#which is not that far off jut still

[just-french-me-up]

I was telling my partner how I was probably going to publish something on AO3 by the end of the day, and although he knows next to nothing about fandom spaces, he does know some things he learnt from me, so he went:

"Oh yeah, gotta pick the right tags, right?"

And then proceeded to look through the window with a very tortured poetic expression, unprompted:

"Hashtag anus, hashtag balls, hashtag deep inside"

I think he got the gist

[moonlight-prose]

THE GRAVE OF LUST

a/n: this is a very random idea i had of logan not necessarily being able to go at it as he used to. which like yes i love the thought of getting my back snapped by a more energetic logan. this version of him has my heart in ways i'll never be able to explain. it's short but enjoy! divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: when his body doesn't work as it used to and the weary bones that poison his soul begin to ache, you take the lead in a dance you know well.

OR giving old man logan sloppy head that he'll think about in the grave and after.

word count: 2k

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, weary old man logan, domestic vibes, oral (m receiving), spit kink, cumplay, dirty talk, he may be older but he's filthier, unedited + not betad but we live and die by the fucking pen.

He doesn't touch you quickly anymore. His hands don't shove clothes off your curves and grasp your flesh with a growl of impatience. No, he no longer holds the stamina of a younger him who could spend hours between your thighs. His bones are weary, old phantom wounds ache where they shouldn't, and he feels himself step closer to his grave with each day that passes.

His hands move at a steady pace, tugging the fabric of your nightgown up inch by inch. Sleep lingers at the edge of his mind. The knowledge that he'll have to get up early with the sun still hidden from the sky. Yet you'll be here asleep—dreaming of his calloused palms on your soft skin. How he burned himself into your ribs with a kiss.

"C'mere," he mumbled, eyes narrowed and lips parted with a deep withered breath. "Let me touch you."

Denial would be a false tale on your tongue. Depriving yourself of him wasn't an option anymore. When times like this were found few and far between and his touch became a lingering memory in the back of your mind.

You couldn't remember the last time you tasted him. The last time he sunk into your wet heat with a solid groan—the muscles of his back screaming as he held his body above yours.

Age was cruel to a man who used to be so virile. He could recall the hours he took to worship your body—mold you beneath the warmth of his palms. But doing that more often wasn't something he was capable of. He still longed for you. The sounds you made, the way your face twisted in pleasure as you came on his cock, fingers, face. He craved it some nights. He felt it eat him alive.

Tonight was no different.

"How?" you breathed, eyes wide and pleading.

You were so fucking sweet he didn't even have to convince you of this. So ready to let him bring you to that peak of bliss. He could smell the heady scent of your pussy—the way it called to him with shouts of need. And if he was a younger man...he'd have you pinned beneath him. He'd hammer his hips into yours until bruises formed beneath the skin—down into the very muscles of your legs.

His graying hair and weathered face did nothing to stop the lust that poured into your face. Your eyes still drooped, mouth open and chest heaving. And Logan was a fortunate fucking man that you were still here.

So unlike his younger self, he let you take the lead.

"Can I touch you?" you asked so nicely. He groaned at the sound of it, jutting his chin down in a nod as you grasped the button of his jeans.

Any other night you'd let him take you. Give into his languid touches until you came wherever he wanted you to come. This was a rarity the longer you spent bound together by the strings of fate.

Logan fucking loved it. He ached for it on days spent away from you—time he'd never get back. But when he'd find his way home and curl his body around yours, he found that sleep was a better option. You'd heartily agree. If it wasn't for the pounding ache between your thighs each time you caught his eye. Each chance you got to see the thick arms and sun kissed skin that lay beneath his white button downs.

"Been dreamin' about this." His voice echoed with a rasp you'd grown to love. One that screamed exhaustion, yet licked a line of heat up your spine. "Such pretty fuckin' lips."

His thumb dug into the curve of your bottom lip, pulling at it until your mouth popped open. Allowing his finger to press against your tongue—saliva building at the thought of getting him in your mouth. Of him using your throat to get himself off.

You didn't even care if you finished. You just wanted to feel him.

"You're my good girl right?" A moan spilled past your spread lips, eyes fluttering when his pants slipped down and cock came free. "Yeah you are."

"Logan," you sighed. He dragged your spit across your cheek; thumb and forefinger gripped your chin to tilt your head close enough to kiss him. Only to hold you there.

"Keep 'em open baby."

The feel of his length throbbing so close to your chest—precum dotting the tip—drove you mad. You wanted him closer. Wanted to feel the bruising ache at the back of your throat as he pushed too far. Your fingers wrapped around him gently, causing him to hiss at your cold touch. The reminder to take it slow, savor him, rang in your ears. Yet the way he looked at you with a feral hunger you felt in your heart shoved those thoughts to the side.

Within his life there's only been a handful of moments he wished he could go back to. Nearly all of them were with you on nights such as this. When the moon hung low in the sky and dawn felt eons away. If he was lucky he wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow, he'd get to wake up naked by your side and bury himself in your pretty cunt.

Logan was rarely lucky.

His spit landed on your tongue, splattering against the corner of your mouth. He led your mouth down with a firm grip until you hovered directly over his cock. The dark red at the tip made you clench around nothing—the ache spreading to the base of your stomach. Screaming for you to take it. Put your mouth on him and make him finish down your throat.

"There we go," he murmured, watching his spit and yours fall from your mouth—landing directly on his twitching cock. "Pretty ain't it."

"Yeah," you gasped, nails digging into the v of his hips. "Can I taste you? Please."

The deep echo of his laugh shot through your body like a bullet. You could feel it burrow deep within, spreading across each nerve ending and vein. Being so close to what you wanted felt like torture, but with Logan you knew it would be worth it in the end. He never left you wanting.

"'Course honey." His hand cupped the back of your neck, leading you with a soft touch. "It's yours."

Yours. Yours. Yours.

With a moan, you wrapped your lips around the head of him—tongue sliding through the slit. A ragged groan tore from his chest, his eyes boring a hole into the side of your face. The knowledge that he was so far gone for you left a pleasant thrill of warmth to grow in your stomach. This strong, capable man would bend at his knees simply to see you smile.

He was your devotee and you'd become his goddess.

"Fuckin' perfect." His words were a spit of need, fingers digging down into your skin with each flick of your tongue.

You merely held him there. In your mouth with spit coating the hand wrapped around the base of him. His taste flooded your mouth, each drop a nectar you would never have enough of. And he let you have your fill. He lay still on the bed, his breaths coupled with moans as you took your time.

Slipping him a bit deeper, you felt his thighs shift beneath you—a shuddered sigh echoing the small bedroom. You'd barely begun and yet he felt the high of dizziness begin to pull at his mind. Effectively killing whatever sleep called out to him.

"Take a little more for me." He sounded gone. Your lips spread into a smile, bobbing your head and swallowing a bit more with each small thrust. "Fuck yeah. Just like that."

He pushed at the back of your throat, your jaw strained under the width of him. Tears spilled from the corner of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And he caught them with his thumb, mixing the salt with what spit of his still remained along your skin. Tilting your head slightly, you felt him slip down your throat—your nose finding the graying curls at his base.

The loud growl that ripped through his body was all the reward you needed. He was on the fucking edge. Barely hanging on by the skin of his teeth. And he knew you could tell. His thighs jolted—stomach tensing—and when your hand slipped down to tug at his balls, thumb finding the spot between, he lost it.

Snarling your name, he thrust his hips up into your mouth and felt you choke on him. Your throat constricted perfectly with each cant of his hips down into you. He gave you the opportunity to push him off—get some air down your lungs. You let him keep going—eyes fixed on the way his face screwed up in pleasure. His teeth bared and throat extended.

Another push of your thumb sent him flying over the edge with a shout. The salty tang of him filled your mouth, spilling down your throat with rope after rope of cum. And you swallowed it all despite the searing burn that spread along your esophagus. You took every fucking drop of him and allowed some to remain on your tongue.

To prove that you could take whatever he wanted to give.

"I fuckin' love you," he breathed, cupping your jaw and grinning when you stuck out your tongue—a pool of his spend dripping down your chin.

His fingers scooped it out of your mouth before you could swallow. "Up." He slapped your ass, moving you up and into his lap. "Your turn."

"I’m okay."

The glare he gave you burned its way to your lungs. "Good girls get rewarded." His fingers dipped down beneath your nightgown—pleased to find you bare—and spread his cum along the lips of your pussy. "Don't you want your reward bub?"

"Yes," you whimpered, gripping at his hair. "I do."

"Then take it."

Refusing was no longer an option when the bliss you'd been searching for finally flared to life in your body. His fingers plunged into you, curling and seeking the spot he always found with ease. And with a sharp gasp—your hand yanking at his hair—he knew he'd found it. He smiled at the sight of you. Head back and eyes shut as you fucked yourself on his hand.

"Tell me," he said. Gripping your chin, his lips met yours in a messy kiss of teeth and tongues. He could taste himself in your mouth. His chest rumbled with a soft sigh.

"I love you." The base of his hand ground into your clit, fingers pounding up quicker—faster. And your words pitched high with each thrust.

"I know you do." He kissed your throat, the heat of your body rubbing against his made his cock twitch in interest again. "Love you too baby."

"Fuck!" The coil in your stomach began to unravel rapidly, your body shattering into pieces you'd never find again. And he clutched you tightly to his chest. He watched in rapture at the sight of you shaking, hips bucking against his hand in quick thrusts. "Logan."

Pride bloomed in his chest. "You're perfect."

You collapsed onto his bare chest, spent and exhausted. The final tendrils of pleasure began to ebb out of your body, suddenly replaced by the comfort of him there. You pressed your lips to the center of his chest, teeth dragging along the scarred skin. And he basked in your attention—his hand trailing down your spine to knead the flesh of your ass.

"We should do that more often," you teased, lips finding his in a soft kiss.

He huffed, his eyes falling shut. "I'm too old for that."

"Believe it or not, but you're sexier older."

"Yeah?" He stirred against your stomach. "You like me old and gray?"

"Absolutely."

He smirked, pushing you up his body with slow movements. "Prove it."

[theballadofharkness]

Agatha Harkness VS Salem: the kittening

Pairing: Agatha Harkness X fem!reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and putting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I may have already almost finished a part 2 to this already… this may be my favourite thing I’ve ever wrote

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows along the walls as Agatha sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming against the polished surface. Your fellow witches exchanged glances, some amused, others bracing for the inevitable storm.

“She’s taking too long,” Agatha muttered, narrowing her eyes at the door as if sheer will alone would bring you home.

Billy smirked but wisely kept his mouth shut. Lilia, however, leaned forward, arching a brow. “She just went to get food, Agatha. You do remember she’s an adult, yes?”

Agatha’s sharp glare snapped to her, but Lilia didn’t flinch. She was used to Agatha’s theatrics by now.

“I do remember,” Agatha said, tone clipped, “but she should be back by now. Anything could’ve happened.”

Jen chuckled under her breath. “Oh yes, because the biggest, scariest threat to her is probably tripping over a squirrel.”

Alice grinned. “Or getting distracted by a particularly interesting tree.”

Agatha’s scowl deepened, but her fingers stilled. It was true- you were soft, gentle, prone to stopping to feed birds or magically fixing a bumblebees wing. It was why she loved you. It was why she worried.

Lilia sighed, resting her chin on her palm. “If you panic every time she goes out alone, she’ll think you don’t trust her to be independent.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. “I trust her. I just don’t trust other people.”

Billy snorted. “Sure Agatha.”

Before Agatha could snap at him, the front door creaked open. The tension in her shoulders snapped like a thread, and in an instant, she was on her feet, sweeping toward you.

There you were, glowing with warmth, eyes bright as you kicked off your shoes. But she saw it- the hesitation, the way you bit your lip. Her stomach dropped.

“You worried mommy,” she purred, brushing a hand along your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You took too long. What’s wrong, darling?”

You swallowed, shifting your weight, cradling something in your arms.

“Aggie… please don’t be mad.”

Agatha’s eyes darkened. “Why would I be mad?”

You hesitated, then slowly, gently, lifted a tiny, black-furred bundle into view. A kitten. Small, fragile, with wide, gleaming eyes. It mewed softly.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. “Oh, absolutely not.”

The room went silent. The coven, who had seen Agatha deal with all manner of supernatural threats, were now witnessing something far more dangerous: a battle of wills between the all-powerful Agatha Harkness and her painfully sweet, unfairly adorable wife.

Agatha crossed her arms, leveling you with a firm stare. “No.”

You blinked up at her, cradling the tiny kitten against your chest. “No?”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

Billy, sitting on the couch, leaned toward Jen and whispered, *“She’s already lost.”*

Agatha shot him a look, but her attention snapped back to you when you let out a soft, sad sigh. You rubbed a gentle finger over the kitten’s tiny ear, your lower lip jutting out just slightly. Not enough to be dramatic, just enough to devastate her.

“Aggie, please,” you murmured, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I love him. He needs us.”

Agatha steeled herself. “Baby, come on, we have a rabbit already.”

You perked up. “But they can be best friends!”

“They will not be best friends-”

“We can raise him,” you continued, stepping closer, voice soft, persuasive, sweet as honey. “Please, Aggie. I love you. And I love him. Please?”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw twitched. Her fingers flexed like she was physically holding herself back.

Alice, watching from across the room, snorted. “Oh my god, just let her keep the damn cat.”

“She’s gonna say yes,” Jen stage-whispered.

Billy propped his chin on his hand. “She’s just stretching it out for dramatic effect now.”

“I am not,” Agatha snapped, then turned back to you, who was still looking at her like she hung the moon and stars in the sky. Damn you and your sweetness.

She let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down her face. Then, after a moment, she dropped her hand, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, “fine.”

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you clutched the kitten closer. “Really?”

