “Really? I think they’re pretty cool.” He glanced down at the array of necklaces dangling from his neck and brushed a hand against them, just to hear the clanking of the fake pearls.

“They’re not.” Really, they looked like something you’d buy from a party store. You think, at least. You can’t really remember the last time you went to a party store.

“Should I take ‘em off, then?” He then bunched the necklaces in his hand.

“No,” you replied almost too quickly, “just saying they’re stupid.”

And of course, Floyd just ignored you and pulled them up over his head anyway, giving you a better view of his body through his open shirt. Okay, now that’s just mean. Is he making fun of you? He has to be.

Your eyes flickered down to the necklaces tossed haphazardly on the sand, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You didn’t know if you wanted to pounce on him so you could fuck him or so you could throw him into the fire.

You swear your mouth was going to start bleeding from how much you were biting the insides of your cheeks.

“You’re mad if I don’t wear ‘em now.”

It had absolutely nothing to do with the necklaces, and you knew he knew that, too. “I really don’t care.”

“Then look at me ‘n’ tell me what the problem is.”

You wanted to roll your eyes until he suddenly snapped his fingers to try and get your attention back on him.

The pure disrespect—you’re not a dog. He’s more of a dog than you ever will be, and you’ll put a leash on him to prove it if you have to.

“Snap at me like that again and you’re losing your fingers.” Truly, you didn’t have the patience for that tonight. Or any night.

“Are ya gonna bite ‘em off? Scary.” His sarcasm made you want nothing more than to shut him up in any way you could. Choke him, gag him, sit on his face, cover his mouth, anything. Just take a deep breath and calm yourself. “C’mere so I can hear ya better. The fire’s too loud.”

Oh, for the love—

“Fine.” You then stood and trudged around the fire so you could sit yourself next to him on that uncomfortable log. Stitch could build an entire bungalow, several blankets, pillows, even sleep masks all from scratch, but he couldn’t make a few couches or chairs out here? Really?

“Now,” he hummed as he leaned against your shoulder, “what’s got ya so mad, Shrimpy?”

It would probably be a good idea to shove him off, but your thoughts were a bit too obstructed right now. “I’m not.”

“Seem mad to me. Are ya mad at me?” You could feel his eyes burning into you, though you still stared at the sand below. Just don’t pay attention to him or his head on your shoulder.

“No.” you mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Then whaddya—“

“Just—just this!” You abruptly pushed him off and grabbed a handful of his shirt, giving it a harsh yank. You blatantly ignored his sharp inhale of surprise and his widened eyes. “What the fuck is this? You show up in this and I just have to try to act normal?!”

Floyd was silent for a few beats before a toothy grin slowly stretched on his face. “…So that’s what this’s about?”

“Yes,” you hissed, “that’s what this’s about. When the hell’d you even start looking like that? Have you always looked like that?”

“Like what?”

“You—you know how!” You just wanted to absolutely throttle him right now, and all he’s doing is smiling and snickering.

He grabbed your wrist and moved it to push your palm into his chest, and all you could pay attention to was how easily your fingers sunk into the flesh. Fuck’s sake. “Like that?”

“Obviously.” You didn’t hesitate to give a tight squeeze—you really didn’t have a reason to restrain yourself anymore.

Floyd visibly suppressed a wince, his fingers twitching around your wrist. “I mean—“

“I don’t actually care.” Your hands continued to aimlessly wander around his chest, his torso, his arms. Maybe you were overwhelming him, you weren’t paying much attention.

He never stopped you, though, so there’s that at least. “Got handsy quick, Shrimpy.” he mused as you squeezed and felt around his shoulders.

“Shut up.”

“‘Kay.” And then he swatted your hands away and slid himself onto the sand, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your shorts.

“…Hell’re you doing?” Despite the irritation in your voice, you still lifted your hips to aid him in tugging your shorts down. You weren’t just gonna not do that and blueball (Bluepussy? Blueclit? Whatever) yourself.

“What’s it look like? I’m shutting up.” He kept eye contact as he guided your thighs apart before leaning in, using his teeth to grab the edge of your panties and tug them down. He didn’t bother to look and see what the book had decided to put on you, and neither did you. It could’ve been the best lingerie you’ve ever seen or the ugliest pair that you’d find at an old thrift store, you didn’t know nor care.

He lazily pulled your thighs onto his shoulders. It wasn’t much longer until his tongue slowly dragged over your clit, and you were unable to stop your body from tensing. His tongue felt weirdly soft and long—is that just a merfolk thing? Oh, who cares, it feels good.

The moment your hand slid itself into his hair, he immediately dove in. His lips latched on and he gently suckled on your clit, his tongue swirling with newfound vigor in a way that had your hips involuntarily squirming against his face.

“F-fucking slow down—“ you managed to gasp out before slapping your free hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your own choked moans and squeals. You really didn’t want to wake anyone up, even if they were inside the bungalow.

Floyd deliberately disregarded your words and let out a small hum against you, the vibrations making your thighs clamp around his head. Despite your earlier thoughts, you couldn’t exactly tell whether he was actually good at it or not; he was just doing whatever he felt like, no organized movements. It worked, at least.

Your orgasm was building a lot quicker than you would’ve liked. You tried and tried again to tug him back by the hair, yet he refused to let up. His hands grabbed onto your hips to hold you in place, his tongue keeping its steady pace. You were just about to cum, until he stopped altogether.

He pulled away with a taunting chortle while you twitched and squirmed from the unsatisfying denial.

“…Dickhead.” You planted a foot on the center of his chest, shoved him onto his back and kicked some sand at him—just for good measure.

You didn’t give him time to respond before plopping yourself on top of him to straddle his hips.

“What, whaddya gonna do?” What you wanted was to beat that smile off his face, but you couldn’t really do that, could you?

The moment Floyd’s hands found your waist, you tugged them off with an absentminded ‘don’t touch me.’

His grin immediately dropped into a pout, still trying and failing to get his grip on you again. “C’mon, Shrimpy, don’t be mean…” he whined, planting his feet in the sand in an attempt to grind his clothed cock into you.

Oh, the audacity of this man. “Stop squirming.”

“I’m not squirming!”

“You are!”

“I’m just getting comfortable.”

“Well, knock it off, the stupid button on your shorts hurts.”

”Then take ‘em off—“

You gave a swift smack to his chest before he could finish his growled demand. “Don’t even try that with me right now.”

The smack made him writhe a bit more with a small huff. “…Do that again.”

And so you did without hesitation, delivering another equally-as harsh slap to his skin, which drew an odd cackle from him.

“Thanks, Miss Shrimpy.” he said way too gleefully for your tastes as he bucked up against you again.

You wanted to grimace at the name, but your attention was quickly brought back to his grinding. “I said quit that.” you mumbled, finally making a move to unbuckle and open his belt.

“You take forever.” Floyd complained, not wasting another second before helping to tug his shorts down enough for his dick to spring out. He grabbed your hips again to try and pull you onto himself. “Now get on, get on, get on, get on…”

And you didn’t let him, just yet. You kept your hands firm on his chest to hold yourself up. “I’m not getting on after what you did.”

“Aw, c’mon!” he whined, “I was being nice. I could’ve been a lot worse!”

Now, how the hell was edging you nice? Whatever. You didn’t answer him, because why should you?

You grind your pussy down against his dick, your slow pace almost agonizing for him (and yourself, but his impatient desperation was a lot more important than yours right now).

It was only a few rolls of your hips before they were grabbed forcefully with a low whimper from Floyd. “Okay, I get it, Shrimpy, I get it.” His fingers dug into your skin, hoisting you up to hover over his aching cock. “Just do it already.”

“I’m not gonna—“

“Please?”

That made your jaw tense a bit. “…’Please,’ what?”

“Please fuck me?”

You hardly even registered what you were doing before you finally let your hips sink down, slowly taking in his dick. The low whine drawn out from him almost made your breath falter, and your fingers twitched against his chest with each inch.

You had to keep still for a few seconds after bottoming out to adjust, because by God he felt bigger than you were anticipating.

Predictably, he wasn’t very patient once he was inside. “Shrimpy, are you gonna move? Please? Please move, please, please—“

“Would you just sh-shut up?” Despite your best efforts, your voice was a bit shaky while your body got used to the feeling.

“I’m just askin’ ya to move!” Again, he attempted to squirm underneath you until you smacked his chest, his hand shooting to cover his mouth and suppress a whimper.