Agatha groaned. “Yes, really. But I swear to the gods, if he scratches up my books, or if he pisses on the rug, he’s your problem.”

You grinned, bouncing up and down in glee. “Okay! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise you’ll love him!”

Agatha grumbled something under her breath but didn’t resist when you threw your arms around her. Her hands settled on your waist, grip firm but familiar, and she sighed against your hair.

Billy snickered. “Well, that was pathetic.”

Agatha shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I will turn you into a toad.”

But even as she threatened Billy, her arms curled tighter around you, and she let you tuck the kitten between you both. He let out a tiny, content purr.

“I told you mommy would let you stay didn’t I S…” you cooed, stopping and blushing as you almost revealed your new sons name.

Agatha groaned. “Oh, for the love of- you’ve already named him, haven’t you?”

You smiled guiltily and nodded “his name is Salem”

Lilia cackled. “Oh, now that’s just poetic.”

~

Agatha woke with a slow, satisfied stretch, a lazy smirk curling on her lips as she reached across the bed, expecting to find you- warm, soft, pliant against her.

But the sheets were cold.

Her smirk faded. She frowned, eyes cracking open, hand still patting the empty space beside her. “Baby?”

Silence.

Her frown deepened.

She sat up, fingers raking through her hair, listening carefully. Then…

A giggle.

Agatha’s head snapped toward the bedroom door. You were giggling? Without her? Another soft peal of laughter, followed by a quiet meow. Agatha’s nostrils flared.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she grabbed her robe, slipping it on as she stalked toward the door. Her morning had already been ruined by the lack of you curled against her, but now she was hearing giggles- the kind that were usually reserved for her alone- and she wasn’t involved?

Completely unacceptable.

Barefoot and silent, she padded down the hall, pushing open the living room doors to find…

You. Laying on your stomach on the rug, elbow propped under your chin, face alight with pure, radiant joy as you dragged a ribbon back and forth. Salem, the tiny black-furred usurper, pounced and tumbled after it, little tail flicking in excitement.

Agatha scowled.

She was being ignored.

By you.

For a cat.

Her presence went unnoticed as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, glaring down at the scene with unmasked displeasure.

“Oh, you’re such a clever boy,” you cooed, wiggling the ribbon. Salem pounced again, missing completely and landing in an adorable, flailing heap. You laughed, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “Such a little hunter, aren’t you? Yes, you are! So fierce!”

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw another dimension.

Fierce? That tiny thing was not fierce. She was fierce.

And yet, here you were, lavishing all your attention- attention that should have been spent in bed, between her thighs or seated on her face- on this ridiculous furball.

Enough.

She cleared her throat. Loudly.

You gasped, looking up with wide, startled eyes. “Oh! Aggie, good morning!”

Agatha arched a brow, gaze flicking between you and the kitten still sprawled on the rug. “Is it?”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You tell me, darling. I woke up alone. And when I came looking for you, I find you here, on the floor, giggling and fawning over-” she gestured vaguely at Salem, “that.”

Salem, utterly unbothered by her disdain, flopped onto his back and stretched out his tiny paws.

Your expression softened immediately. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry! He woke up early and was being all cute, so I thought I’d play with him for a little bit.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “You left our bed for a cat.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “Are you jealous?”

Her jaw clenched. “Of a kitten? No.”

You giggled again, pushing up onto your knees and crawling toward her. “Mmm, I think you are.”

Agatha huffed, tilting her chin up. “Absolutely not.”

But then you reached for her, standing up with hands slipping under her robe, fingers grazing over the bare skin of her waist as you pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Poor mommy,” you murmured, lips trailing up her neck. “You just want my attention, don’t you?”

Agatha shivered, but held her ground. “I deserve your attention.”

You hummed, pressing a final kiss just under her jaw. “Well, then maybe you should play nice with Salem, so you don’t have to share it.”

Agatha’s glare snapped back to the kitten, who was currently grooming his tiny paw, wholly unbothered. Smug little thing.

She exhaled sharply. “Fine. But if he touches my spellbooks, he’s gone.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Deal.”

Salem meowed.

Agatha scowled.

This was war.

~

Agatha took a slow breath, rolling back her shoulders as she watched Billy attempt the spell she had just demonstrated.

“Focus,” she instructed, arms crossed. “Channel your energy through the rune, don’t just throw power at it.”

Billy muttered something under his breath but obeyed, adjusting his stance and trying again. The rune shimmered in the air before them, pulsing faintly with his magic. It was… adequate.

Agatha nodded once. “Better.”

She turned slightly, expecting to see you sitting up, watching like you always did when she mentored Billy. You were always so attentive- so soft and doting, looking at her like she had hung the stars just by showing a simple spell. But when she glanced toward the sofa her blood ran cold.

There you were, but not watching her. Not waiting to drape yourself over her the second she was done. No, you were napping, curled up on the couch, and draped across your chest, smug as anything, was Salem.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. Unbelievable.

She clenched her fists, fighting the petty urge to hex the little thing right off you. It was enough that you fawned over him every waking moment, but now? Now, even in sleep, Salem had claimed his place as the ruler of this household.

Billy, following her gaze, immediately perked up. “Oh my god, look at him.”

Agatha’s stomach dropped as Billy abandoned the lesson entirely and rushed to your side.

“Look at this little guy,” he cooed, crouching beside the couch, reaching out to scratch under Salem’s tiny chin.

You stirred at the movement, blinking sleepily, eyes soft and warm as you woke to Billy petting the cat.

“Oh,” you yawned, smiling as you stretched. “Morning, Billy.”

“Morning, Salem,” Billy smiled down at the kitten on your chest, still cooing over the kitten.

You giggled, rubbing your cheek against Salem’s tiny head. “He’s the sleepiest boy today, huh?”

“Right?” Billy agreed, reaching to stroke along Salem’s tiny back. “Look at him. He’s just a baby.”

Agatha, still standing stiffly across the room, gawking at the scene in front of her. You never looked at her with that same soft, sleepy adoration after a nap.

And now the two of you were sitting there, utterly obsessed with that ridiculous creature, treating him like he was the most precious thing in the world, while Agatha stood there, forgotten.

The realisation was horrifying. She had been dethroned. Salem, tiny and innocent-looking, had become the true ruler of this household. He had you. He had the coven. And now he had Billy.

She was losing.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. No. She refused to be bested by a kitten.

Billy glanced up at her and grinned. “Agatha, come look at him! Isn’t he just-”

“No.”

Billy blinked. “What?”

Agatha lifted her chin, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I don’t fawn over creatures that contribute nothing to the household.”

You pouted, looking up at her through sleepy eyes. “But, Aggie, look at his little toes—”

Agatha looked away. She wouldn’t be tricked.

Billy rolled his eyes. “You’re just mad because Salem has completely stolen your wife.”

Agatha scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Billy smirked. “Then come pet him.”

Agatha froze.

Billy’s smirk widened. “Go on.”

You looked up at her, hopeful, and patted the space next to you. “Come on, baby.”

Agatha hesitated.

Her instincts told her it was a trap.

But then you pouted, soft and irresistible, looking at her with those big, pleading eyes… And just like that, she was moving. Slowly. Cautiously.Like Salem was some ancient being waiting to strike.

She perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, glancing down at the tiny ball of fluff stretched across your chest. He blinked up at her, slow and lazy, like he was daring her to do something.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose. Then, after a long moment she reached out, one single finger extended…The second her fingertip brushed against Salem’s fur, the kitten let out a mighty stretch and promptly rolled deeper into your embrace, turning his back on her.

Agatha gasped.

Billy lost it.

“Oh my god, you’ve been rejected.” He wheezed.

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I have not.”

Billy cackled, clutching his stomach. “No, no, this is humiliating. He knows. He knows you don’t like him, and he’s snubbing you.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to Salem’s tiny head. “Oh, baby, don’t be mad. He just doesn’t trust you yet.”

Agatha bristled. “I don’t need a cat’s trust.”

Billy wheezed. “Oh, you so do.”

Agatha glared at Salem, and to her horror, the kitten simply let out a tiny yawn and promptly fell back asleep. Utterly unbothered. Agatha had never hated anything more in her life.

This was war.

And Agatha Harkness never lost.

~

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with warmth and want. Agatha had you exactly where she wanted- beneath her, lips kiss-swollen, breath coming in soft little pants as she trailed possessive hands down your body.

She smirked, brushing her lips against your ear. “Mine.”

You whimpered, arching into her touch. “Yours.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her throat. “Say it again, baby.”

You shivered, fingers tangling in hair as she kissed down your neck. “All yours, Mommy.”

Agatha’s grip tightened. Finally, after an entire day of being ignored in favor of that creature, she had you back- where you belonged- focused entirely on her.

She dragged her lips back up to yours, capturing them in a deep, claiming kiss.

And then—

A thump.

A chirping meow.

And before Agatha could even process what was happening… A tiny black ball of menace leapt onto the bed.

Your eyes flew open. “Oh my gods!”

Agatha froze.

You gasped, delighted, and immediately sat up, reaching for the little intruder. “My smart boy!”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

You pushed her away.

For the cat.

Salem, looking entirely too smug, hopped into your lap and headbutted your chin, purring loudly.

You melted. “Oh, you clever little thing,” you cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You figured out the door! Mommy shut you out, didn’t she? But you got in anyway, huh?”

Agatha, still reeling, barely managed to rasp out, “I shut the door.”

You beamed at her. “He’s a genius!”

Agatha scowled. “He’s a problem.”

You weren’t even listening. You were too busy giggling as Salem flopped dramatically onto his back, rolling in your lap, fully aware that he owned you.

Agatha clenched her jaw.

No.

No, she would not allow this to happen.

She reached for you again, slipping a hand under your chin, tilting your face back toward hers. “Come on, baby,” she murmured, voice low and sultry, lips barely brushing yours. “Focus on mommy”.

But just as your lids fluttered, just as you exhaled that soft little sigh that always made her crazy-

Salem chirped and nudged your hand.

And, horrifyingly, your attention snapped back to him, “Ohhh, I know, I know,” you cooed, cradling his tiny face. “You need some loving too, huh?”

Agatha flung herself onto her back, staring at the ceiling like she was being personally victimized by the universe.

“What about my loving?” she demanded, throwing a hand over her forehead like some tragic heroine.

You giggled. “Aggie-”

Salem, with perfect timing, rolled onto his side, stretching just enough to rest a tiny paw against your cheek.

Your heart melted. “Aw, Agatha, look-”

“No.” Agatha sat up, glaring at the kitten. “I refuse to be a secondary character in my own bed.”

You laughed, utterly charmed. “He just loves me, baby.”

Agatha crossed her arms. “I love you.”

You gave her an affectionate smile. “I know you do.”

“Then act like it.”

You giggled again, pressing a kiss to Salem’s little head.

Agatha bristled. “I swear,” she muttered, throwing herself back against the pillows again. “This is witchcraft. He’s bewitched you all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Agatha, he’s just a cat.”

Agatha sat up so fast you startled.

“No,” she said darkly, eyes narrowing at the tiny ball of fluff curled in your lap. “He’s a threat.”

~

The setting sun shone through your windows, casting golden light over the coven as they sat in a circle, discussing plans for the upcoming Summer Solstice ritual.

Agatha, seated in her usual high-backed chair, had you curled in her lap, arms wrapped possessively around your waist. For the first time in days, she finally had you all to herself, without a certain feline dictator demanding your attention.

Because this time, she had planned ahead. The door to the room was magically sealed with the strongest wards she could weave into it. No amount of scratching, meowing, or pathetic manipulation would let that tiny tyrant inside.

She smirked to herself, pleased. Finally.

“So,” Lilia said, gesturing at the books in front of them, “I was thinking we could incorporate more moonstone this year. It should help amplify the energy-”

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Agatha ignored it. You, however, perked up instantly, shifting in her lap. “Aw, Salem-”

Agatha’s grip tightened. “No.”

Lilia continued, unfazed. “- and I read somewhere that incorporating fresh lavender in the-”

A tiny, pitiful whimper sounded from the other side of the door. Alice gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh no, the baby!”

You pouted, starting to push yourself up. “Agatha, let me-”

“No,” Agatha repeated, wrapping her arms more securely around you. “Let him cry.”

Billy’s eyes widened in horror. “Agatha, what the hell?!”

You turned, brows furrowing. “Baby, he’s sad.”

“He needs to learn,” Agatha insisted. “We are not interrupting an official coven meeting just because he doesn’t like being excluded.”

Scratch. Scratch.

A heart-wrenching mewl followed.

Billy was already half-standing. “That’s it, I’m getting the little prince-”

Agatha glared, flicking her fingers in Billy’s direction. Billy was immediately shoved back into his seat with an annoyed huff.

“Sit down,” Agatha ordered. “He is not royalty.”

Billy crossed her arms. “He is to me.”

“Yeah,” Jen agreed, flipping a page in her book. “Kinda sounds like you’re being a bad mom.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I am not his mother.”

The scratching continued.

You squirmed again. “Aggie, please-”

Agatha huffed in exasperation. “No! You are wrapped around his tiny little paw, and if we keep giving in, he’ll just keep winning.”

Jen raised a brow. “Winning what? He’s a kitten.”

Agatha gestured at you dramatically. “He stole her from me!”

The room went silent.

Then Lilia sighed, rubbing her temples. “Oh my gods”.

Billy cackled. “You *are* losing to a kitten.”

Agatha shot him a look. “I am not losing-”

At that exact moment, Salem let out the most pitiful, heartbroken little cry any of them had ever heard.

Your eyes widened in distress. “Aggie-”

“Oh, for the love of- fine.” With a dramatic wave of her hand, Agatha finally released the spell.

The door flew open.

And in strutted Salem, tail high, eyes smug, like he knew he had just won.