“Yeah, yeah, be patient…” After a few moments, you let yourself slowly lift your hips before abruptly slamming them back down, the feeling of his dick immediately hitting your sensitive g-spot forcing a sharp gasp from you—fuck, it was like he was just made for your pussy. Was that even possible? You almost wanted to ask if you could get a custom toy modeled after it.

Later, though.

“No, no, don’t stop right now, Shrimpy…” His arms wrapped around your waist and you’re suddenly pinned against his chest as he pounded into you from below.

Is this guy allergic to going slow?

You weren’t even given the opportunity to reply before your hair was tugged back and his mouth was on yours, muffling any noises either of you made as his tongue slipped its way past your lips.

Again, his tongue felt so strange, so foreign against yours. Not unpleasant in the slightest, you almost wished you’d kissed him sooner than now; it just felt good.

Until it was forced down your throat. You didn’t know if he just got overly excited but it really just felt like he was trying to facefuck you with his tongue, tears pricking your eyes while you tried to suppress a gag. You struggled in his grasp, overwhelmed with both the lack of air and his cock slamming into you harder than you could process, and he snickered into the ‘kiss.’

You finally managed to squirm free and broke away to gasp for breath, planting your hips down harsh enough to pin his own to the sand. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” you managed between your panting.

“My bad.” Nothing about his demeanor was apologetic, though—not his tone, not his grin, not his hands already trying to lift your hips again.

“That’s not an apology.”

“Sorry, Miss Shrimpy.”

A swift slap to his face. “What’d I tell you about that?”

“Sorry.”

To your own mild surprise, your hand wrapped around his throat with a squeeze, though what surprised you even more was that he was just letting you.

You didn’t ask why.

Your eyes narrowed and your hips slowly ground down, trying not to pay too much attention to how your clit rubbed against his skin. “Why can’t you just be fucking respectful?”

“I said I was sorry!” he pouted, his voice scratchy from your choking him.

“Are you really sorry?”

Floyd nodded with a whine. “Yeah, sorry, I get it, just go faster…” He tugged you up again and you allowed it. “You forgive me, right, Shrimpy?”

You didn’t want to, but whatever; you just wanted to cum at that point. “Fine.”

At that, his hands guided your hips to slam down against his again. He let his own moans flow freely, though his smile made it obvious that they were exaggerated just to further piss you off. “Shrimpy, it feels so good…”

“Quit that, y-you’ll wake someone up.” You gave his neck another squeeze in warning.

“That’s their problem! Not like they didn’t already know ya wanted to fuck me.”

You could feel your face heat up in embarrassment at the thought—you really hoped nobody else actually noticed your staring. “…Shut up.” You used your hand on his chest for better leverage to pound his cock harder.

Floyd’s breath caught, his head thrown back as he tried to match your pace. His jaw clicked shut with a curse through his teeth, unable to get out any more words to taunt you with.

A few more moments, and he was already throbbing inside you from his impending orgasm. “Sh-Shrimpy—“

“Nope.” You immediately lift yourself off enough for his dick to slip out, twitching from the sudden loss of stimulation.

“What, no? No, no no no, no ‘no,’ don’t ‘no…’” he babbled as a panic immediately set in. He tried to force you back down, his hips surging up to no avail. “I said I was sorry! I did, Shrimpy!”

His hands were tugged away again and you shifted atop of him, crawling your way up his body before turning around to hover your cunt above his tearful face. “Make it up to me, then.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Floyd yanked you down. His tongue delved and writhed in desperation with mumbles of ‘sorry’ and ‘promise,’ each vibration from his begging making your thighs twitch around his head.

It was better (albeit more frantic) the second time around, which you were appreciative for.

His dick trembled and leaked with precum in front of you, crying more than he himself was. “There, good boy…” you hummed, your fingers wrapping around him to give a few leisurely strokes.

Another whine from him and his tongue shoved itself inside you. Sure, getting tonguefucked works, too, you supposed.

You leaned down to press a few kisses along his length, his hips instantly bucking up against your face. “Chill out.” you hissed, trying to hold him down.

“Wanna cum…” It took a few moments, but he eventually relented and kept still.

“Me first.” With that, you allowed his tip to push past your lips. Normally you’d take more than that, but you really didn’t feel like it. It’s not like he needed anything more, anyway.

Or deserved anything more.

His response was to pump his tongue deeper into your pussy, only pulling it out to swirl at your clit every few moments.

You tried to keep your focus on pulling your mouth off his tip each time he started twitching again, but it was getting so, so hard to with the knot in your core rapidly tightening.

You didn’t bother to warn him before your thighs involuntarily squeezed around his head and your vision went white, your hand returning over your mouth to quiet down your own sounds that didn’t really sound quite like yourself.

Once you were at least somewhat aware of your surroundings again, you felt a hand roughly grasp your hair and his dick forced down your throat again. You weren’t even able to catch your breath first, how rude.

Floyd only needed to pump a few more times, the feeling of his cum shooting at the back of your throat making you flinch atop of him and instinctively swallow. You hardly noticed his panting and his whiny thank you’s when you pull off, finally gasping for air.

“…Ask to do that next time.” you grumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your wrist as you slid yourself off of him to fetch your clothes from wherever they’d been thrown.

“I know, I know, sorry! It was taking forever!” It almost annoyed you that he was able to just zip right back up and buckle his belt in no time, while you had to slip everything on again. It would’ve been great if the book gave you more accessible clothes, but fine. “I’ll make ya somethin’ good tomorrow, Shrimpy. Iunno, I’ll catch a different fish than everyone else for ya in the morning. It’ll be a big one, too.”

“Mhm, sure, let’s just wash off in the water.”

“Nope! Don’t feel like it. I wanna go to bed.”

“Then you can go do that, I’m washing—“

“Nope!” He scooped you up in his arms, deliberately locking you against himself to keep you from moving as he trudged his way back up to the bungalow. “Bedtime.”

You grimaced. “Ulch, we're all sticky, though.”

“Yep. Maybe we’ll wake up stuck together in the morning ‘n’ everyone else’ll have to peel us apart.”

“You’re nasty.”

[sturniololuvz]

Could you do one where their little sister is learning to drive and Matt’s teaching her but she hits a curb or something and he goes mad and starts screaming and makes her cry, and when they get home Chris goes to comfort her in her room whilst Nick shouts at Matt for making her cry and eventually he apologises

“The Curb Incident”

Matt wasn’t a bad teacher.

But he was a terrible passenger.

“Okay, slowly ease into the turn,” he said, pointing at the intersection. “Watch the curb—watch it—Y/N!”

Thud.

She winced as the tire bumped hard into the curb. Not over it — but enough to make the whole car jolt.

Matt’s hands flew up. “What did I just say?! I told you to watch the curb! Were you even listening?!”

“I was!” she said, eyes wide, hands still frozen on the wheel. “I just—”

“You’re not even paying attention, Y/N! You can’t just drift into the turn like that! You could’ve popped the tire! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I’m trying, Matt.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, trying doesn’t matter when you’re behind the wheel. You mess up here, people get hurt. You wanna learn how to drive? Then take it seriously.”

She blinked fast, trying to push back tears, but one slipped anyway.

“Pull over,” Matt muttered.

She did.

The ride home was dead silent — except for her sniffles as she stared straight ahead, fists clenched on her lap.

When they got home, she didn’t say a word. She just rushed inside, straight to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Matt walked into the kitchen, still visibly frustrated.

Nick looked up from the counter. “What happened?”

“She hit the curb,” Matt said, pouring a glass of water like it would wash the annoyance out of his mouth.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Okay… and why is she crying upstairs like you just ruined her entire existence?”

“I corrected her. Loudly. Maybe. But she needs to learn how serious driving is.”

Nick’s face darkened. “You yelled at her?”

“She could’ve damaged the car!”

“She’s sixteen, Matt. She’s learning. You think yelling’s gonna make her better, or just scare her into never wanting to try again?”

Matt sighed, defensive. “I didn’t mean to make her cry.”

Nick stepped closer, voice low. “Go apologize.”

“I—”

“Go. Now.”

⸻

Upstairs, Chris had already knocked once. She didn’t answer.

So he cracked the door open.

She was curled up under a blanket, hoodie pulled over her head, tears still fresh on her cheeks.

“Hey, kid,” he said softly. “Can I come in?”

She shrugged.

Chris sat down on the edge of her bed and gently rubbed her back through the blanket. “Nick told me what happened. You okay?”

“No.”

Chris waited.

“I was doing good,” she said through a tight voice. “I practiced parking and turning all week. I was trying, Chris. And then I hit the stupid curb, and he just—he acted like I’d crashed the car into a wall.”