Agatha gawked. “You manipulative little-”

Before she could even finish, you had already scooped Salem up into your arms, cradling him against your chest like a precious treasure.

“Ohhh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his tiny head. “Mommy was so mean to you, huh?”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

Alice glared at her. “I can’t believe you locked him out.”

Jen snorted. “I can.”

Billy shook his head in disappointment. “Shameful behavior from our fearless leader.”

Agatha scowled as Salem gave her a very deliberate slow blink, curling up in your arms like he owned the place.

Which, apparently, he did.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “This is witchcraft.”

Jen snorted. “He’s just a cat, Agatha.”

Agatha shot her a dark look. “He’s a threat.”

Billy immediately fell off his chair laughing.

[fluffylino]

worried!minho

minho wants to take away all your pain~

-contains mature themes

when were the cramps going to go. it was your second day of having your period. you had leaked through your pad and stained your clothes. now, you sat on the bed, swaddled up in a bedsheet while a random anime was playing on tv.

you were far too distracted to even pay attention to the dialogues. another sharp pain to your lower stomach. you huffed, wrapping your arms around your stomach. you curled up into a ball, adjusting your pad which had moved out of place.

minho's footsteps could be heard. he was busily moving about. from the kitchen, to the living room and then to check on you.

"how are you feeling, baby?" you jumped at the sudden appearance. he was standing beside you, looking at your bundled up figure with soft eyes. you let out a whine, lightly kicking your legs. you could hear his quiet laugh.

"mm' hurts" you mumbled, reaching your hand out. he took it, sitting close to you. he brushed your hair out of your face and leaned over you to take the remote. switching off the tv.

"still?" he seemed worried.

the thing was, it was rare for you to get cramps. you hardly ever got cramps that made you stay in one spot. on any other period you'd only feel a slight discomfort in your stomach. but today was different. you weren't used to it. and minho wasn't used to seeing you in such pain.

you looked at him through the bedsheets, only your eyes and mouth visible. his smile grew and he couldn't help but pat your head like you were one of his cats. which to him you were.

"i gave you a heating pad..we did some muscle relieving exercises and drank lots of water..what else could possibly work?" minho furrowed his eyebrows, his lips jutting out as he blinked. and blinked. and blinked-

"you know there is something that definitely works for sure. i was reading that orgasms help"

your eyes widened and then you slowly sighed.

well, that was true. but sex on your period would just end up looking like a crime scene. it made you feel confused. because yes, all the raging hormones were constantly at battle with your mind.

"but its icky and you'd probably find it...not so nice"

minho looked at you. "what makes you say i wouldn't like it?"

you were taken aback. did he really not mind?

"i don't think i want to do the...whole thing" you mumbled, shyly.

"so then should i try eating yo-" you screamed, pushing the bedsheet over him. shivering at how cold the room actually was.

"no no no" you chanted. that was not something you'd ever want to put him through, for the sake of your pleasure. you were aware of him. he didn't care about blood at all. in fact he was so chill about it. like the time you accidently stained his pants when you fell asleep on him.

he even washed out the sheets.

he ruffled around, throwing it on the ground. he scooted closer.

"should i finger you then, hm? that shouldn't be so bad, would it?" you nodded slowly.

"but what if i make a mess..again"

"i'll put a towel underneath"

"what if you get blood all over your fingers..."

"baby if i did mind it, i wouldn't have been so eager to suggest it"

he smiled. minho was ever so patient. always answering you with a reassuring statement whenever you fell down a spiral of unecessary thoughts.

"can you use gloves...?" you asked so softly, you had to repeat it for him to hear.

"whatever you want, baby. i recently just bought a whole new pack of gloves for when im marinating meat"

you smiled nervously.

"guess ill be using them to touch some other kind of meat" you pushed him off the bed. he gave you a sarcastic smile. your stomach doing flips at his expression.

.

you stood up, freezing when you felt a blood clot come out. there was no way you could do this. you finally decided on washing your lower body. so you did, carefully stepping out of the bathroom.

"take your pants off.." minho had come back, this time pulling the gloves up and over his wrists.

oh, so they were like the surgical gloves. the ones that fitted well...a little two well. his hands looked nice. they looked very nice in fact-

"what? you don't want the gloves? i don't mind" your eyes met his and doubt filled him. if only he knew what you were actually thinking about.

"i want it"

he had laid the towel down and you sat on it. you pulled your oversized shirt down, trying the cover up.

minho walked towards you, opting to sit behind you. his back resting against the headboard and your back to his chest. you felt a little exposed. he was fully clothed while all you wore was a t shirt.

you could feel his breath on your ear. minho's left hand rubbed on your stomach while his right hand slid between your legs.

he let out a surprised laugh. you knew you were wet. he could feel it. after seeing his hands in those latex gloves, you couldn't fight it.

"be a good kitty and open up for me"

you mewled at the nickname. lifting your knees up while he kept your legs open for him. he pushed a finger inside before slowly adding a second digit.

at this point you weren't sure if it was blood or slick or maybe both that leaked out onto his fingers.

"sorry" you apologized, you didn't even know why you were saying sorry. the pain in your stomach was the last the thing you were worried about.

"talk t-to me" you whispered, leaning into him. he lazily grazed his thumb over your clit while his digits pumped inside of you. with just enough pressure to not be too much for you.

"its okay, baby...you're doing so great, let me see how well you take my fingers" you moaned, as he pressed his palm against your heat. the latex feeling unusually nice. on your skin. and especially inside you.

"n-nice hands"

"yeah? you think my hands are nice? what do you like about my hands hm?"

he asked. he wasn't teasing you. he wasn't even joking about it. in fact he seemed to be curious. he wanted to feed into you.

"v-veiny..pretty and big...feels amazing inside of me" you answered back, bucking your hips when he added a third digit.

"you sure you aren't talking about my dick, kitten?"

"that even" you blabbered. letting him hook his chin on your shoulder. his breath hitched when you traced the veins on his forearms. they were so prominent. you wanted to lick them.

"that good, hm? who knew you'd be so attracted to my arms"

another warm sensation between your legs. his gloved fingers gliding in much smoother. you wanted to cringe at the sqelch it made every time he pushed in.

"you know, you have such a pretty little pussy, kitten?"

you blushed, trying to hide away from his comments. he nuzzled against your neck.

"i can't resist when it comes to you. i want to give you everything that i can"

willingly you parted your mouth, taking his other fingers in. he pressed down on your tongue. you sucked on them.

"you'll take anything i give you, won't you because you're my obedient princess"

[arieslost]

you have pushed me to ask so here I go

I present my idea of motorcyclist!oscar and his gf who is afraid of motorcycles. He convinces her to try it onc3 and BOOM hands around him holding on the dear life.

I want to hold on to him

I can't stop thinking about that tiktok

here's a ss I took from the tiktok edit

what a yummy man

the entire time i wrote this i kept coming back to look at this picture because oh my goodness gracious. i hope this lives up to ur expectations <33 definitely wanna write more biker!osc after this

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

hold on tight | op81

“Just one time?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No way.”

“Do you even love me at all?” Oscar asks dramatically, jutting his lower lip out for extra effect. 

“That’s not going to work on me, Piastri.” You shake your head vehemently. “I refuse to get on that death machine. It’s bad enough that you ride it all the time.”

“Come onnnn,” he whines, tugging you up off of the bed and into his arms. 

The two of you look like polar opposites— him with his leather jacket and riding gloves still on, smelling faintly of exhaust, and you in plaid pajama pants and one of his worn out t-shirts. You suppose that’s what makes your relationship work so well, opposites attract and whatever. All relationships take compromise though, and this is one “compromise” that, thus far, you’ve refused to make. 

In your eyes, it’s not a compromise. But Oscar has been asking you to be his “backpack” practically since the two of you met. 

“What do I have to do to convince you?” He’s asking, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“Hmm, nothing.” You smile up at him, and it fades just as fast when you see the excitement in his eyes. “Because it’s never going to happen. I like being alive, thank you very much.”

“Baby, you know you’ll be safe with me. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” He says sincerely, his pleading tone now gone. “I’ve been riding my entire life. I did all the crashing before I got my license. Haven’t crashed since.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better.” You mutter, hiding your face in his chest so he can’t see your resolve slowly starting to crumble. 

“It would be so fun,” he continues, arms tightening around your frame as he starts to sway you both side to side a little. “All you’d have to do is hold on to me. I’ll do all the work. You trust me, don’t you?” 

“With all things except the death machine,” you say, voice muffled by the material of his jacket. 

“I love you, but I’m gonna need you to stop calling her ‘the death machine,’ honey.”

“Her?” You look up at him, affronted. “I’m definitely not doing it now. Wouldn’t want to get between you and the other woman in your life.” 

Oscar laughs. His laugh has always been more of a giggle around you, which is such a contrast to his outward appearance that it never fails to make you melt. 

“You’re the only woman for me, which is why you’re the only woman I’ve ever asked to be my backpack.” He says. 

“Don’t try to butter me up with the whole backpack thing again.” You roll your eyes and try to pull away from him, but he somehow manages to twirl you and bring you right back into him. 

“It’s not me buttering you up, I’m just telling the truth. Come on, baby.” he leans in and gives you a long kiss that leaves your head spinning a little. “One time. And if you don’t like it, I promise I won’t ask again.” 

You let out a frustrated groan, because he has to know that he’s won at this point. That kiss was nothing but tactical. “Fine. Fine. But you can’t just kiss me like that every time you want something from me, it’s unfair.” 

“Yes, yes!” He squeezes you into him, kissing the top of your head over and over. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already am a little bit.” You grumble. 

That’s how you find yourself standing on the sidewalk with Oscar in front of you adjusting a helmet on your head. 

“This is making me claustrophobic,” you complain as he flips the visor up so he can see your face. 

“I’m just making sure you’re safe, baby.” When you furrow your eyebrows, he sighs and drops his hands to his sides. “If you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to, okay?”

This makes you relent a little bit. “Osc, I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I don’t like motorcycles, like, at all.” You smile as best you can with the helmet on, hoping it goes to your eyes so he can see it. “I want to do this. You just… you really have to help me.” 

He nods, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. “Of course, honey. C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to his motorcycle. While you’re terrified just looking at it, you can’t deny that it’s absolutely beautiful. Streamlined and sleek, like he literally just bought it, even though you know he’d already had it for a year when you first met him. 

He looks almost the same as he did when you first met— all black getup, signature leather jacket, riding gloves, and of course, his strangely colorful helmet that doesn’t match the rest of him. His hair was long when you met him, and you still remember being absolutely starstruck when you saw his face for the first time. It had felt like everything went into slow motion when he took his helmet off, pushed his hair back, and instantly made eye contact with you from where you were just exiting the bookstore. 

Needless to say, you were done for. And now here you are, a year later, letting him help you onto the death machine. 

He never said you had to stop calling it (sorry, her) that if you were thinking it to yourself. 

“You okay? Comfy?” Oscar asks, reaching to adjust your helmet one more time. 

“Yup. Mhmm. Totally.” You nod, not even trying to sound convincing considering your heart is in your throat and he hasn’t even started the engine yet. 

“Great,” he kisses the top of your helmet and smiles at you cutely before climbing onto the bike so he’s seated in front of you. “Just hold on tight, okay baby? Like this.” 

He reaches behind him, grabbing your hands that had been anxiously scratching at the material of your jeans and pulling you forward so your arms are wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t have to say anything else– you’re quick to tighten your hold around him, fingers clutching at the material of his open jacket. You immediately feel your anxieties begin to dissipate as soon as you’re holding onto him, and you shift your whole body forward on the seat so your front is pressed as close as it can be to his back. When he lets out a quiet grunt, you release your grip a little. 

“I’m sorry! Am I holding you too tight?” “No, no,” he huffs out a laugh, patting your thigh. “Do whatever you need to do. Just warn me if you’re planning to suffocate me at all.”

“Listen, Piastri–” you begin, and he cuts you off by twisting around to look at you.

“Okay, I get it, I’m sorry.” He’s giggling now, and you let go of him to smack his helmet. “I’m done, I promise. As long as you feel safe, honey.”

“Come on, let’s go before I chicken out.” You say, quickly reassuming your hold.

It’s times like these where you appreciate just how buff your boyfriend is. He has something of a sleeper build, so one quick glance at him wouldn’t really reveal much, but when you’re pressed up against him like this, you can feel the muscles in his back and shoulders and his abs through his shirt when your hand slips past his jacket. He’s warm and solid against you, and that in itself is comforting enough that you don’t go flying off the seat when he starts up the engine and you instantly feel your whole body start to vibrate from the force of it.

“I’ll check in with you, okay?” He says over the loud rumbling. “Hit me in the head or something and I’ll pull over. Sound good?” Having him to hold on to is nice, but your throat is still dry thinking about all the dastardly possibilities that could occur when the bike starts moving, so you have to swallow a couple times in order for him to hear you over the engine. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Your heart falls out of your ass and lands on the pavement when he pulls out onto the road, the engine roaring as he accelerates. 

“God, please spare me,” you say out loud, grateful that Oscar can’t hear you over the engine. 

As soon as he gets onto the freeway, that’s when you realize just how much fun you’ve been missing out on.

It’s never been a secret to you that Oscar loves going fast. There have been plenty of occasions where you’ll drive somewhere, do whatever it is you have planned, and then you’ll turn to him and ask if he wants to drive home just to give him some peace of mind knowing that the journey back will be cut down by a few minutes at least. Being in the car is fun enough, but being on the back of his motorcycle is different.

You thought you’d be more scared. You’re terrified, sure, but even though you can feel the wind whipping against your clothes and you’re flying past cars on either side of the freeway, you’re holding on to Oscar, and you could easily do that forever. You’re quickly warming up to the concept of being his backpack, and you can feel yourself relaxing your death grip around him. This is actually kind of fun. Okay, really fun. You actually can’t believe you were so adamantly refusing to do this this whole time. 

Every so often, he reaches back with one hand and rubs your thigh, or holds one of your hands that is now tucked comfortably into his jacket pocket. You thought you’d be freaking out about him taking a hand off the handlebars, but he exudes confidence on the bike, and he never wavers no matter what he’s doing with his hands. 

He doesn’t go very far; the whole ride lasts maybe 20 minutes, but it feels like half that with how quick the bike is. Your arms ache from all the muscles in them working the whole time, and when he helps you off the back of the bike your legs feel like jello.

“How was it?” He asks, helping you pull the bulky helmet off your head. 

Your hair falls in your face and he brushes it away for you before you can even lift your hands. He cups your cheeks, a small smile on his face as he admires you.

“We are definitely doing that again.” 

His smile grows, and he places a sweet, adoring kiss on your lips. “I knew I finally found my backpack.” 

word count: 1,787

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: writing this has me thinking up a whole biker au for multiple drivers... thank you for this gold mine of a request <33

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings

[dindjarindiaries]

Damn Good Drinks

summary: An unfortunate mistake rewards you with a fortunate encounter, and this undercover soldier is nothing like you could have expected.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: meet-cute, alcohol mentions/consumption, mentions of harassment, flirting, suggestiveness, protective hunter, one (1) gratuitous steamy kiss, tech is always at the scene of the crime, pre-tcw s7

rating: T

word count: 3.556k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

It was another rowdy crowd tonight. You really should’ve known, considering the fact that the tourist season was nearly upon your town already. With the war still raging on in the galaxy, people were flocking here by the hundreds, eager to get away from the conflict on their own homeworlds.

You heaved a sigh as you carefully balanced the tray of drinks you’d just collected from the bar. Wrestling your way through these crowds was far from your favorite thing to do, but it was better than being stuck behind the bar itself for countless hours. It was, ironically, safer this way, too. Not that you could ever fully escape the wandering eyes, comments, and even the touches, but the freedom to run or fight if necessary was a comfort nonetheless.

Pitiful little excuse mes wouldn’t do you any good out here, so you simply announced your presence by jutting your elbows and shoulders into the people you were trying to pass. You could at least finally see the table you were heading for, which was a gift in a crowd this thick, especially at such a late hour.

You were just thinking about how excited you were to finally go home for the night when you suddenly heard a commotion beside you.

“Hey, watch where’ur goin’!”

“No, you watch it!”

You rolled your eyes. There was nothing quite like a classic ego-off. Hopefully, they both lost—and hopefully, they kept you out of it.

But you should’ve known better than to think you’d actually have good luck with that.

The guy closest to you got shoved by the other, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. Caught in the crossfire, you were also shoved right into something solid, hard enough to make every drink on your tray splatter on you and whatever, or whoever, you’d run into.

Unfortunately, you were in the center of the cantina, so it couldn’t have been a wall. It had to have been a person, a patron who was most likely going to want to fight you, now.

You were about to curse the pair of egotistical maniacs out when you suddenly realized the person you’d run into was steadying you with a hand on your elbow and another on your opposite arm.

“You alright?”

You spun around to face them, but you were too distracted by the fact that nearly the entire front of their white shirt was now stained in the purple hue of one of the drinks you’d been carrying. 

You let out a worried gasp and reached from the rag you kept tucked into your pocket. “I’m so sorry, sir! Let me get that for you.” As you tried your best to dry and blot out the stain in the patron’s shirt, you couldn’t help muttering in contempt. “Kriffing boys spilling some damn good drinks over a pointless ego battle…”

You only stopped when you realized that your efforts were to no avail; this poor person’s shirt was stained for good. You let out a sigh, but the breath got caught in your throat when you blinked a few times and realized exactly what, or who, you were looking at.

You weren’t trying to ogle this man, you really weren’t, but it was hard when the first thing your eyes were stuck to was the sight of the now-transparent fabric of his sleeveless tunic clinging to perhaps the most toned set of muscles you had ever seen before in your life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the more you observed, the more you were convinced that you weren’t actually being hyperbolic.

The man’s face was just as sculpted as the rest of him, though half his face was cast in the dark shadow of what looked like a giant skull tattoo, matching the one that was printed on his red bandana. That matched the scarf hung around his neck, fabric that his dark, shoulder-length hair was brushing against. He still had his hands on you, which were wrapped up to his elbows in a light-colored fabric, but the touch was soft enough to indicate that he meant no harm.

Thank the Force that the last thing you caught were his eyes, because you wouldn’t have been able to look away if you’d done that first.

“‘Damn good drinks,’ huh?” The corners of the man’s mouth started to rise as his brown gaze flickered over you. “Do they taste as good as they look on you?”

Your brow shot up at that. Maybe it was the mere fact you were attracted to him, or that you couldn’t sense any ill intent like you could with the others, but you weren’t disgusted by his advances.

No, they made the temperature in the room rise to a really dangerous height.

You returned the once-over and offered a thoughtful hum. “Maybe, but they definitely don’t taste as good as they look on you, so don’t be too disappointed.” You huffed and focused on righting the capsized cups on your tray. “Can I get you one as a token of apology?”

The man shifted slightly in front of you, and with a quick glance, you realized he was blocking you from getting hit by another shove that came from a new direction. He absorbed the movement as if it were nothing. You furrowed your brow, watching as his arms and shoulders barely flexed at the motion.

Suddenly, you were realizing that this had to be the body of a soldier. But he obviously wasn’t a droid, and he certainly didn’t look like a clone…

“You don’t owe me an apology.” He nodded, making the stray hairs that stuck out of his bandana bounce against his forehead. “Wasn’t really my brightest idea to wear a white shirt to a place like this, anyway.”

You chuckled and shrugged. “Well, thank the Force you did.” You winked and gestured with your head towards the bar. “Can I still get you that drink, anyway?”

He smiled. “Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.”

You looked down when warmth started to rush into the tips of your ears. That downward glance could only last a moment, because soon, you had to shove your way through the rowdy crowd. Amazingly, though, they started to part much more easily for you, and it only took a quick look behind you to realize why.

This man was just about shoving everyone aside and casting warning glances to anyone who dared to react to it. Even just the way he was walking screamed danger to a potential opponent.

He was definitely a soldier, but for who or what, you weren’t sure. At this point, you really didn’t care, because your heart was speaking a lot louder than your brain when it came to him.

You brought him to the furthest edge of the bar, a private enough corner where you could get behind it and make him a drink yourself. You’d still have to remake the ones you spilled, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t really your biggest priority right now. They could wait a few extra minutes.

“So…” you stole a glance up at him, “you got a name?”

He huffed and rested his wrapped forearms upon the bartop, leaning forward enough for you to hear him over the din of the rowdy patrons. “You can just call me Hunter.”

You hummed and stared more than you really had to at the cups you tossed between your hands. “Is that what you are?”

“A bounty hunter?” He scoffed. “Have I made that bad of an impression on you already?”

You laughed at that. Only someone operating under some kind of honor code would have such a strong distaste for bounty hunters. You had no doubt now that you knew what he was.

“Then what’s a soldier like you doing out here, so far away from the front lines?”

“Who says I’m a soldier?”

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, Hunter. Maybe it’s the giant tactical pack you’ve got slung on your back, or those heavily-trained arms you’ve clearly put on display.”

A light sparkled in Hunter’s eyes as the corners of his lips rose in a subtle smirk. “You seem to know a lot about arms.”

You returned his mischievous smile. “Only because I like staring at yours.” You nodded towards his stained shirt. “You want the drink that was spilled on you, or the one that got on me?”

Hunter looked down at himself and circled his jaw. He shrugged before he lifted his head and met your gaze again. “You choose.”

You considered his words for a moment as you searched his eyes. In the lighting of the bar, they glowed more amber, which only made them even more captivating. You fought not to lose yourself within them as you ultimately nodded. “Alright.”

You focused on getting all the right ingredients together, all the while sensing the heat of his gaze on you. Fighting back another smile, you decided to question him further.

“Care to explain why you don’t look like a clone when you clearly are one?”

“So long as you tell me why your heart’s beating so fast.”

That gave you pause. He was right—your heart hadn’t stopped hammering against your chest ever since you got your first good look at him—but there was no way he would know that without feeling your pulse himself, or at least taking a strangely accurate guess.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you gripped the glass and shaker tighter in your hands. “How would you even know that?”

Hunter’s brow lifted. “Would you call me crazy if I told you that it actually answers your first question?”

You relaxed again and gave him a nod. “Fine, you’ve got my interest.” You tried to calm your racing heart, if only out of spite.

“I’m an enhanced clone. My squad and I were each given different traits that are ‘desirable’ in soldiers.”

You spared him a single glance. Thankfully, he didn’t look uncomfortable discussing this. That wasn’t your end goal, even if you did at least want to know what you were getting yourself into. “And what does that have to do with my heartbeat?”

Hunter chuckled. “Well, I’m named after my enhancement.”

As you shook the concoction inside the mixer, you pondered his words. A hunter, and a heartbeat…  and shoving people aside before they’d even come close to you…

“You’re telling me you can… hear my heartbeat?”

Hunter’s head bobbed. “In a way.” He tapped his fingers along the bartop. “Enhanced senses. My strong suit is electromagnetic frequencies, but I can pick up on some organic things, too.” He nodded at you. “The louder a heartbeat, the easier it is for me to hear it.”

You pretended to scowl for the sake of your dignity as you strained the drink into his glass. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to have a racing heart in a place like this.”

Hunter hummed. “That’s fair.” He gestured with a thumb to the crowds behind him. “Is it always like this?”

You exhaled heavily and shook your head. “It wasn’t before, but the longer the war goes on, the worse it gets. We’re an escape for a lot of people, it seems.”

You picked up the glass and slid it over to him.

“Here. Let me know what you think.”

Before you could pull your hand off the glass, Hunter placed his there, his fingers brushing yours as they drifted by one another. You caught his stare, and you could’ve sworn he sent you the quickest wink you’d ever seen before he drew his first sip.

And there went all chances of slowing down your racing heart. He was certainly gonna notice that with his apparent enhanced senses. Damn it.

You tasked yourself with remaking the other patrons’ drinks while Hunter offered his review. “It is damn good.” He shrugged in your periphery. “But still not as good as it looks on you.”

You laughed. “Well, that’s because it’s the one I spilled on you.” You spared him a quick glance of approval. “So something must be wrong with your ‘enhanced’ taste buds.”

You enjoyed watching him hide his new flush by taking another sip of the drink, but the weight of his identity was beginning to settle in. A clone soldier, an enhanced one, was here. That had to mean the war wouldn’t be far behind.

“Since you’re here,” you paused for a second as you shook another drink, “does that mean I should be getting ready for the war to come to my doorstep?”

Hunter grew more serious as he shook his head. “No. You’re safe here.” He gestured towards the cantina’s only entrance. “We’re just gathering some intel.”

“‘We’?” You smiled down at the drinks. “So, that squad of yours is around here, too?”

“Not here, but yeah, they’re on-world.”

With the drinks now finished, you set them on the tray and took a second to look Hunter in the eye. There was something here, and there was a lot he was giving you—and you needed to know what the real reasoning was behind it.

“Why are you telling me all this, Hunter?” You tilted your head at him. “Seems like pretty confidential information for a random civilian like me to know.”

Hunter held your stare even as he tipped his head back to empty out the rest of his glass. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m a good judge of character.”

You blinked at him a few times before smiling. What a simple yet profound way of establishing trust.

Thankfully for him, he was right, and any of his secrets would die with you.

“Well, I’ve got to get these back over there, so…” You lifted the tray and glanced at the table at the far end of the cantina.

Hunter nodded and pushed himself off the bartop. You prepared to bid him farewell, but instead, he lingered. “I’ll clear a path for you this time.”

All you could muster was an appreciative glance before Hunter stepped forward and essentially pushed your way through the crowd. No one even got near you this time, certainly not close enough to make the drinks topple over. Hunter hung back once you eventually reached the table, and you quietly thanked him as you passed him.

“Here you are.” You kept your customer service voice engaged as you dealt out the drinks and smiled. “Sorry about the wait. It’s a bit crazy here tonight.”

The patrons just shrugged, clearly unaware of the extra few minutes you spent flirting with the enhanced clone trooper rather than making their drinks. You tucked the tray under your arm and turned around, surprised to see that Hunter was still there waiting for you.

You gave him another once-over. That drink stain on his shirt really stuck out like a bantha in a porg nest, if it was even possible for anyone’s eyes to get past his eyes, face, and arms.

The look he was giving you in return was either saying the same thing about your clothes or something very different, a little more similar to what you wanted him to be thinking.

“You know,” you took a step closer to him, “we should have some extra tunics from our uniforms in the back if you want one to cover…” you gazed down at his stain, “that.”

Hunter’s gaze glowed dangerously. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean, we could at least check.”

Hunter smirked as he echoed your question from earlier. “We’?”

You waved him off. “It’s too crazy here tonight for anyone to care that you’re back there.”

Hunter shrugged. Apparently, he was easily convinced. “Alright. Where’re we headed?”

You pointed at a door on the back wall, and Hunter nodded before he pushed through the crowd once again. At this point, it was hard to imagine that he wasn’t listening to your heart practically flying through your chest. You didn’t even know why this was happening, especially so fast, but you had to echo Hunter’s earlier sentiment: you were a good judge of character.

What was one stolen moment with an enhanced clone trooper?

Hunter stepped aside to let you key in the passcode on the doorway of the storage room, and once it slid open, you led the way inside. After verifying that you were alone, you waved Hunter in. The door closed behind him, and after securing it, you turned to him.

It would’ve been impossible to get a good look at him in the dimness of the space, anyway, but you were both gravitating to each other before any looks could be given. You cupped his chiseled jaw at the exact moment he held your waist, closing the gap between the two of you and giving into the magnetic pull that had first forced you two together in the night’s rowdy crowds.