Chris sighed. “Matt gets panicky sometimes. You know how tightly he holds onto control. But that doesn’t mean he was right to yell. You are trying. And you’re doing better than most kids your age.”

“He made me feel like I shouldn’t even try again.”

Chris frowned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Don’t let one bad moment take away your confidence. You’re allowed to mess up. That’s how we learn.”

She nodded slowly, still curled into herself.

Just then, there was a knock.

Matt peeked in.

His face was already filled with guilt.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “Y/N, I’m really sorry.”

She didn’t answer.

“I overreacted. That’s on me. You didn’t deserve to be yelled at for something as small as hitting a curb. And I should’ve been more patient. I was scared, and I handled it the wrong way. I’m sorry I made you feel like you shouldn’t drive again.”

Chris gave her a small look, letting her decide.

Finally, she peeked out from the blanket and muttered, “It really hurt my feelings, Matt.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “And I hate that I made you feel that way. You’re doing great, Y/N. Seriously. I shouldn’t have made you feel small.”

She gave him a tiny, watery nod. “Okay.”

Matt stepped forward and wrapped her in a careful hug. “Wanna practice again this weekend? I’ll be better, promise.”

She sniffled. “Only if you don’t scream.”

“I’ll bring a stress ball.”

Chris chuckled. “And I’ll follow behind in case one of you drives off a cliff.”

She laughed — soft, but real.

And just like that, things felt a little lighter again.

⸻

[iloveyoongi4321]

Drawn To You ᯓpairing. artist! shouto todoroki x afab! reader ᯓwc. 1.2k

Shouto Todoroki has never done a nude figure drawing.

Sure, he’s referenced poses from magazines, the occasional Pinterest board when desperate—but any time a live model session was scheduled, he’d find a way to skip class. A doctor’s note. A fake emergency. Once, he simply didn’t show. Tells himself he's repulsed by things like that.

But now, it’s his second semester of sophomore year, and there’s no more dodging. The professors expect more. They’ve moved past fundamentals into studies of light on skin, the subtle shifts of muscle, the delicate curves and tension that only a live model can offer. It's gotten to a point where he's currently behind his classmates and couldn't have put this off without damaging his grades. 

Which is how he found himself surfing your patreon late one night. Figure studies. Self-portraits. The occasional experimental pose that left little to the imagination. Tells himself it was just for reference. Without realising it, you've become something of a muse to him. He'd book special poses whenever he was out of ideas—his excuse for why he kept coming back. Always tipped like he was made of money.

You don't usually do live sessions. Too big an invasion of privacy. Too personal. But for him? You said yes with little hesitation. Of course you'd make an exception for your favourite client. He booked you privately, one hour. No specific pose—just “whatever you’re comfortable with.” His message is brief. Polite. 

Icy-Hot: Hi, I’d like to schedule a video call. I’m working on lighting studies. Let me know your availability.

He rewrites the message twice before sending it. Not because he cares what you think. He just... doesn’t want to sound weird. Or demanding. That’s all.

No rush, no emotion, just business. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You've seen his art. None of your other clients had ever bothered to share their work with you, except Icy-Hot. You've got to find out his real name. His sketches were... breath-taking. Seeing yourself on paper, captured in his style had you fanning your face and cranking up the AC.

You: Of course! I’m available tomorrow evening at 8. If that works for you, we can go over setups and get started.

The reply comes swiftly.

Icy-Hot: Sounds good. See you then.

You lean back in your chair, staring at the message a beat too long. The screen glows softly, and for some reason, your cheeks burn with the ghost of a smile. You push the thought aside, focusing on preparing for tomorrow evening.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

When the time comes, your heart beats way too loud for how casual this is supposed to be. You check your gear for the third time, choosing to ignore the sweat that has collected on the palm of your hand. Would it be weird to just strip before the call and flash him straight away, or would it be weirder to strip during the call? 

The screen lights up with his face for the first time, and—by the gods—is he fucking hot. You were half-expecting an old creep with too much time and money on his hands—but you weren't complaining. He's got white-and-red ruffled hair, like he'd been running fingers through it all day, a sharp jaw, hoodie slightly slouched off one shoulder—he's the kind of beautiful that shouldn’t be real. And his scar, running brutal over one eye, doesn’t mar his beauty—it enhances it. Like a signature. And when he greets you, voice low and even, there’s something else there. Shyness. Huh.

“Thanks for doing this,” he says, eyes flicking downward like he’s checking something—maybe the paper, maybe himself. “I’ll try not to waste your time.”

He sketches quietly, occasionally gnawing at the bottom of his pencil. Cute. He draws like he’s listening for something. Quiet, precise, all his attention pressed into the page. But it’s not just the lines he’s following—it’s you. The way you breathe, tilt your head, hold still and then don’t. You feel his focus like warmth. Not invasive, just... present. He draws. You breathe. The silence stretches—comfortable, and not.

His brows knit in quiet focus, pencil gliding in smooth, practiced strokes. He glances up now and then, not to assess, but to absorb. It’s not ogling. It’s softer than that. Focused. Like he’s memorising you.

And you—god—you’re trying not to look too long. But it’s impossible. His face is all clean lines and quiet fire, eyes narrowed, lips parted just slightly like he’s too immersed to notice the effect he’s having. The light from his desk lamp carves shadows across his cheekbone, and you’re struck with the strangest thought: you want to draw him, too.

It’s distracting. Intimate, even, this act of being studied by someone so careful. So silent. He doesn’t need to say a word, and yet you feel bared.

Maybe it’s the warmth in your studio, or maybe it’s how tranquil he looks when he's deep in focus—but your skin prickles, your breath catches, and you find yourself wondering if he notices. The way your mouth twists when you’re trying not to fidget. The way your arms tuck closer to your body. The unevenness of your skin in this lighting, the faint scar on your thigh you haven't payed mind to until now. You wonder what he sees—if he sees all of that. If he cares.

Then his pencil stops.

He’s just... assessing the composition. Right. That’s it. His gaze dips briefly. Comes back up. Damn it. He’s a professional. He’s done nothing wrong.

For a moment, it’s like he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. You’d barely moved—but something about it pulls his gaze in and holds it there. He tells himself it’s just part of the process. Observation. Study. Art. You look like something delicate and faraway, and the longer he looks, the more he realises he’s not thinking in lines or lighting anymore. He lets it cross his mind.

Fuck. You’re gorgeous.

It’s stupid—unprofessional, even—but for a split second, his mind flickers somewhere it shouldn’t. Forces his eyes back to the page. Tries to breathe through it. He adjusts in his seat, subtle, practiced. He feels like a pervert.

"Thank you," he says, voice still calm but with a softer edge. "I got more than I thought I would tonight." You bite your tongue, unsure whether to lean into that fleeting moment or keep your distance.

He pauses, glancing up at you briefly, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his hoodie sleeve. “I didn’t expect to feel so... comfortable, I guess,” his hand tightens on the pencil, “Not that it’s weird. I mean, it’s a normal session. Just... better than usual.” He clears his throat. “Anyway. Thanks.”

As the screen fades to black, you’re left with the feeling that this, whatever this is, has only just begun.

[pankesitopank]

Ateez reaction to their girl bestie being sad because she’ll “never get to wear jewelry from her boyfriend” since she’s never been in a relationship before? I’m all for secret crush ifykyk 👀

Cw:fluff fluff fluff!!!!!, secret crush (them to you), emotional comfort, best friends to lovers kinda, soft angst, slow burn feelings, love confessions (sort of)

note: OMG IT TOOK ME SO LONG WITH THIS. SORRY. THIS WEEK KILLED ME.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, again, but between not feeling inspired, I had to take the worst exam of MY LIFE!!! I hope it's what you had in mind, for me it ended up really cute.

I'm on my way to finish the other requests I have left!!!!!!!

HONGJOONG

You didn’t mean to say it aloud.

It slipped past your lips like a secret too heavy to hold in your chest, quiet and fragile in the soft lighting of Hongjoong’s studio, where you always ended up when the weight of the world felt just a little too sharp. He’d turned in his chair when he heard you sigh—deep and hollow, like something had cracked inside you—and asked, in that careful voice of his, “You okay?”

You shrugged, chewing on your nail. “Just tired.”

But he didn’t look away.

And that’s when it came out, barely more than a whisper. “ fuck I’ll probably never get to wear anything from a boyfriend.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. And you immediately regretted it, eyes wide as you rushed to explain.

“I mean—I didn’t mean it like that. It’s stupid. I just—like, I see all these girls getting bracelets or necklaces or cute rings and they always look so happy and loved and I’ve never—” You stopped yourself, suddenly hating your own vulnerability. “Forget it.”