And you had never been more grateful for two egotistical maniacs’ stupid quarrel before.

Hunter kissed you like he’d known you for ages, exuding a breathless amount of passion that should’ve been impossible for a soldier as seasoned as himself. All you could do was try to match that energy, parting your lips and surely making a mess of the hair he clearly wanted to grow beyond what you assumed was regulation. You let one hand stay there, but the other was too curious, tracing the same lines of muscle your eyes had been beholden to ever since you first saw him.

During a quick break for air, you pulled back until you hit the wall behind you, this time urging him even closer than before. The second his mouth was on yours, you lost all sense of anything else, only able to think about the warmth you found there—and the feeling of his hips caressing yours in the very same rhythm.

You weren’t sure exactly how those senses of his worked, but somehow, he was igniting every single one of yours in a way you’d never experienced before.

You were in the middle of lowering your hands from his neck to seek a more fervent exploration when he caught both your wrists, holding them in an achingly gentle yet firm grasp as he lifted them over your own head. When he pushed himself into you even more intensely, his tongue in your mouth and his hips on yours, you could feel it so much more without being distracted by touching the rest of him.

Yeah, this was definitely a man who understood senses.

You were stuck between proposing and offering him all your possessions when the sudden chiming of a comlink sounded from Hunter’s belt. The two of you broke apart with heavy breaths, his forehead still close enough to yours for you to feel the wisps of his hair brushing against your skin as he clearly fought the urge to sigh.

“Sorry. Give me just a second.”

Hunter’s voice, which was already fairly rough as it was, was even rougher from your passionate moment as he released your wrists and stepped away. You couldn’t have stopped watching him even if you wanted to as he unclipped the comlink and activated it.

“Tech, report.”

“I have acquired the necessary data.” You raised your brow at the voice that spoke on the other end of Hunter’s comm. They sounded even less like a clone than Hunter himself did. “We may make our egress, unless there is any additional research you wish to pursue.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a loose end I want to tie up.” You scoffed at that. Loose end? “We'll meet back at the Marauder.”

“Affirmative.”

Hunter sighed as he set the comlink back on his belt. “Sorry about that.” He ran a hand over his head. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Gotta’ tie up your loose end, now.”

Hunter froze before he let out a heavy exhale. “Kriff, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, you’ve done better than most by catching it so fast.”

Hunter chuckled and stepped back over to you. “Here.”

He took something from his belt and reached for your hand, setting it inside your palm and closing your fist around it. It was something circular and metallic, judging by how cool it was against your skin.

“To keep in touch.” Hunter nodded at you. “Next time, the drink’s on me.”

“It was technically already on you this time.” You gestured with your eyes to his stained shirt.

Hunter huffed with amusement. “You know what I mean.”

You smiled at him. “Sure.”

You opened the door for him, and he stopped to give you a wink you wouldn’t miss this time before he disappeared into the thick of the crowd. You leaned your shoulder against the threshold, staring down at the communicator in your grasp. Biting back a smile, you slipped it inside your pocket.

Maybe there was an advantage to the war getting a little closer, after all.

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb @jellybeanstacey0519 @violetlilly2020 @singularattitudeofasafetypin

[arminsumi]

★ 'Cause I'm Sagittarius

Pairing : Gojo / fem reader

Synopsis : birthday boy Gojo Satoru unwraps and enjoys his gift — which is you!

Warnings : 🔞 MDNI/18+ content, riding, some hair pulling (him), light size kink, deep penetration, f*ngering, f*replay, cr*ampie (reader is on birth control)

Content : smut, birthday sex, some pining/love sick Satoru, some plot

Note : this is my happy birthday to this man 😗✌️

The glitter on his skin shimmers under the chandelier light. There's confetti stuck in his hair, which has been ruffled up throughout the night. Crimson and burgundy lipstick kiss marks decorate his face and neck, but he wipes them off when he sees you arrive.

Gojo Satoru certainly didn't expect to see his high school crush at his 34th birthday party. You're the one he used to be obsessive and desperate about when he was 17. Unbeknownst to him, Shoko invited you — she had to practically beg, because you lived so far away from Tokyo. Shoko convinced you after telling you how much Gojo Satoru still blabs about you to this day.

You completely steal his attention without realizing. Your oblivion charms him even more.

But each time Satoru tries to reminisce with you and bask in your company, it only lasts a few minutes because he's stolen back by the smothering crowd.

And then for the first time in years, he feels annoyed to be the center of attention.

Can everyone disappear except for her; I just want us to be alone together.

Someone gives him a plastic crown at some point in the night. It adorns his snowy head it until it falls off while he's dancing — and wow, Gojo Satoru dancing is a spectacle.

The way he moves his body to the music captures your attention and you stare.

You and him make electric eye contact. He sends a wink your way and you bite your lip back to him. It takes him aback and he stutters on the dance floor. Just this small, wordless interaction between you and him — even though you two haven't seen each other in years — is enough to excite him and get his heart pumping harder.

He pries his dance partner off of him, half-heartedly apologizes to her, and then desperately follows after you as you get lost in the hazy crowd.

Satoru finds you, he looks sweaty from dancing. He grabs your arm, mutters a breathless hey and asks if you want to go somewhere quieter with him. So you giggle and agree, taking his hand and letting him lead you out of the heat of the party.

Clutching his gift, you acknowledge the pile of presents that are piled up in the foyer. It makes your gift seem pathetic, but Satoru's eyes glitter when you give it to him and he pockets it as if you've gifted him your heart.

Just flirting and talking back and forth with you for a bit makes his cock harden. He can feel each inch slowly grow and press against his inner thigh, making a prominent bulge in his tight suit pants.

"Sorry I didn't bring you a good gift..." you say.

Satoru gives you bedroom eyes, then replies with, "But you brought yourself..." he rasped, "How about I unwrap you?"

⁕⁕⁕⁕

Trapping you in a heated, sloppy make out, Satoru slithers his tongue past your lips and groans into your mouth. You've lured him upstairs.

His pale, veiny hands slip under your dress and massage your thighs and hips, inching up until the bottom curve of your ass shows.

He leads you down the empty hallway, and desperately opens the door to his bedroom by pressing his back into it, never breaking from your lips as he pulls you in with him.

You gasp when he finally relieves your tension by rubbing the heel of his palm into your pussy. His big hands cup and squeeze it.

Satoru's jaw juts a little as he sucks a mark onto your neck. You lace your fingers into his hair and squeeze your thighs together. His dick throbs when you start begging him to rub your pussy.

Lowering your panties until they rest mid-way between your thighs, he gathers your juices on his fingertips and rubs up and down your puffy clit for a bit before sinking his middle finger into your pussy to stimulate your G-spot.

You pull on his hair and he moans, "Fuck, pull my hair harder."

Now this is the attention he actually needed tonight. Your fingers snuggling into his white hair and pulling on it while he snuggles his fingers in your slippery pussy.

Satoru stretches you out on his fingers and toys with your G-spot until you're trembling. Then he withdraws before he starts working up your orgasm.

When you try undress yourself, he stops you.

"I'm the birthday boy and you're my gift," he smirks, "Let me undress you."

And he starts undressing you like he's unwrapping a present. Satoru's nimble fingers peel off your dress and panties and unclasp your bra. His touch is cool against your hot skin.

He drifts his fingers up the middle of your back with a touch so light it's ticklish. It's on purpose, to make you shudder and tense your back into an arch.

"You're really g-good at this..." you breathe.

"Yeah, I know. It's 'cause I'm a Sagittarius." he replies smugly.

He unbuckles his belt and slides it off.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

The party is still ongoing, and guests are craning their necks and darting their eyes around in search of Gojo who just suddenly disappeared with you.

Satoru wants you to ride him; he begs like a spoiled prince.

"Come on, please, I wanna see those hips bouncing on my lap." he coos.

His eyes light up when you agree to ride him. The next request the birthday boy has is if he can do it raw, and he doesn't expect you to agree so his jaw drops open when you nonchalantly agree, telling him to go ahead and cum inside too if he wants because you've got birth control.

Soon you're bouncing up and down on his bare cock and he's relishing in the sight of your body jiggling. He tilts his head back and bites his lip, hungrily feeling up your breasts and your back.

"Faster." he groans, "Don't get sloppy now. Keep bouncing those hips on me or I'll do it myself."

When he feels his orgasm build up, he grabs your hips harshly and takes control.

"Fuck, Satoru!" you gasp, melting against his broad chest, cheek squishing against his pink nipple.

He pounds his cock into you at an angle that turns your brain to mush and slurs your speech. You hiccough and curse, feeling his big cock's tip rubbing deep inside you.

"Oh my god," he chuckles through a moan, "That pussy's so clingy. You're driving me insane, baby."

His muscular thighs hit your ass, his tight, full balls slap against you as he goes as fast and hard as he can. "That's it, just lay on me and take it."

"I'm so close, gonna cu—mmm! Cumming, 'mmm cumming, Satoru!" you scream. Good thing the party downstairs is so loud.

He groans and gets off to watching you orgasm on his cock. You cross your eyes, feeling his dick rubbing so deep makes you cum like a slut.

"Fuck, I'm cumming too. Take it." he grunts, fucking you hard but holding back his true strength.

It feels like his breath runs out when he cums. He gasps so dramatically and spurts out a huge load of cum deep into your hot, tight pussy. His toes curl and he pinches his eyes shut, while his lips naturally stretch into a slutty O shape.

You slide off his sensitive cock and whimper, feeling so empty after getting stretched open so much.

Rolling off each other's bodies, glowing, panting like you've run a marathon.

He hardly looks roughed up like you do; his hair is tousled from the sex, yes, but his skin glistens and glitters with sweat and body glitter, giving him this ethereal beauty. He has to close his eyes after cumming so hard and so much. His balls feel empty.

Satoru lays with you for a while, massaging your sore parts with his big hands.

"I'm so glad you came tonight." he says cheekily. "Wanna go out for coffee sometime?"

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[inkedinshadows]

if ur still taking requests may I please ask for prompt #22 with cassian? it can be fluffy or smutty or both 🥰 thanks love ur blog btw!! 🩷🩷🩷

Starved For Your Touch

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much <33 I wanted to include smut but inspiration for fluff found me first! I love drama queen cassian, hope you enjoy it 💕

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: none really, just a very tiny short piece of angst if you really squint

Word count: 1.5k

You had recently realized just how much Cassian craved physical contact, and your new favorite pastime was denying him of it. You wanted to see how far you could push him before he snapped.

Apparently, just a day.

You chose a short summer dress, fully aware of the way it hugged your curves and made your legs look longer. Cassian wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you, and you were determined not to let him touch you.

When you walked into the living room, he was lounging on the couch with Rhys and Mor. You greeted them with a smile, and Cassian’s face lit up when he saw you. Without interrupting the conversation, he reached for you, but you stayed just a few inches out of reach, merely brushing his hand with a teasing smile as you made your way to the kitchen.

When you walked back out a few minutes later, you let him grab your hand and pull you closer. You knew he wanted you to sit on his lap. You both loved it. But today you didn’t, opting instead to settle on the couch beside him. He frowned but didn’t comment.

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” he said instead. “This dress suits you.”

“It really does,” Mor chimed in from her armchair. “Which means your hands will be all over her in three… two…”

You and Rhysand chuckled, but Cassian grinned. He didn’t even try to deny it.

“Actually, I have to go,” you announced, cutting the moment short.

Cassian stilled, his arm half-lifted as he was about to drape it over your shoulders. “You’re leaving already?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m going shopping with Elain, remember?” You patted his knee before standing and looking at Mor. “Want to join us?”

Her smile widened. “You know it.”

You leaned down to kiss Cassian, just a brush of your lips against his—more a promise of a kiss than an actual one. He tried to keep you there, to deepen the kiss, but you pulled back.

“Always eager for more,” you murmured, and booped his nose. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Following Mor to the front door, you turned back to wave at Cassian, catching the stunned expression plastered on his face.

Rhys just looked amused.

~~~~~~

Cassian was waiting when you returned home a few hours later.

Mor and Elain had already come back, but you’d stayed behind to buy one last item—a flimsy piece of lingerie you thought he might like.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked as the door closed behind you. “Not since the girls came back, I hope.”

“I saw you arrive through the window.” Cassian pushed off the wall and stalked toward you, an accusatory finger pointed in your direction. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you assumed was supposed to be an intimidating expression. It never worked on you. He could be intimidating when he needed to—he was a warrior and a general, after all. But when he pretended, his lips jutted out slightly in a pout and a small crease appeared between his brows.

“And what is it?” you inquired, trying to walk past him and up the stairs. You were carrying a few full bags and just wanted to drop them off in your room.

Cassian’s arm shot out to block your path. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you tell me why you haven’t kissed me all day.”

You cocked your head. “I have kissed you today,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Only three times and they were just little pecks.” Then, as if it was obvious, he added, “Which don’t really count.”

“Oh, you poor big baby,” you chuckled. “What if I’m just saving the best for last because I bought something I know you’ll like?”

Cassian’s eyes darted to the bags in your hands. He tried to peek inside, but everything was neatly wrapped. He looked back at you. “Something like…?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before he could stop you, you slipped under his arm and headed for the stairs. “I’ll leave these in our room,” you warned as you began the short climb. “And if I find out you snooped around, I’ll return the surprise.”

Cassian’s outraged gasp followed you up the stairs. You could practically see him clutching his chest, as if your words had struck him like a dagger to the heart. “When have I ever done something like that?”

“Cassian,” you scolded, not even bothering to turn around.

“Alright, alright.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I promise.”

~~~~~~

When you joined the others downstairs, some were already gathered around the table, their choice of seating casual as always. But Cassian had saved you a spot beside him, and as you approached, you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured, making sure to brush your fingers along his wing as you settled into your chair.

He inhaled sharply, drawing a pointed look from Amren on his other side. She merely rolled her eyes before turning back to her conversation with Azriel.

“Sorry,” you quipped, feigning innocence. “I didn't mean to.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “What is going on?”

You shrugged off his question, focusing on filling your plate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, tracking your every moment. Holding back a laugh was harder than you’d expected, but you schooled your features into an unreadable expression.

“You’re such a tease today,” he muttered. “The dress, the kisses, now my wing…” His eyes darkened slightly as he watched you take the first bite of your food. “And this morning, when you got me so worked up only to slip out of bed before I could—”

“Cassian.”

Both of you looked up. Rhysand sat directly across from you, his brows raised. It was the same look he wore when waiting for someone to admit they had done something wrong.

“What?” Cassian scowled.

“If you really can’t avoid discussing your personal life during family dinner, at least keep your voice down.” Everyone was looking at you now, but Rhys went on, an amused smirk appearing on his lips. “Besides, I’m sure Y/N has a good reason for keeping you high and dry.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but Cassian only glowered. With a smile, you placed your hand on his thigh, hidden from the others’ view. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He simply grumbled, “Oh, you will.”

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. Your hand lingered on Cassian’s leg, but he paid it little attention. He seemed distant, glancing toward Azriel more than once throughout the meal. The Shadowsinger merely raised an eyebrow each time their eyes met.

Had you gone too far? Maybe you shouldn't have teased him in front of the whole family.

When dinner ended and everyone moved into the sitting room for drinks, you watched as Cassian left without a word. You made to follow him to apologize—for real this time—but Azriel pulled you aside before you could.

His expression was so grim that you paused before you could ask him to talk later.

“What’s wrong?” you asked instead.

Azriel hesitated. “I’m worried about Cassian. Is everything okay between you two?”

Your heart sank. Of course Azriel had noticed, but for him to be concerned enough to pull you aside… maybe you had really pushed Cassian too far. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible to explain things.

“No, Az, it’s fine,” you started, trying to explain. “It’s just that I—”

Your words turned into a startled scream as two strong arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

Cassian’s laughter boomed in your ears as he crushed you to his chest. “Got you!”

Your hands flew to his forearms, your heart pounding. “What… what are you doing?” you mumbled, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

Azriel’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Good luck with him,” he said before slipping away to join the others in the sitting room.

“What…?”

Cassian began striding toward the stairs, still holding you from behind, your feet dangling uselessly above the floor.

“You shouldn't have let your guard down, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear. “You really thought you could tease me all day and get away with it?”

Azriel. He had distracted you just long enough for Cassian to sneak up behind you.

Cassian set you down on the first step, only to spin you around and scoop you up again. “Now I’ve got you, and you’re not going anywhere. You have a whole day to make up for.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as he started up the stairs. A breathless laugh left your lips. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Worse than that.” He grinned, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass, squeezing playfully. “I’m touch-starved. So why don’t you start fixing that?”

This time, you obliged him, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his before he even reached your bedroom door.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (8)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 9.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, betrayal, fire, knives, dead parents; farewell; feels; tension

Author’s Note: This is not the end, no worries. Wouldn’t leave you guys hanging like that. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

It stands tall in the distance.

Rising above the emerald treetops, like a melancholic monarch draped in shadows and light.

The grey stone battlements jut against the hazy sky. Turrets - clearly emboldened by the hues of the background - spiral toward the horizon, austere and elegant, crowned by banners that flutter limpidly in the distance.

The very stones seem steeped in centuries of command, and each mark of weather bears testimony of its history and storms - the memories of which, it seems, they still hold with great dignity.

The castle seems at peace, standing upon its cliff, hanging suspended from the rocky outcrop, as though it grew from the very rock, planted there, eternal. A sentinel of this kingdom. The kingdom that belonged to your father.

Craggy towers break the swell of pallid sky, their dark slate roofs glimmering under the wan light filtering through clouds.

The sight of this castle holds a strange pull on your senses - a magnetic foreboding that you can’t seem to shake.

It looms powerful but sinister, an observer too heavy with secrets for history to bear. Around it, trees keep dancing in and out of shifting hues of green and gold, branches stirring to a wind barely in existence, each gust swaying leaves like a restless audience to your arrival.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There is more here than just the daunting architecture pressing on your psyche. Something personal smolders in the shadow of that place.

You try to put your finger on it but only grasp fleeting impressions - the way your father spoke in clipped tones about duty and appearances, the pack of expectations, the noose he metaphorically kept around your neck.

Beside you, Bucky’s presence shifts. He seems to slip into a hesitating step. The muscles of his shoulders tense against the still slightly stained fabric of his armor.

He does not take his eyes off the castle. The blue steel of his gaze sharpens. You can feel the tension emanating from him, a tangible energy that snakes through the air between you. There is a hostility in the way he looks at that castle. A hardness that knots his jaw. A tautness that frames his mouth.

Somehow he wears apprehension with discomfort.

And it shakes your heart with an inexplicable dread.

He always moves like a man accustomed to balancing control with instinct. But his breathing pattern changes slightly. You ignore the fact that you know his normal breathing pattern in the first place. But there really is a slight strain in his breath.

Your gaze snaps back to the castle, peering through the branches framing its silhouette. Even from this distance, you can feel something lingering around the fortress - energies unvoiced, but undeniably ancient, as if the very stones remember.

A strange chill skitters down your spine. But you can’t really say why. The path underneath your boots is softened with fallen leaves, giving off a musty, earthy scent. You want to hang onto the smell, with its cool air gliding across your skin and the tranquil solitude of the forest. But your gaze keeps wandering back to the castle looming still so far off. It is magnetic. Impossible to ignore.

A realization comes with a blow to your heart.

This might be your destination.

Perhaps this castle is where he's meant to bring you.

A bittersweet and aching pang lodges beneath your ribs. You can’t imagine the journey that has momentarily intertwined your paths is perhaps going to be coming to a close.

You steal a glance at Bucky’s profile. If this is where he is meant to take you, then why does he seem so tense at finally getting here?

Trying to interpret the small frown tugging at his lips, the rigid line in his jaw, you let your eyes sweep. There is a weight of something hanging from his brows, drawing them down.

The wind around you changes direction, ruffling branches and making leaves hop around as if to note the abrupt transition occasioned by you.

The entire atmosphere between Bucky and you seems to stiffen.

The twitch of his fingers at his sides almost betray a gesture of need - to make a fist. He controls his breathing too deliberately for your taste.

Your gaze drags back to the castle ahead. To Bucky. To the castle. And back to Bucky. And back to the castle.

Here stands the proud fortress, untouched by the ravages of time, like one who has never been forced to bow before the wickedness of mankind. Never had to bend to the world’s cruelty. But perhaps, this too, is an illusion. Perhaps it became something wicked, something cruel itself.

The thought strikes you, brief and sharp.

Clouds sweep across the sun and the light dims. Shadows weave itself through the forest. You take in the now cooling air.

No words pass between Bucky and you, but with every step, the mounting tension between you both gets stronger.

It feels flimsy, like glass waiting to shatter.

You want to ask him. Want to ask if this castle is where you are going to part ways as soon as you reach it. It will take some time still. Maybe a day. Maybe less. Maybe more.

But it feels so dwindling and you can’t grasp the time you want to keep.

The sight of the castle only clutches your heart with hands showing not an ounce of mercy, squeezing your breath thin and shallow.

You always knew this journey would come to an end. Even had hoped so for some time. Had complained about relieving yourself in the woods like an animal, sleeping on the hard ground of the forest, not being able to bathe in the warmest water. You have complained about practically everything in this godforsaken forest. But you don’t want this journey to end so soon. Maybe because it’s not the forest at all you want to keep yourself surrounded with.

It’s Bucky.

And admitting that to yourself only tells you that your fear is rising. That this travel with him might really be over soon.

Some part of you grew accustomed to naively believing the road would go on forever. With firelight embers in the dark after making camp for the day. Quiet conversations held in the dark. The endearing way his lips would twitch when he tries to suppress his amusement with you. The way he keeps you afloat even when your world is crumbling into itself. Giggling at his gruffness when he doesn’t like the small ration of food you eat just so he can have some more - him calling you stubborn despite the fact that he mostly won the argument in the end. Walking beside him in the forest and listening to both of your crunching footsteps on the ground. Lying awake at night and listening to his breaths. Exchanging fleeting glances, that linger longer than they should.

You try and swallow the prickling pain at the back of your mouth, but it remains raw and bubbling.

You’re not even thinking about what might await you at the castle. The only thing you can’t get out of your mind is the realization that Bucky will leave you here, will vanish back into the woods, and whatever shadows formed him before both your paths crossed.

And for some reason, just the idea of his absence is a wound that would bleed more than anything your father’s kingdom could ever conjure.

You want to rip through the wall built between the two of you since the castle came into view - but words are pulled between hesitation and instinct. You almost feel lost in whether that silence needs filling or should just remain untouched.

And yet, there is something that settles the attraction to walk beside him. An anchor, if you will, though the world feels like it could collapse at any second due to the weirdness surrounding him.

You cast him another furtive glance, feeling suddenly breathless at the faint tinge of something slashing in his gaze.

He must have felt your eyes on him because he moves his head slightly, the hardness of his expression mellowing just a fraction as he glances down at you.

And for that small moment, you feel light again.

The path turns deeper into the woods, trees obscuring the vision of the castle again.

And once more, you keep walking.

The sun is barely setting when you settle down for the night, cloaked in the golden haze of a waning afternoon.

Shadows grow long and thin across the forest floor, folding themselves beneath the reach of the branches above.

Bucky moves with specifically calculated slowness, like he’s trying to keep control of something.

He collects a small amount of dry wood and then kneels beside the fire, striking flint against steel with sharp and quick movements. You always liked watching him do it. But now it hurts.

A spark breaks, catching on brittle wood and setting it alight.

Instead of observing Bucky, you keep your eyes on the meager lights ascending, tiny glints that illuminate the sky momentarily before they are absorbed into the gathering darkness. Just about like this fleeting moment, which you already feel slip away.

Bucky didn’t give you any reasons as to why you stopped to rest earlier than usual. But you know. The heaviness in his gait, the reluctance in his silence, the way he can’t meet your eyes for longer than a few seconds. It’s clear enough.

This is your final night with him.

The thought penetrates you profoundly, like a punch to your already bruised ribs.

You have expected it since seeing the castle rise among the trees, but it only gets more real the more time passes. It’s a present hollowness in your chest and all you can focus on is the fire crackling angrily, filling the empty space of your chest with everything but the things you want.

Slumping down in front of the fire, you tuck your legs beneath you and let the heat slightly brush against your face.

There is still a chill nipping at your back, but it’s not what makes you shiver.

Wordlessly, Bucky lowers himself onto a fallen log near the fire, letting out a sigh as he drags a hand across his face. He looks tired. Not just physically that is, but in a way that suggests of something deeper.

He stares into the fire, eyes distant, the flames reflected in his eyes like fragments of something burning far deeper than the wood.

The tension is continuously buzzing between you, caressing your skin in a manner that suggests it doesn’t even know how to handle itself.

It’s in the way he doesn’t quite look at you, though you can feel his gaze every time you aren’t the one watching. It feels somewhere between heat and static. You wonder what he is thinking, but are too scared to ask.

Instead, you engage yourself in preparing a simple meal for Bucky and you, hands moving almost mechanically through the familiar motions. The aroma of dried herbs and roasted meat mixes with the smoke from the fire, but the food tastes like ash in your mouth when you finally take a bite.

The silence weighs down, carrying words neither of you knows how to say.

A distant call of a night bird is the only thing talking.

Every now and then, your eyes stray to him - just brief stolen glances exchanged across the flames. His gazes ignite a spark on your skin. He sits with his elbows braced on his knees, shadows throwing across his face, making the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones even more defined and painfully enticing.

His lips are pressed into a thin, unreadable, line and you wonder if he is fighting to find the right words to break the silence as well.

Your heart aches to think that this will, in all likelihood, be the last night spent together, surrounded by nothing but trees and stars and the comforting crackle of the warm fire. Whatever flimsy bond you’ve built with Bucky will be severed by duty and distance.

When your eyes go back to their favorite sight, you find Bucky already watching you. His gaze holds yours for a moment and even the fire seems to have stopped burning for a second. Leaving Bucky and you alone in this situation.

There is something sore in his eyes. Something he couldn’t have prepared for or you would not be able to spot it that easily. It staggers your breath.

Then, he breaks your gaze and only leans further toward the ground.

The silence is getting stern. Unsparing. It enclaves you.

The sputtering fire only gets louder, and something tells you that whatever slips away into the curling smoke fading into the night, it will be something you can never hold onto again.

You shift slightly, adjusting your body on the rough texture of the wood you’re sitting on.

Bucky’s gaze flickers towards you again. Brief but piercing enough. It lingers just a second longer before he looks back at the fire. Shadows play with the lines of his features.

Leaves brush against each other in whispery sounds above you. The wilderness seems reluctant to let go of daylight, its golden glow retreating with a hushed farewell, until only a few pale shades of the dusk remain.

The light of the fire causes shifting patterns to sweep over the forest floor. The night feels delicate, almost. And you can’t shake the sense that this is your last evening spent like this, the very last tranquility you will have with the tamed nature and the stars just starting to blink awake overhead. And of course, Bucky sitting just a few feet away, so close that you could touch, but also so far that loneliness can’t be avoided today.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the noise deepening into a long, low sound and it makes your chest hurt at the same time.

The silence holds until it can no longer.

It breaks with a clear of his throat. The sound is low and rough, scraping against the quiet.

It makes your head snap up. You blink at him.