But Hongjoong didn’t forget things like that.

He turned back to his desk slowly, like he was giving you space, but you noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with the chain around his neck—something he did when he was thinking too fast to speak. You assumed the moment had passed. That he’d let it go.

He didn’t.

A week later, he texted you late at night. Come by the studio if you’re still up.

You found him sitting on the couch, a velvet pouch between his fingers.

“What’s this?” you asked, confused but curious.

He looked up at you, expression unreadable for a heartbeat before softening. “Open it.”

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet—dainty, feminine, with tiny charms that matched your aesthetic so well it stunned you. A small crescent moon. A charm shaped like a tiny pen. A heart. It was exactly the kind of thing you would’ve chosen for yourself if you’d ever dared to imagine someone giving you one.

You looked up at him, jaw slack. “Hongjoong, what is this?”

He leaned back, arms crossed—not smug, but careful. Guarded. “It’s not boyfriend jewelry. Not unless you want it to be,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “But I don’t like hearing you say things like that. Because you deserve that kind of love. And if no one else is brave enough to give it to you…” He swallowed. “I am.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Because suddenly, that night in the studio didn’t feel like a casual comment anymore. It felt like the turning point.

And when he clasped the bracelet around your wrist himself—his hands shaking just a little—you knew this wasn’t just a gift.

It was a confession.

SEONGHWA

Seonghwa noticed the shift before you ever spoke it.

You were quieter than usual, lingering in doorways like your thoughts were too loud to settle. It wasn’t dramatic or attention-seeking—if anything, it was subtle. But Seonghwa was the kind of person who paid attention to silences more than words.

So when you looked down at a display case in a store and mumbled, “I guess I’ll never get something like that from someone,” he didn’t laugh it off.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and asked gently, “Why not?”

You shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “I’ve never even been in a relationship. No one’s ever looked at me like that.”

He didn’t reply at first.

Just walked next to you a little more quietly than before, thoughtful in that way that meant something was building in his mind.

Two days later, you found a small white box on your doorstep, tied with a silver ribbon. No note. No explanation. But the moment you opened it, your heart stopped.

Inside was a pair of earrings—small, intricate, and glimmering with soft white stones that caught the light like dew. Beautiful. Understated. Exactly your style.

You didn’t have to wonder for long.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Seonghwa.

“They reminded me of you. I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You blinked down at your phone, warmth blooming in your chest.

“It doesn’t,” you typed back. “They’re beautiful.”

Another pause, then his reply came.

“I think you deserve to feel beautiful. Even if no one’s said it enough.”

Your hands trembled a little as you picked up the earrings again.

Because Seonghwa didn’t say things unless he meant them with his whole heart.

And maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just a kind gesture.

Maybe it was a beginning.

YUNHO

You’d meant it as a joke. Sort of.

You and Yunho were walking through a mall, passing a cute boutique with charm necklaces, and you’d pointed at a heart-shaped locket in the window with a dramatic sigh. “Imagine getting something like that from a boyfriend. Must be nice.”

Yunho laughed, bumping your shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

You snorted. “I’ll die single and jewel-less. The curse of being everyone’s favorite ‘just a friend.’”

He rolled his eyes, but you missed the way his smile faltered.

That night, he stayed up scrolling online stores, second-guessing every color and style. It was insane—he knew it. But the idea of you feeling unloved made something twist painfully in his chest.

A week later, you were hanging out in his room when he suddenly shoved a little bag into your hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, frowning.

“Just open it.”

Inside was a charm necklace—simple but meaningful. A tiny star and a single letter charm. Yours.

You stared. “Yunho…”

He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal. I just—I don’t like hearing you talk like that. Like no one wants to give you things. Because I do. I’ve wanted to for a while.”

Your heart nearly burst.

Because Yunho never said things without laughter in his voice—but this time, he was completely serious.

And you didn’t even notice when your fingers slid into his, holding tight.

YEOSANG

Yeosang didn’t say anything when you told him.

You were lying on the couch beside him, scrolling through pictures of couple jewelry on social media and murmured, half-laughing, “damn i don't think I’ll ever get to post stuff like that… I'm kinda jel”

He didn’t tease.

Didn’t joke.

He just turned to you with that unreadable look—the one that made your heart race for reasons you tried hard to ignore—and nodded slowly.

“You’ll get it one day,” he said softly. “Someone’s going to see you and just… know.”

You scoffed. “nah I think I’m invisible when it comes to love, relationships and all that, you know?”

Yeosang frowned, then looked down at his phone, typing something quickly. He left the room for what it felt like 20 or even 30 minutes.

And returned with a tiny velvet box in hand.

He placed it in your lap without ceremony, settling beside you like it was nothing.

You opened it carefully, and nearly choked.

Inside was a gold-plated bracelet, etched with tiny stars and the first letter of your name. Dainty. Beautiful. Thoughtful.

You stared at him. “Yeosang—what—why?”

He didn’t meet your eyes at first. Just said, “Because you’re not invisible. And I hate the idea of you thinking no one sees how special you are.”

Your voice cracked. “Is this… friend jewelry?”

His gaze finally met yours, something burning beneath the surface. “Only if you want it to be.”

And you knew, right then, that he’d been watching you all along. Quietly. Deeply. Hoping for the chance to give you more than you ever thought to ask for.

SAN

You said it while you were fiddling with your necklace, eyes glazed over with that far-off, sad little smile San hated more than anything.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never get to wear something from a boyfriend… or from anyone at this point”

It wasn’t bitter. Just… resigned. Quiet. The way people say things they’ve made peace with, even though it still hurts.

San froze for a second. You didn’t notice.

Because if you had, you would’ve seen how his hand clenched around the soda can he was holding. How his smile slipped just a little. How your words—so casually dropped—landed in his chest like a stone in still water.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, carefully neutral.

You shrugged, curling your knees up to your chest. “I’ve just never dated. No one’s ever looked at me like that… like someone to love for more than… what? a month? two weeks? I don’t know”

He scoffed before he could stop himself. “That’s bullshit.”

You blinked at him.

“Seriously,” he added, this time softer. “If you think people aren’t looking at you like that, you're not looking hard enough.”

And he meant it.

Because San had looked at you like that for more than a year.

But every time he got close to telling you, something held him back. Fear, maybe. Or timing. Or that stupid, selfish part of him that wanted to stay your best friend forever if it meant never losing you.

So he said nothing.

But he did start working on something.

He’d seen the way your eyes lit up when you passed the booth at the street market that sold handmade accessories—specifically, the braided string bracelets with beads. You’d lingered there too long. Touched one. Smiled softly. Then walked away like you didn’t deserve it.

San went back alone the next day.

And a week later, he handed you a tiny paper bag with a shiny red string bracelet inside. Simple. Beautiful. Beads spelling your name in a soft rosie gold letters.

You stared at it like it was magic.

“Sannie…?”

He grinned. “I know it’s not fancy or anything, but I made sure it’s strong enough to last… is waterproof too.” He added with a soft smile

Your throat tightened. “Why?”

His gaze met yours. “Because I want you to wear something from someone who actually sees you.”

And there it was.

Not quite a confession.

But definitely not just a gift.

MINGI

You didn’t even realize you’d said it until Mingi went completely silent.

You were lying on his bed, scrolling on your phone while he played soft music from the speaker. Something slow, jazzy, romantic—almost painfully romantic—and that’s probably why your voice came out so wistful.

“How I would like to wear those cute little couple jewelry or something cringey like that. I’ll probably never, I think… that kinda sucks.”

He turned to look at you, his smile quite gone but not completely so you don't notice.

“Why would you say that?”

You shrugged, brushing it off. “It’s not a big deal.”

But Mingi took things like this personally.

Because when Mingi cared, he cared. And you were his person. His ride or die. The one who’d seen him through anxiety spirals and late-night breakdowns. The one who brought him snacks to the studio and sat on the floor just to keep him company.

You deserved the world.

So if he couldn’t be your boyfriend—not yet, not while he was still hiding all this love in the corners of his smile—then damn it, he’d be the next best thing.

The next time you visited his place, there was a small black box on your spot on the bed.

You eyed it suspiciously. “What is this?”

He flopped down beside you, playing it cool. “Just something I saw and thought of you.”

Inside was a necklace—silver, with a pendant shaped like a tiny lightning bolt. Simple. Sleek. Fierce. Just like you.

“Mingi—”

He waved a hand. “Don’t overthink it. I just figured if no boyfriend’s stepped up, I’ll do it for him.”

You raised a brow. “So… you’re my fake boyfriend now?”

He shrugged. “Only until someone real shows up.”

Your chest ached. “And if no one does?”

He turned, eyes suddenly serious. “Then I’ll keep doing it. Forever, if I have to.”

And you didn’t know it yet, but Mingi had bought a matching necklace too.

He just hadn’t had the guts to wear it in front of you yet.

WOOYOUNG

You said it as a joke.

Of course you did—because sadness made you awkward, and teasing made it easier to hide the ache in your chest.

You’d been watching a K-drama together, some swoony scene where the guy slipped a ring onto the girl’s finger under fairy lights and fireworks, and you’d muttered, “Lmao couldn’t be me. I’ll die fucking alone with naked hands”

Wooyoung had laughed at first. Then stopped. Then looked at you like you’d grown a second head.

“Why would you say something so cursed?”

You grinned. “Only facts come out of my mouth.”

He shook his head violently. “No. Nope. Rejected. Banned. You? Never getting a boyfriend or a cute lil ring or some shit like that?? Please.”

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “Guess I’m just not that type.”

He got weirdly quiet after that.

The next time he came over, he was jittery. Twitchy. Acting like he was hiding something. And after an hour of pacing and pretending like he didn’t have a small box in his pocket, he finally shoved it into your hands.

You opened it, expecting a prank.

What you got was a silver ring—minimalist, delicate, with a tiny red gem that sparkled like fire.

Your jaw dropped.

“Wooyoung…?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay so like, I’ve had this for a while. I saw it and thought it looked like you. Fire-y. Cute. You know.”

You blinked. “You’ve had it?”

“Yeah. I was gonna wait for your birthday or something but then you said that dumb thing about no one giving you jewelry and I panicked.”

You laughed—but you were blushing now, heart racing.

“And… are you giving this as a friend?”

His eyes flicked up to yours. “Do you want it to be?”

And in that moment, all the teasing in the world couldn’t hide the truth in his eyes.

JONGHO

Jongho heard your voice from the kitchen.

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—you were on the phone with a mutual friend, just talking casually, but the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“No girl, you know I’ve never dated… I don’t know, I feel like I’m just not the kind of girl guys give attention like that… like, you remember, I dated a few guys but none of them lasted long enough to be introduced to my parents, imagine... much less lasted for a sad one month anniversary or some gift like a box of chocolates, a teddy bear or a necklace, ring, some earrings, y’know? Like, I've tried, you know that, it never works for me, maybe I'm just not anyone type I dont know girl.”

You laughed after, like it was nothing.

But Jongho couldn’t let it go.

Not because he disagreed—but because he completely disagreed. In his eyes you are more than cute. More than worthy. You are strong, loyal, radiant. The kind of person who made his chest tighten just by walking into a room.

That night, he sat at his desk for hours, scouring websites until he found the exact thing.

Two days later, he handed you a small, square box without saying much.

You frowned. “What’s this?”

He shrugged. “Open it.”

Inside was a pair of earrings—small hoops with a delicate, carved vine detail. Elegant but bold. Feminine but powerful.

“Jongho…” You blinked at them. “They’re gorgeous.”

“I know,” he said simply. “So are you.”

You looked up fast.

He held your gaze, voice steady. “Don’t think about yourself like that again. You deserve everything. And if no one else gives it to you…” His expression softened. “I will.”

And that was the first time you realized Jongho had been looking at you not just as a best friend—

—but as the person he was quietly, completely falling for.

[manicrouge]

I AM MERELY MAN (CH. 6)

CHAPTER SIX: A SEAL UPON YOUR HEART

[SIMON RILEY X F!READER] - MASTERLIST - IAMM MASTERLIST - PLAYLIST

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴜʀɴ.

[ᴄᴡ]: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

YOU NOTICED IMMEDIATELY THAT SIMON WAS SKILLED.

Not that he needed your assessment to be verified as such — he didn’t. It was a talent as potent as the smell of gunpowder in the air, and you sat in the grass, listening to the blowing of the wind. It had been he who had insisted on taking a break for the night, granted you were only around four hours away from Amiens.

When he had first proposed doing so by taking hold of your forearm and stopping dead in his tracks, pointing to a small clearing in the forest you had been treading through, you had shook your head, pointing beyond the pair of you.

Hattie could have been anywhere at that point, you needed to see her, to make sure she was okay. Although, you couldn’t have escaped the fact that you were in fact panting like a dog and each step you were taking grew lazier and lazier as your knees throbbed.

So, when he shook his head and gently pulled your hand back towards the clearing, you could only huff, allowing yourself to be led by the Lieutenant. He smiled at you when you went willingly. Had you tried to persist on your journey, you had an inkling of a suspicion that he would have picked you up and carried you. 

So, you sat idly, chin rested atop your hands, knees pulled to your chest as you watched the man arrange a pile of sticks he’d collected after circling the perimeter. The moonlight provided you with some light, granted, the fire that the man constructed provided the pair of you with much more and you sat, opposite ends, listening to the chirping of the crickets and the wind moving the branches of the trees.

Frankly, being with the man alone for longer than the time you had spent with him in the garden was quite awkward as you realised that Simon was not one for talking. Granted, if he were to talk to you, you wouldn’t have understood a word he would have said to. That didn’t matter, you thought to yourself; it would have filled the void between the pair of you.

The air between the pair of you was thick, an unspoken tension brewing as you sat and wondered where the others were and what they were doing. Fortunately, you knew Hattie was in good hands — the best hands she could have been in for you trusted the efforts of a Captain and his two Sergeants over your own. Hell, if it were just you and her, you wouldn’t have made it far. In fact, rather than sitting, warmed by a fire, you’d more than likely be in a ditch somewhere, dead. It would be the best thing, if you were never to meet again, that it had been those men that she had gotten lost with and not you. 

Fortunately, Simon was capable, so, the inclusion of you by his side didn’t seem to affect him too much. In fact, he kept his eyes turned down to his lap, a pen in his hand as he scribbled away in his journal. You watched intently as he massacred the page, his hold on the pen almost comical as you noted he held it with a fist. Moving from where you had been sitting, facing the man, you shuffled around the edge of the fire until you were sat directly by his side.

He lifted his head to acknowledge your presence before turning his attention back to his work. He hadn’t the opportunity to write any further as you extended your hand out, taking hold of the pen, plucking it from his grasp. He looked at you when you did so, brown brows bunched together as you leaned forward, moving his hands into the proper position for him to hold his pen. His fingers were stiff as you attempted to move them to take hold of it properly.

Eventually, when you were satisfied, you nodded to him and pointed back at the journal. Maintaining the hold you had influenced, he pressed the tip of the pen against the page and, with a shaky hand, continued on with his writing. 

Only, he made it two words in all for the pen to end up in the centre of his fist. 

You huffed and rolled your eyes, waving your hands about in the air with a sigh. As though to challenge you, the man stopped his writing and held it out for you, motioning for you to take the pen. You did as he asked of you, holding it in the way you had showed him. He turned the notepad around, keeping it on his lap and pointed at the empty page beside the one he’d been writing on. Never had you felt so much pressure to find something to write. No words seemed to come to mind and so, you settled with drawing a daisy. He looked down at the page and smiled, but didn’t ask for the pen back. Beside the flower, you drew the sun and with a careful hand wrote: let the Earth be glad for on the Earth is you.

You knew he wouldn’t have had a clue what you had written, even if you were slightly blushing when you gave him the pen back. To his credit, he nodded in the direction of what you had written and, with the pen (still being held with his fist), he wrote something beside what you wrote, trying his best to copy the daisy you had drawn. It was cute, charming — every positive word to have ever existed, to see such a big man attempt to master the arts of the dainty. He fit like a shoe five sizes too small. Nonetheless, you still appreciated his attempts and watched him with a keen eye to see what else he could create with hands as brutalised and calloused as his. 

For a while, your existence consisted of passing a pen between one another, filling the page in his journal with drawings. From floral arrangements to the moon, the page was filled, the act subsequently leaving the engravings of your art work on other pages which were home to his mindless scrawling. You engaged with one another like children in a classroom, the spirits locked inside the bodies of adults nestling into your laps, guiding your hands as the responsibilities and truth of life melted away. 

And how gorgeous it was to sit beneath the moonlight, listening to the crackling of the fire he had crafted to keep you warm, grinning ear to ear. The glint of the flame reflected in his eyes, dancing with his pupils. His skin brushed against yours when he went to hand you the pen again. Your face flushed red and, with a shaking hand, you drew a love heart, eyes flickering between your drawing and his lips. 