“There’s an outer gate,” he starts, working the words out slowly, hoarse, as if he is dragging them from some reluctant place inside him.

His gaze remains fixed on the fire as soon as he’s confident you are listening to him. The orange brightness flickers in the pale blue depths of his eyes.

“That’s where I'm s’pposed to take you.”

You don’t need him to explain to you what place he’s talking about. He knows you know. The castle looms as graphically as it has the first time you saw it between the trees. A place carved from stones and shadows. Of course, that’s what he’s talking about. But hearing it from him - hearing it made real - cracks something open inside you.

“You will probably be expected by now,” he continues, the notes softening in his voice as though the words hold an unfathomable weight. “Can’t take you through the front gates. Don’t wanna attract too much attention.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, the muscles in his forearm taut. A vein stands out. “Guess only the important people’ll know 'bout your arrival.”

Important people. The words land sharp between your ribs. Reminding you of where you come from and where he does not belong - or maybe does but refuses to.

You swallow thickly and taste the bitterness of knowing that your father and his web of control likely extends even here, even after his death.

Bucky still does not voice that he means that castle. But he doesn’t have to. There is an implicit understanding in the way his voice falters, in the way he watches the fire like it holds answers neither of you are ready to hear. He seems to have drawn the conclusion that you know your destination is near.

But truly knowing for real only hardens the pang that tears through your chest. It’s a violent and splintering thing, as if something solid inside you is crumbling, breaking down into fine, snaggy crumbs that settle into the hollow spaces in your chest. They make a sound with every inhalation, scraping against your insides and stabbing at the tender places that have already endured enough.

You look down at your hands, curled loosely in your lap, fingers trembling slightly despite your effort to still them.

The thought of this being the end - of stepping through that gate alone, of watching Bucky turn and disappear into the forest without you - makes your breath hitch painfully in your throat.

You’ve known this was coming from the beginning. You hoped this was coming at the beginning. You’ve known it since the moment you agreed to leave behind everything you knew and put your fate in the hands of a man who wanted nothing to do with you. It hardly helps to think about it.

The fire isn’t the only heat between you. Something else is crackling there. In the air. But you can’t tell what exactly.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched tightly as he stares at the ground. There is something edgy about the way he sits, as if he might be somewhere between wishful thinking and physical presence.

And maybe that’s what makes this all the more unbearable - the fact that he doesn’t seem unaffected by this either. The slumping of his shoulders, the hesitation in his words that speak to something more than mere obligation.

Still, he doesn’t really look at you. And maybe that’s for the best. Because you’re not sure you could hold his gaze without breaking entirely.

And the world just keeps turning, ignorant of the slow destruction lying half-lit between you and Bucky.

Everything feels tremendous. Monumental. Every breath, every sigh, every thought you nearly speak out loud, every glance that never quite meets its mark.

And when it sinks in how very heavily all of that rests in the pit of your stomach, you wonder how you’re supposed to survive stepping through that gate alone.

“What do you know about this place?” you ask hesitantly, voice small.

Bucky’s gaze lifts briefly to meet your own. His forearms rest on his thighs, fingers flexing. He exhales through his nose, a faint shake of his head following. “Not much.” His voice is low and tinged with weariness. “Just that it’s where I’m s’pposed to take you.”

Supposed to. Like some invisible hand has mapped out your fates long before you ever had a say in them.

Something cold and gnarling twists in your chest. His answer tells you nothing - no assurances, no comfort.

It’s unsettlingly simple.

You stare into the fire, its embers glowing brighter as your thoughts turn darker. That castle you know is not too far away anymore. The one who stood so proudly at the edge of the cliffs - beautiful, imposing, and so wholly foreign - takes a larger shape in your mind.

Your heart grows heavy with apprehension. What might await you there? Your mother, even in death, has always held a protective influence over your fate. The instructions for your journey to this castle may have been hers. After all, that’s why Bucky is here. Because he promised your mother.

But maybe this destination does not come from your mother at all. Sure, Bucky and this journey is her doing but maybe not where you end up going to. Maybe she didn’t have a say in it. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she had something else in mind for you as a final safeguard in case everything crumbles.

You can’t know. You also can’t know if she perhaps was the first to die. And that last order for you to be sent away did not come from her at all.

A chill of fear blooms at the base of your spine, unfurling upward in wavy patterns.

Maybe this is your father’s doing.

He was not the man who made decisions for your happiness or peace of mind. His schemes were calculated, self-serving, often cruel beneath their polished veneer. You can’t shake the unabating thought that this place might have been his command, not your mother’s - a contingency for his ambitions even beyond the grave.

Maybe they even both ordered for you to be sent here. Just out of different intentions.

Your fear is awfully gripping. And you won’t know whose will is being carried out until you step through those gates.

Your muscles twitch as an unbidden tremor rattles through you.

“Do you believe it might have been my father who ordered it?” you ask Bucky with a slightly shaking voice. Heavy with doubt.

Bucky has been watching you dealing with your inner struggles. His eyes are deep pools of alertness. They search you. His voice is even. Slow. “Could be.” There is a reluctant pause, tension rolling through his shoulders. “Banner told me to take you there. It’s where you’ll have to go he said. Never talked to your mother or father ‘bout this. Only ever through Banner. And he didn’t give me much. He said your mother would want you protected, but I’ve got no clue if that’s what she meant.” He lowers his head for a moment, a little guilty. “Never bothered to ask.”

You don’t blame him.

Though it doesn’t make this easier.

Sir Banner has always been a kind man, one of the few in your father's court who treated you with genuine warmth. You remember his thoughtful smile, the way he spoke to you as though your opinions matter even when the rest of the court dismissed you.

But even Sir Banner - loyal and true - has ultimately served your father first and foremost.

Has he known? Has he seen your father’s real face?

A swift and aching slash tears through your chest.

Maybe Sir Banner has genuinely believed he was acting on orders meant to protect you. Or maybe he just hasn’t known the full extent of your father’s motives. The thought makes your throat prick and tingle. The man you held dearly in your heart might have been complicit, unwitting or not.

It doesn’t matter that your parents are gone. Their commands will still echo through the kingdom, shaping the path you are walking on even now. Your father’s words carry the weight of stone. And even from beyond the grave, it could crush you.

Bucky’s jaw has tensed immensely. His eyes find you and stay. You might believe he is thinking the same thing. Cool air brushes against your back, igniting a shiver that lingers.

If it was your father’s order then the motives could be far more insidious than you dared to imagine - isolation, subjugation, control, banishment, your own lonely prison.

“Do you believe Sir Banner knew everything my father did?”

You just can’t seem to stop asking for his input.

Bucky’s mouth is a flat line. He swallows and grimaces lightly as if the words taste bitter on his tongue. “Don’t know,” he admits, voice sounding throaty. His body shifts before answering. But he looks at you. Keeping his eyes on you in a way that has you feeling he tries to make this easier for you. “But he seemed sure this is the right place for you.”

You take in a deep and wavering breath and nod at him slightly. Thanking him for his honesty without being able to get the words out. Your fingers fidget in your lap and you look down at them for a while.

You want to trust that whatever awaits you in that castle is a place of safety, not another, even worse gilded cage built from your father’s manipulation.

But you will be walking into the unknown. You might as well be blindfolded. And the man sitting across from you, who has fought and bled for truths buried by men like your father seems just as wary.

Being out in the woods and always in the presence of Bucky has become a strange kind of sanctuary - a place where you learned to breathe freely and hope again despite the dangers lurking in the shadows. But it’s coming to an end. And it feels so abrupt. So frightening.

Your fingers clench around the fabric of your cloak and you fight to steady your breathing.

You glance at Bucky again. His profile glows starkly against the fire, his silhouette strong against the dark woods and you feel your gaze soften at the way his own does. Not enough to give everything away but enough to offer something without words. Reassurance. A promise.

It makes your breath hitch.

The air seems to take on a softer quality itself. Hushed by things never spoken of, he holds something precious in his eyes.

But there is also a sudden sadness glinting within those blue babies. Something you’re not sure isn’t reflected in your own eyes. It seems to be such a rare thing for him.

His presence is a gift.

You’re aware of that now. Though it might be too late.

He became your only tether in a world that has violently spiraled off its axis.

He moves protectively without being overbearing. He never crowded you but always seemed within reach.

It’s the tiny gestures - a glance to check your footing on bumpy ground, a steadying hand when you stumbled, him shifting so he would block you from the cold wind, the way he always ensures you have the warmer side of the fire without ever making a fuss of it, the way he made sure you weren’t going to sleep hungry.

And it’s not just about keeping you alive.

Bucky has done far more than fulfill some vague promise of protection.

He has been tasked with keeping you alive but he has done so much more than that.

He kept you sane when everything around you came crashing down. He became the grounding force you never got your whole life.

When sleep eluded you at night, haunted by shadows of loss, it was the sound of his breathing mere feet away that lulled you into rest.

He became the reminder that no matter the odds, you have him just right there.

He warmed you in every way that fire and shelter could never. Comforted you without needing to say a word.

And what makes it all the more profound is that he didn’t have to. This journey, this promise - none of it required him to care beyond the basics of survival. Yet he did. He does. Bucky cared about more than keeping you physically safe, he cared about you.

He didn’t have to watch out for you in those small, thoughtful ways. He went beyond duty, quietly and without fanfare.

Bucky Barnes is good.

And not just competent or capable, but good in a way that runs deep.

You blink back the stinging in your eyes as if to ward off that very realization. Even despite the burdens and the scars and the doubts he carries, he is a good man. He might not necessarily believe it himself - you heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes - but you do.

You saw it firsthand, felt it in the moments he stood between you and the chaos of the world, protecting you from the ruins.

But what makes your heart bleed red crimson is the fact that you don’t have the time to make him believe.

Because this journey is ending the very next day.

Your heart feels like it’s being pulled in two different directions - toward the promised safety that lay ahead unknown and the comfort of what you have unexpectedly found.

And after this, what will happen?

Once the castle is in clear sight and his task is completed, what then?

Will he leave just like that, fading back into the forest this time without you?

Will you be left with the ache of his absence, suffering in the understanding that you’ve known something so rare and special, only to lose it?

You don’t know.

He was meant to take you somewhere safe and see you through to the other side. And you are nearly there.

What comes after is up to you.

You’re not even sure what you want - what you could even ask for - but the idea of stepping into that castle alone, without him at your side, fills you with trepidation.

Your heart stutters, unsure whether to face forward or shrink back. A needling chill spreads beneath your skin, making it itchy.

Your body seems to brace itself against the time ahead but there is no way to wrestle it into place.

The fire pops, showering sparks into the night.

Bucky moves a fraction, adjusting himself on the log, gaze pinned to the flames again. His broad shoulders are bowed slightly forward, his head tilted lightly. The grim set of his mouth is shadowed as the orange light is rather flashing on the stubble along his jaw.

You are drawn by him, by something beyond logic or necessity.

It almost even feels unnecessary to acknowledge that the weeks spent together have forged a little something between you two.

And though this travel is coming to its end, the hope remains within you, that perhaps it does not also have to be the end of whatever it is.

“Princess.”

Your head snaps up at the husky sound of his voice. He tries for a smile. It looks sad.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

No. Not without you.

Maybe in another life, you’d be able to say that out loud.

****

You basically spent the night searing him to your memories.

Not even the creaking branches or the swaying leaves were able to catch your attention anymore. Only him.

You committed everything you found out about him to memory.

He didn’t seem to sleep all that much as well so you couldn’t exactly stare at him too long. But you worked with what you already picked up, tracing his features in your mind.

That would be the endearing spray of freckles along the side of his face, scattered like stars in a constellation. It’s an unforgettable map etched into his skin.

The strong and proud slope of his nose, that sometimes moves with his mouth when he speaks.

You followed it down to the fullness of his lips, plump in a way that almost makes them look gentle despite the hard set they often carry.

Then there is his smile. So mesmerizing. It starts with a tug at the corners of his lips like it is something he doesn’t want to show but can’t quite suppress. And when it breaks free, it’s devastatingly beautiful.

And his eyebrows, able to relax when he sleeps or even when a fleeting peace washes over him that oftentimes has something to do with a glance your way.

His voice is clear in your mind, gruff but low and warm when he speaks those little nicknames. He no longer laces them with mockery and hearing them always makes a light rise in your chest that heats your skin.

And his eyes. God, those eyes. You tried to name their exact shade of blue, scouring your memory for the right hue. Could it be the light blue of forget-me-nots, those little blooms always so delicate in your hand when you went to seek them out at the palace gardens? Or maybe a more cornflower deep blue, looking so alive between other shades. No, probably more a nice soft, thick, tranquil velvety blue of hydrangeas, looking royal but still so brittle. Or freesia, with their delightfully tender beauty.

None seem quite right. Yet you search anyway. Desperate to pin down something so elusive.

And the way those blue eyes would search your own. Like he is always trying to figure you out, always trying to look deeper than you are sometimes comfortable with.

Your fingers flex slightly at the memory of his touch. The rough callouses and textures of his palm were stark against your soft skin, but his touch has always been gentle. The way he would hold your cheeks, sweep his thumbs over your skin, and tend to your wound, as if you are somehow a precious thing he wants to handle with care. A choice made rather than an obligation fulfilled.

And his hair - chestnut brown, but catching glimmers of gold in the firelight. You liked to watch those wild tendrils whip around his face in the wind. You remember how it looked when dampened by sweat, still unruly, sticking to the sides of his face.

His stubble - the rugged frame along his jawline that heightens his intensity. The one he would scratch at, or run his hand along once in a while. Especially in moments of thought.

You want to remember all of it.

Getting it all in memory locked away inside your mind to access whenever you need him.

Every laugh, every glance, the smallest change in his expression.

The night tried to propel you into the inevitable future, but you put up a fight as best as you could. You lingered, documenting every detail of him, making a mental capture of his perfection. Because he’d be gone.