It started with his hand against your cheek, pressing so cautiously as he brushed the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. So gentle, so soft, a love so pure, you had thought it to have only been reserved for goddesses to experience. That was not the case as he dipped his head, the heat of his breath mingling with yours in the cool summer night. He stopped just before his lips could settle against yours as though to give you a choice to pull away. Such a thought never crossed your mind as you leaned forward, closing the dreaded the space between the pair of you.

You put your hands against his shoulders, pressing down on the firm muscle as he deepened the kiss. He tasted of day-old wine and salt as your tongue mingled with his, sinfully so. It seemed that he was the thing you had needed to quell your prior rage, not a sickness as he made himself out to be, rather, the remedy you always knew him to be. A man so rough was really gentle, his hand guiding you down into the grass, trapped between nature and you. It seemed to be a compelling competition as he could have opted to dig his hands into the dirt, yet, the tips of his fingers sunk into the flesh of your stomach, drawing a delighted moan from your mouth.

He swallowed every sound he drew out of you with a greed you’d never quite encountered, kissing you freely, uncaring that the moon was staring at the pair of you. It seemed he wished to consume you, every single piece to keep the secret of you locked within the confines of him and his mind. Although, he settled with nipping at the lobe of your ear playfully as his hand hiked up the fabric of your dress, settling against your upper thigh. 

From behind him, you watched as the fire raged onwards, surrounding the shadow looming over you with a delicious orange hue, reminiscent of the absent sun. You knew he left all the light behind for the sake embracing you in a manner most would believe to be sinful for there wasn’t a chunk of metal wrapped around your finger or his. To that, you would have raised the question to those who judged: was their ring an anchor to the pits of hell as opposed to a demonstration of love and light? If so, if they experienced the bitter words of their lovers as opposed to the lightness you felt at that moment, you would have hushed them and grinned as you kissed the marvel of a man above you.

Your breath hitched in your breast and he pulled away simply to admire you. You wondered what he would have said to you if you shared a language in the same manner you shared touches. How did the eyes of such a man see you? To you, there was nothing particularly unique about you, nothing special. You were flesh and blood and bone — as was everyone else. The look in his eyes almost worked to convince you that you were more than that for he looked to you as a lamb would its shepherd. Unspoken were the words, guide me, but you heard them in the strain of his breathing, dipping your hand down to wrap around his wrist.

You moved it upwards, feeling his rough skin brush against your inner thighs, his knuckles pressing against the gusset of your cotton underwear. Your back arched, delight coursing through your veins, looking at the man with a pleading eye in the hopes he would take what you had given him, what you had shown him, and give you something of his in turn. 

The moment was oh so quiet and so calm that you feared you were dreaming. Each touch, each whisper as sacred as the word of the Lord. You wished it to be etched into the pages of a book or journal, so the love you experienced on the floor of that forest, the feeling of his hand in yours, fingers intertwined and the sound of short panted breaths would exist forever, as opposed to be lost in the air of the night for only the howl of the wind to pick up and appreciate. 

How pretty was that thought? For love to be eternal and deny the will of the formidable forces which sought, with an iron fist, to destroy it. 

History marvelled at the villains and ignored the bereft and fleeting moments shared between the two who, in spite of evil, sought that it would be love to fix the wrongs employed by the deceitful. 

You knew that as you and him were the example. 

It was with resounding passion that he set your body alight, as you did to his. Clothes abandoned, sprawled in the field, lying as naked as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, feasting on the fruits, tempted by the hissing of the serpent to go against the will of the Lord. And you did so, allowing the soldier — your Lieutenant — to leave bruises in your silky flesh, back arched against the ground as he hit a particular spot which had your eyes screwed so tightly shut, constellations formed behind your eyelids. You repeated his name like it was a prayer, begging and pleading the only way you knew how.

The only was he would understand.

And he understood you, of course he did!

Hushing you, grunting and groaning as your fingers brushed through his hair, breath becoming increasingly sporadic until, with one final cry, the tether snapped and you came undone in his arms. He followed soon after, his teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder, his body collapsing into yours. Your fingers lingered against the flesh of his back, eyes turned upwards at the night sky as you lingered in a pleasure, basking in it and the reflection of the moonlight on his dewy flesh. 

From there, you hardly moved. He rolled onto his back, pulling you with it. Although, both of you were much too exhausted to do anything but exist — and existence, as you had realised in the past few days, was tiresome too. As a result, you drifted off in his arms, arm extended across his chest, feeling the thudding beat of his heart as you slipped into slumber. 

[just-null]

are you oka- oh.

[readwritealldayallnight]

The men working on his crew today are too loud, too boisterous, too young, too content to stand around blabbering, taking the piss instead of doing their actual jobs

Getting into construction work following retirement from the SAS wasn’t exactly the idyllic image of sipping a daiquiri on the beach that his thick stack of discharge papers had painted in his head

But it kept his hands occupied and his mind busy, his daily stressors having shifted from cleaning blood out of his gear and patching broken bones every other day, to instead complaining about the rising price of lumber and pulling splinters out on occasion

Trading in his AR for a nail gun, swapping his tac vest for a tool belt, even turning in his skull mask for a hard hat, was surprisingly an easier adjustment than he’d predicted, the long hours and physical work meant he was too exhausted by the time he got home to spend much time doing anything other than preparing for the next day, a never ending cycle that kept him from being still for too long

It might have been some time since Simon Riley was on a battlefield, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still play the hero every once in a while

He’s stood at the top of a ladder, wiping the sweat off his brow as his other hand pats agains this tool belt, searching for the one tool he’s certain he forgot to bring up with him

“Pass me the claw head hammer will y-” Simon cuts himself off from asking the lad stood below him, when he notices he’s only talking to himself. Squinting through the glare of the afternoon sun shining in his eyes, he glances around the job site until he spots most of his crew gathered near the front gates

He rolls his eyes to himself as he begins making his way back down to solid ground, having spotted what had the men so distracted : a pretty bird stood on the other side of the fence

Simon can admit to himself, even he likes to partake in the occasional bird watching, he is just a man at the end of the day, but not when there’s work to be done, and they’re already more than a week behind on this job

“Alright you tossers, back to it!” He shouts to be heard over the group of men, a chorus of groans and grumbles echoing out before they’re slowly dispersing

“Ach, we were jus’ helpin ‘er out, sir!” A man who sounds like he’s been smoking all his life croaks out as he walks by

“Here, miss. He’s the one that might be able to give you an answer.” One of the younger men on the crew says, pointing a gloved hand in Simon’s direction

He follows the younger man’s gaze, expecting to find another curious bystander peeking at the work, perhaps a nosy neighbour who wants to know why such a mess is being made, hell maybe even one of the hens from the nearby college stopping by for a quick flirt

He’s prepared to offer a professional nod, maybe even a begrudging ‘Alright?’ if it appeases them, before he’ll be excusing himself back to the job, uninterested in getting home any later tonight than he already has to just to entertain some stranger

But of course, he doesn’t end up doing so, does he? Not when his hand comes up to block out the sun, his gaze peering through the chain link fence, and it’s you that his eyes land on

You, with your wide eyes fighting to appear confident, though the controlled panic running through them is clear to see from where Simon stands a few feet away from you

Your body tense as you push a small pram in place back and forth, back and forth, your attention jumping between the men and whoever must be tucked up under a pile of blankets in the stroller, presumably also the reason for your enticingly large cleavage, he allows himself think for a split second before averting his gaze

Simon sends the younger man away with a quick jut of his chin, before he’s taking a careful step towards you

“Wha’ can I help you with?” He tries in vain to mask the usual harshness in his tone, but with such a quick switch in his emotions it doesn’t come out sounding quite how he’d hoped, yet you don’t flinch away from him either

“I know-” you let out a frustrated breath, readjusting your grip on the pram’s handle as you steady yourself, locking eyes with his once again with a new vigour behind them this time around. “I know this is so silly of me, and I’m sure you’ve had lots of people botherin’ you, so uh, sorry for bein’ one of ‘em, but here I am.”

You let out a small chuckle to yourself, more self deprecating than anything else, but Simon finds himself offering the slightest bit of a smile in return, if only to ease your nerves

“Anyways, I can imagine you’re probably not allowed to tell but, uh, people have been saying this might be a daycare you’re building here.”

He knew what your question was going to be long before you’d opened your pretty mouth- everyone and their mother had been asking about the project

Limited childcare in the area meant that as soon as the first whispers of a new daycare being built had started to spread, parents and even parents to be had been poking their noses before shovels had even hit the ground

Opening his mouth to give you the same answer he’d given everyone before you, Simon finds the words dying on his tongue as the unmistakable sound of an upset baby comes from the pram, and a very small baby at that

“Shh, shh darling. It’s okay, baby. You’re alright, shh.” He can’t find it in himself not to step closer until he’s practically got his nose poking through the fence to get nearer to you both, eyes glued to the way your lips formed the sweet soothing words, peering towards the increasingly squirming bundle tucked away in the pram

“Tha’s a tiny one.” Simon practically whispers to himself, though he knows you’ve heard him when your eyes glance up to meet his. “Can’t be very old.” He remembers how small his nephew had been when he’d been born, and recognized that distinct newborn cry instantly.

“Just turned eight weeks.” You answer with a ghost of a proud smile dancing across your lips quickly as you gaze at your bundle of joy, a tidbit of information you would expect a new parent would be all too happy to talk about, though the elation quickly disappears from your face. “Unfortunately my job is uh, I have to go back to work soon, I’ve just really been needing to find a spot for her somewhere.”

“Have you told your boss to sod off?” He asks, biceps bulging as he crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the fence. He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the idea of a pretty little bird being all worked up and stressed about finding her new little baby bird somewhere to stay because her job is trying to force her to come back so soon

He also recognizes the fact that he doesn’t know you, that you’ve been a stranger to him up until about 60 seconds ago, and that he shouldn’t go involving himself in things that don’t regard him, but there’s something about this, something about you, that has him asking more questions that he should

Simon hardly realizes the corners of his mouth trying to smile along when you let out a small chuckle at his question, before your answer has him set back into his usual scowl. “No, I wish it were that simple.” you try to laugh again, though the sound doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you push some hair out of your eyes, Simon’s fingers twitching at his side

“No, they’re not forcing me to come back, it’s more of a- I need to work again. Money doesn’t exactly make itself, and it’s just me and her so…” you trail off, offering a meek shrug before you avert your gaze from his and go to fiddle with the baby blankets. “There- there just aren’t any daycare spots anywhere, and the waiting lists are months if not years long. And she and I just don’t pass through this neighbourhood often, so I’m worried that once that sign goes up announcing this is a daycare, that the spots are going to be taken up before I even have a chance to-”

“S’alrigh, s’alright.” Simon interrupts your rambling, a hand raised slightly in the air as though you were a spooked animal he hoped to calm. having heard everything he needed to hear. You look up at him with such sincerity in your eyes, he can tell you would do anything for that baby, that you likely aren’t above begging and pleading at this point, alone with a baby and short on options, he knows what he’ll do. Had pretty much made up his mind soon as he saw you, but now he’s decided.

“Just you and her, you said?” He asks quietly, absentmindedly nodding along with you when you confirm his question. “Well, I mean, I can tell ye that yes, this is meant to be a daycare ‘ere.” He speaks hesitantly, watching as the hope builds in your eyes at his words. He brings a sweaty palm up to rub the back of his neck as he breaks the news to you.

“But I couldn’t tell ye anythin’ about who we’re buildin’ for, love.” He continues, the term of endearment slipping past his lips unconsciously. “They just give us the blueprints and we do our part. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what or who’s takin ownership.” He watches that same sliver of hope that had started to grow quickly be snuffed out as you take in what he means.

“Oh. Well, I guess it makes sense.” You reply, evidently disappointed but too kind to push, too used to the recent defeats to expect anything else. “Thank you anyways, really. I appreciate you-”

“I’ll find out.” Simon says quickly, preventing you from bidding him whatever goodbye you were about to give him, keeping you here just a little longer.

“W-what?”

“I’ll find out. Who we’re building for. I’ll find you a name.”

“I- I- I don’t even- you really don’t have to do that!”

“Doesn’t matter what I have to do. I want to. So I will.”

He watches your face carefully now, seeing how you glance up at him with a different sort of apprehension in your gaze, almost like you’re truly taking him in for the first time, discovering something you weren’t expecting to find in him.

“Well, thank you. Truly.” You tell him, a smile so genuine gracing your lips that Simon finds himself choosing to smile back at you. The moment doesn’t last long however, when the baby starts to fuss again, your attention being drawn back to her. “I know baby, I know. I’ve got to feed you soon.”

Simon can’t help the deep blush that creeps up his neck and across his cheeks, unsure if it’s the way he enjoyed hearing you say ‘I know baby, I know’ a little too much or the idea of his own lips helping to ease that heavy ache in your swollen breasts that has him momentarily flustered.

“Maybe I could-” he clears his throat, pointedly avoiding looking at your chest and maintaining eye contact instead. “Maybe I could get your number or email or somethin’, to get back to you that is.”

“Oh! Yes of course! Here,” you say, digging through your pockets until you fish out a wadded up receipt. Simon pulls the pencil that’d been resting over his ear down and gently slips it through the fence over to you, watching with rapt attention as you bring the tip to the paper and write down what might be the most important numbers Simon ever learns. “There’s my number.”

He takes the pencil back from you and carefully accepts the paper you hand him, looking down at the name and smiley face you’ve left as well, whispering your name to himself before meeting your eyes once more. Before he can change his mind, Simon is tearing off the end of the receipt that’s still blank, and begins writing down his own name and number on it.

“If I don’t get back to you by the end of the week, you use tha’ to knock some sense into me, alrigh’?” He asks, slipping you the paper. He knows there isn’t a chance in hell he would forget about reaching out to you, about following through on this, but again, there’s something about you he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Thank you, Simon.” You answer, reading the name off the note he’s just given you, a small chill running down his spine at the sound of his name leaving your lips, the way you say it like it’s a name worth knowing. “Seriously, I can’t even tell you wha-”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle together when the baby’s cries cut you off again, you offering a sheepish smile in apology along with a small shrug of ‘what can you do?’.

“I’ll let you go, someone needs you more.”

“Well, we’re both very grateful to you, Simon.”

He stands there longer than he really should, watching the two of you walk off until you’re out of sight. The note you slipped him though? Well, that he holds onto until he’s clocking out, and maybe on the drive home as well, and maybe it’s the first thing to ever be hung up on his fridge in his flat, that little smiley face reminding him why a little bird watching isn’t so bad after all

I dunno ladies is this something???

Edit : you all decided this was something so here’s part 2

[coffee-and-geto]

HAVE YOU SEEN MY PANTIES?

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: in a lazy, hot summer afternoon, it’s your boyfriend’s turn to do the laundry. but why doesn’t he respond when you’re asking where’s your panties?

warnings: +18, smut, nsfw, gojo is your boyfriend, needy! gojo, cute! gojo, fluff, nipple play, panties sniffling, masturbation (m), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, sex (p in v), also based on a @/yunonoai’s comic!

wc: 2,128

“Babe, can you do the laundry? I have a call.”

“Sure,” Satoru replies, standing up from the couch where he was lazily lying down, chilling out in front of some tiktoks.

He steps towards the bathroom, the laundry hamper waiting for him to be emptied and washed. With a resigning sigh, he looks down at the heap of dirty clothes. One of them overhangs them all: your favorite panties — the one he bought you last month. 

The lace surrounds with finesse the satin fabric of your favorite color.

So how can he not be hard at the only sight that reminds him how long you both haven’t had sex?

Fuck.

His breathing becomes heavier, each inhaling being a trial to not pay attention to the prominent bulge swelling down his gray jogging pants. Of course, the memory of your whimpers will always be like music to his ears, the fwap sounds of his cock buried deep, so deep, inside of your wet pussy, and his balls, so much filled with his cum and tightening when he's about to climax, slapping against your ass at each pound into you.

He is grouching now, at the edge of whining in need of your full attention — but of course, you needed to have a call at this very moment.

His hand twitches to his crotch, palming his already hard erection through the soft fabric of his pants, electricing at quiet moans, Satoru’s beautiful face wincing in pleasure. He swallows thick, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gives in. With messy movements, he lifts up his black shirt to grab the hem at his watering mouth and muffle his cute sounds between his clenched teeth and jaw. The fresh air blow at his hard abs, making him tensing his belly with scorching skin.

His big, calloused hand fiddles with his erection, so ready to free himself from the torturous sensation of your pretty panties, which he holds between his fingers and brings to his nose to inhale your scent, which makes him like a little puppy for you. Satoru utters a desperate whimper and finally buries his hand under his clothes to release his quivering cock.

It’s much bigger than usual, beads of precum glistening on the angry red tip, and veins sinuating the flesh. Of course, it’s perfect. That’s why it will never seem strange to anyone to see him stroke himself. He lazily fucks his tight fist, picturing your sweet pussy as he closes his eyes, beads of sweat leaking from his temples a flush spreads all over his cheeks.

His length girth throbs between his digits, coursing waves of lust through him as Satoru quickens the pace, as the same as his heartbeat. Saliva damps the fabric of his black shirt, and the idea of substituting the hem of his shirt with your panties carries out straight away, increasing his arousal until it’s twitching in a maddened way. With each stroke, the pre spreads along his shaft to allow it to be lubricated, at the point that if you all of a sudden show up in the bathroom, you both can skip the foreplay but damn!

“Toru? Did you see my panties?” Your voice echoes through another room.

But he doesn’t answer anyway.

“Fuck,” he grunts in a quiet whine, “miss you so much, babe.” His balls tighten, following the next moment — and it doesn’t take that much time he expected, because a few seconds after he twists his wrist in an upstroke movement — the exact way you’d do to him — he’s already cumming on the heap of laundry, dirtying them even more they already were, puddles of a viscous liquid, spreading out in droplets as the orgasmic peak subsides.

Panting heavily, he doesn’t hear you burst into the bathroom as you exclaim, “Satoru? You serious? Look at the state of the laundry now!”

With a swift gesture, he removes your panties from his mouth and turns his head suddenly towards you. He’s unable to justify himself and simply watches your disapproving pout ruffle your pretty lips. “Sorry babe, I'll clean it up.” He also notes how your mere presence makes him hard immediately despite having softened a moment earlier with the moment of “relief” he wished to provide for himself.

“Where are my panties?” you ask a second time as you rummage, eyebrows furrowed, through the basket of dirty laundry.

Satoru rubs the back of your neck nervously and hesitates to hide your underwear in his palm. “Uh... here,” he murmurs softly, slightly discomfited as you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“You’re that much needy?”

Satoru looks down, a little boyish pout on his lips that breaks your heart. “Sorry...”

Your frown softens. “Oh, um— No, Toru, please don’t gimme that look,” you whisper, walking over to him, your hands instinctively cupping his cheeks to make him look down at you. “I’m sorry, my love. You need to tell me when you need me, okay?”

Satoru nods slowly, still guiltily pouting. “Can I have you? Please? Just one round, I swear I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs.

His request makes your lips curl up. “My boy does want me? You’re cute, almost begging like this.” You graze a kiss on his cheek. “Get on your knees.”

“Like that?” His knees make contact with the floor, his cock still outside his dangling jogging suit. He so fucking cute, listening to you so obediently.

“Good boy,” you coo, sliding pants down your thighs. Your black panties hug the swell of your hips, your intoxicating scent spreading toward Satoru’s nostrils.

He moves towards you using his knees to grip your hips and sniff your scent once more. The action makes you giggle so much that it makes you suck in a breath when he pulls down your underwear to kiss your groin. “Love you,” he whispers. “I want to taste you, please.”

“Satoru, just wait I—” But he cuts you off, darting out his tongue to lick a strip enough to feel your bundle of nerves. A moan escapes your lips, driving your breath as crazy as he’s doing with his skillful mouth.

“You’re dripping,” Satoru comments, kissing your lower lips swiftly before grabbing you by the thighs and lifting you up, dropping you off the washing machine. “Spread your legs,” he mumbled, all needy and flushed to eat you out.

And how long he hadn’t—

It’s like he’s drunk on you, ignoring your moans and whimpers as he rests his cheeks on your inner thigh to wrap his wrist around your thighs. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs, trapping you firmly. “Keep ‘em spread, baby,” he purrs, lapping your soaked core and sensitive, puffy clit. “It tastes s’good, I’ve missed you.”

His dick twitches and throbs afterward, your sweet sounds re-hardening him and making him more swollen than he was even after the few rubs he did to relieve himself.

“Hmm, ah, Satoru, you—” you trail off, throwing back your head against the wall, your hands grabbing the washing machine’s edge until your knuckles turn white. “I’ll be close, I—” you babble, and the realization of how much not having sex with him for so long is turning you into a virgin-like. And also, the clenching feeling of your pussy, lips parting and closing around nothing hits you so hard.

You need to cum on his cock.

“Satoru, stop,” you gasp, your fingers snaking gently through his white lock and tugging them carefully.

He stops the moment after your whine reaches his ears — a sound ringing like music to his ear. “But… I haven’t made you come yet,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit slowly with his forefinger and middle finger. His cute pout is now begging you to give him grace.

“I want to cum on your dick,” you clarify, leaning in, your lips pressing down a gentle, loving kiss on this beautiful forehead of him.

“You sure? I haven’t stretched you beforehand.” He rises from his former crouching position and holds his sensitive length closer to your core.

“I don’t mind, I just want you right now,” you blow out, kissing his free hand.

Satoru blushes — and oh, how can anyone fall in love with this cute little face you want to madly shower with cuddles and kisses? “Can we put it in while I kiss you?” he requests, bringing his lips closer to yours.

You let out a little laugh, pressing a first kiss on his lips. “You’re so cute.”

But something makes your eyes drop lower, and you feel it. Satoru’s hand holds his shaft enough well to tap the tip and the length below on your core, teasing your squelching cunt.

“C’mon, don’t tease me, I want you n— Ah!” He shuts you down by crashing his lips on yours and sliding himself easily in you, stretching you impossibly wide. “S-Satoru, you’re bigger than usual,” you whimper. 

Your hands grab his broad shoulder, nails sinking in his compressed black shirt, lips moving on their own to taste yourself on his wet lips. His tender tongue asks to enter you, and you allow him, soft strokes on each other’s tongue.

Satoru moans in the melting kiss, waiting for you to adjust, and starts gentle back and forth hips moves, hissing through his teeth by the sweet, delicious tightness of yours. “You feel so good,” he squeals between kisses. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You gasp, swallowing hard because of the different paces your brain can’t focus on — stolen kisses and perfect pounds into you. It’s so deep, so mastered, that it’s driving you mad and making you see stars.

Breaking the kiss, Satoru wraps his muscled arms around your back and encircles you flush against him, your heartbeat matching with his, and your fingernails slide down his back as you almost lose strength and balance every time his tip brushes against your cervix, etching red scratch marks for sure on his back as soon as he will remove his shirt.

With another buck before pulling out fully, he slides back in and manages to reach your deepest point, making your back arch and cry out. “Satoru, please, I’m so close,” you whine, wincing because of his hips rocking in you faster and harder. 

The washing machine sways to the same rhythm, threatening to give way under your weight. Your heavy, ragged breaths fill the air in a kind of steam room. Blood beats at your ears, your gummy walls clenching around his long, big dick without ceasing and have mercy for you.

But as if that wasn’t enough, Satoru slides your top off with a swift movement of his hand to free one of your breasts and taste the nipple. He sucks hard, tongue pulling and swirling at the nub like no other. The action makes you roll your eyes, the overstimulation engulfing you like a wave would.

He then uses his head to tease your nipple with a gentle tug, his cerulean-blue eyes captivated by your curve. You squeal, your walls swallowing up his thrusts inside you, tightening more and more until he gives in and takes you back into his arms, but this time with a hand under your thigh to lift it up and enable him to reach an even more precise and deep angle, making you scream out his name.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Satoru warns you, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and his jaw tense from clenching. “Please, where—”

“Inside me, Satoru,” you whimper in the hollow of his neck, closing your eyes before the following ride crashes the two of you.

Pussy clenching around his length, you squirt on him with a small cry, and Satoru does likewise, twitching as he grunts and his hips jerk to reach your womb and fill you up with his cum.

Muscles trembling from the aftermath, you pant against him, as weak as after an intense workout. “I’ve missed you so much,” Satoru whispers in your ear, in the same state as you. His large, quaking hands stroke your hair, soothing you.

White strings escape from your full, swollen-lipped pussy, the sound of trickling filling the silence of the room.

“I promise I’ll do the laundry, but please, can we have cuddles?” Satoru demands, blinking down at you with puppy-dog eyes.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder and nod, a smile stretching your lips, as you reach out to stroke his cheek.

“Of course, my baby.”

DING DONG.

The ringing of the front door echoes in your ears and a memory pops into your head, slapping you in the face.

“Wasn’t Suguru supposed to come to borrow the washing machine here because his is broken?”

Satoru froze, flickering his eyes. “Huh?”

a/n: feelin to write something cute and smutty haha! i think writing things easy like this is unwinding me.

see how he’s so cute? 🥹 pls God give me one…

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t