So you took the time of the last night with him to memorize him, wishing the memory would be forever bright behind your eyelids. Never to fade. Never to leave you alone. That somehow against the odds, he would be there with you long after this journey reaches its conclusion. If not in flesh, then in your heart forever.

But for all the silent preparations you made under the shroud of the night - fixing Bucky Barnes into the tender folds of your memory, knowing you would have to let him slip away into the corners of a life without you - nothing could have braced you for the reality of the gate that enters your vision in the distance.

It stands looming and gnarly, iron bars reaching for the sky like the black ribs of some primeval creature intent on eating you alive. It’s menacing and grating in all its ridges. Almost like Bucky himself.

The path narrows as you tread forward. And with every step, your feet grow more heavy. The earth beneath your boots will be the last reminder of this journey you are so reluctant to leave behind.

The wilderness - the forest - has become such a peculiar place of comfort, full of campfire smoke, marked with whispers, and Bucky’s omnipresence - the stable wall just half a pace in front of you right now.

He scans the terrain, letting his eyes sweep across the landscape in his animalistic way. He surveys every tree, every shadow, looking for anything threat-like that might lurk here in the bushes around you.

There is no part of him that looks unsure. But you know better now. You’ve learned to read the subtle language of his body - his silence, his pauses, the set of his jaw when he’s holding back more than he is willing to share.

Wind brushes around the silence between you.

His earlier instructions echo in your head, just before you took off again this morning. His tone was clear and clipped and detached in a way. So practical. Too practical. You’ll approach the gate together to a certain point. Guards will be waiting on the other side. They will know who you are. They will take you in.

And you will go alone.

You remember his jaw clenching, teeth-gritting with each distinct word as though it caused him actual physical pain to say it, to try and shape this farewell into something more tolerable.

But the gate is in your sight already, far off, and nothing feels tolerable about that. It feels cold even from a distance.

Your breath hitches at the hope your body is already beginning to abandon.

You will have to walk the rest of the way alone. One breath of air in, and one breath of air out for every step. A deep gulf opens within you as the grim truth of that tries to settle. Bucky will stop walking any second and watch you take your first steps through those iron bars, leaving you to the kingdom waiting beyond.

Guards will be placed there. Waiting.

For the princess.

You have to remind yourself that that’s you.

The title no longer fits, awkwardly belonging to the body that has outgrown it much like a gown delicately torn at the seams.

The girl who once danced in marble halls bedecked in jewels that sparkled like shards of stars no longer exists anymore. What is left is the stark truth of exposure - physically and mentally - and survival driven by fear and fire through and with the unforeseen solace of companionship. Perhaps even friendship if you might.

And yet, here they are, waiting for a princess.

They're prepared to welcome back their princess like you’re something valuable to be retrieved. But god, you don’t feel like it.

You feel fractured, worn down by grief and guilt and the truths you’ve come to uncover along the way. The title is a relic from your old life that people now expect you to slip into again. Like a pair of shoes. As if it would be that easy.

You briefly look over at the back of Bucky’s built, broad frame, gripped with tension. His discipline surrounds him, the protective air he wears like his brown armor. But there is something more uneasy in the way his shoulders move.

You don’t know what might await you. What fate that castle will write for you. Bucky doesn’t either. And he almost seems to hate that fact considering the way he keeps his eyes on the gate ahead.

It isn’t just a passage. It’s a threshold. Crossing it will sever something irrevocable. Leave behind everything you’ve come to rely on, everything that’s kept you steady through the burn of your ruins.

Bucky.

You don’t know how to do this without him.

Your steps falter, but Bucky’s don’t.

He presses forward almost fiercely, determined. But still so stiff. You wonder if it is easier for him this way - to keep moving, to treat this as another mission, another battle won.

But he’s no soldier anymore and this is not a mission.

He is simply a man who keeps his promises.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

Each step brings you nearer to the end of something special, something you haven’t even fully understood before it began to elude you.

And then Bucky stops.

Your heart might as well have stopped along with him.

He turns his gaze toward you, indecisively, slowly, as if he is unsure whether he wants you to see what waits in his eyes.

But you do see. Oh, you see. And it hits you with a force that tears the breath from your lungs.

There is a rawness there, sharp like frost - something jumbled and aching underneath all that grit and stoicism he acknowledges as a part of himself.

You thought you knew those many different shades of Bucky Barnes by now. The gruff protector, the silent watcher, the man who said more with a tilt of his head or a blink of his eyes than with words.

But this is new.

This stripped-down, unguarded version of him - brimming with something that makes your heart stutter. The pattern it's been following for weeks not making sense anymore.

Your breath stumbles in your throat, rough and halting, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Chilled fingers clench uselessly at your sides, wanting to clutch something, wanting an anchor.

There is no relief. Only him. And that is worse, since even he feels far away now, like a shoreline that seems to slip ever so farther from your reach.

Even Bucky’s stance is off. Unfamiliar. He’s always stood like bracing for a blow, feet planted firm and shoulders squared in resolution to receive whatever blow came his way. Now he stands as though bracing for something else entirely - something no less brutal, something no less punishing.

Something like heartbreak. Or at least something dangerously close to it.

The tension between you is electric with a tingling spiral that tightens with every breath neither of you seems to take.

Words hang unspoken. They force themselves against the back of your throat, refusing to be formed into that simple goodbye you both know is coming.

You drop your gaze, unable to withstand those searching eyes any longer. They fall back to the road leading through the woods into what has become a strange sort of home for you.

The trees loom big and indifferent, the breeze swishing their leaves and whooshing against your cloak.

“I have to thank you.” A shaky breath leaves you, an attempt to steady the tremor in your chest. You try to look at him. “For everything you did for me.” It comes out weak but sincere, each word trembles in its truth.

True. How heart-wrenchingly true. He has done so much more than he was ever bound to. He kept you safe. He kept you whole. And there aren’t enough words in the world to say what that means to you.

You hear the sharp intake of his breath. His head shakes. Almost quick. Almost desperate. As though trying to wave your words away before they take root.

One hand scrubs across his troubled face, ruffling his hair more aggressively than probably intended. The brown strands fall haphazardly back against his temples. Wild and beautiful.

“You don’t gotta thank me,” he rasps out finally, his voice thick.

Of course, he would think that. After all, he merely kept a promise, hadn’t he? Delivered you to safety and nothing more, like some grim knight. That’s how he would see it.

But it’s not how you see it.

“I do,” you insist, voice slightly steadier now though your heart is anything but. “In earnest. I mean it.”

You are drowning in your appreciation for this man.

You do not want him walking away from here thinking he was just a means to your own survival, that this was nothing more than duty completed.

He has been more. So much more. And he deserves to know that.

The tendons in Bucky’s neck strain as his jaw stiffens further. Muscles in his face jump.

But he doesn’t look away. His blue eyes - blue like forget-me-nots and cornflowers and every flower you’ve ever tried to compare them to - flit between yours, looking for cracks, for lies. But there are none.

Silence crashes back in again. And something appears to be shifting in it. It’s not goodbye yet, not quite - but it’s close. So close you can feel it brushing against your skin so frigidly final.

You wonder if he feels it too.

Remembering, you shrug off the dark cloak around your shoulders. He bought it for you at that market so long ago - or perhaps not so long. Time has become rather vague on this journey, but that day stands crystalline in your memory. The warmth of his unexpected gesture. The protection it symbolized. The way he did it without a blink.

But you can’t keep it. It’s no longer yours. And he can use it far better if he continues on his journey to wherever it will take him next.

But before the fabric can fully slip off your shoulders, Bucky’s hands tighten it back around. Making sure it sits properly. His hands linger on your shoulders.

“No,” he says firmly, gritting his teeth slightly. He shakes his head once.

“You should take it back.”

“No,” he repeats, still sternly but quieter. “It’s yours.”

You snap your mouth back shut at the insistent way he stares at you. Letting your hands drop from the fabric, Bucky adjusts it another time before slowly moving his arms back to his side.

His eyes sweep over you. Meticulous. Unhurried. It makes your heart stutter painfully.

He seems to be doing what you have been trying to do - committing you to memory. Tracing every line of your face, every shot of emotion that passes through your eyes, and tucking it away where it will be safe.

The moment feels suspended. Infinite. But fond.

This was never meant to last.

But it hurts like hell that it’s ending.

And so you linger. Just a second longer, you tell yourself. Unsure how to step away from the place you’ve both come to, where the boundary between protector and protected has long since blurred into something softer, more human.

You’ve tried to brace yourself for this moment in a hundred quiet ways - attaching him to a place in your mind, memorizing the cadence of his breaths and the rough edges of his voice - none of it has prepared you for how impossible it feels now that it’s there.

You don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You can’t let this moment pass by without trying to hold onto it for just a little longer. Even if it doesn’t make the ache go away.

“What will you do now?” Your voice is bordering on tipping over but you try to keep it even enough. “Where will you go?”

You do want to know. Even if curiosity isn’t the whole of it. Maybe knowing will help make sense of losing him. Maybe if you can picture him somewhere - walking new roads, finding new places - you won’t have to carry your carved-out heart around all the time.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks past you, his face fixed somewhere in the distance. There is a crease in his brow. His fingers flex absently like he is working something through. For a moment, it seems he won’t answer at all.

“I’ve got a place to go, darlin',” he utters finally, the term slipping out as naturally as breath. “Don’t you worry about me.”

But there is something strange about the way he says it. Something weighted. An odd note in his voice that catches on the corners of your heart and refuses to let go. His voice is too quiet, the syllables too thick with meaning he doesn’t name. There is an implacable sadness around the words. So much thought. Something mournful lingers there, as if he might be grieving something. A thought he never dared to say out loud. A question he never dared to ask. And now never will.

It makes the ache in your chest fester and rip at the same time, urging you forward even though you don’t know where this conversation will lead. “You could stay here,” you offer. “Maybe for a while.”

You approached the suggestion timidly, like a leaf teetering on falling. You’ve made it sound careful, hesitant, afraid of disturbing whatever delicacy remains between you.

Bucky stands frozen. Head slightly bowed. His breath catches, a sound that is more of a sharp exhale than a laugh. Breathless, lacking any real mirth. Disbelieving. His head tilts lower toward the ground, perhaps searching for something there, something grounding. His shoulders shake subtly, as if he needs a second to pull himself back together.

When he lifts his head again, there is a tightness in his throat you can see in the effort it takes him to swallow.

“You know that won’t be possible, your Highness.”

Well, that hurt.

There’s a punch to your gut. There’s a stab to your heart. There’s a blow to your head.

All at the same time.

It leaves you bleeding so deeply, you don’t know how you’re still standing.

It leaves you gaping. With your heart in your hands. With your blood dripping to the dirty and leaves-covered floor.

His words don’t slice you open because they are mocking. God, that would be easier to dismiss.

No. His words pain you because there is no mockery at all.

None of his usual teasing lilt. No wry amusement or humor curling around his voice.

It’s gone. Everything stripped away until nothing is left but the sincere intent. He didn’t even call you princess. He called you what he was expected to call you. And he meant it.

He addressed you as a princess. As the most important person to your father's kingdom now that the king and queen are dead.

The persona you have distanced yourself from.

The persona you’ll have to step back into.

You’re so hurt you can’t breathe.

Because in that one utterance, he’s already bid you goodbye. Made it real in a way that spins you around, gutted and rootless.

In your ears, your heart beats to the thunder of a title that expects too much of you. It drums against your skin, as if in revulsion to your existence or perhaps the existence you are expected to have now.

And just like that, the freedom you hoped to have found in this forest - the warmth of the fire, the shared moments, passing glances - cracks apart and slips further from reach.

You want to protest, to tell him titles shouldn’t matter, not after everything you’ve experienced together. But his voice has been so pained.

And that’s the most heartbreaking part of it all. Because you know Bucky Barnes is a man who will carry this goodbye quietly, tucked deep into the hollow places of himself where no one will ever see it.

And you’re afraid that’s exactly what you’ll have to do too.

Because he is not meant to walk that path with you.

You try to hide and swallow the sting his words have caused.

But the pain that crossed your features has already been detected by Bucky.

And before you can step back, he leans toward you, closing the small space.

His hands lift without hesitation, large palms brushing against your skin as he cups your face between them. The hard lines of his fingers are familiar. So is the tenderness in which he holds you. He smells of pine and ash and Bucky. He is so close. Almost pressed up against you.

And your breath catches at the warmth seeping from him, at the fierce storm in his eyes. Remorse and sorrow bleed into the blue, shimmering with a kind of sympathy that nearly makes your knees buckle.

You can’t look away. He won’t let you.

And god, you wish he would, because this moment is everything and nothing you were ready for.

“You listen to me, darlin',” Bucky rumbles out, voice low and rough, with a gentleness that has you floating around his orbit. There is determination in his gaze. Not for himself, but for you. “You’re not your father. You’re not even like your mother. And that’s good. That’s good, because you’re better. Better than all the fools that’ll try to tell you otherwise.”

Your breath shudders against your lips. He leans in even further. Forget-me-nots actually do capture his eye color pretty well. You will have to find those flowers in your new gardens.

“You show 'em that,” he urges, though he still takes his time with telling you. Making his conviction come across. His thumbs brush ever so lightly against your cheekbones. “Make 'em believe it. I know you will.”

His belief wraps around your shattering heart, holding it together even as cracks threaten to tear open.

“You’re gonna be okay.” There was a slight waver in his voice but he caught it. “You are what these people need. Keep that in mind, yeah?”

His words are so achingly earnest. They have you teetering on the verge of tears.

“Yes,” you breathe out, giving him a nod. Just in case that whisper did not even reach him.

You feel something bloom inside you. Wildflowers perhaps, the color of all those you have spotted throughout your travel with this man. They push through cracks in stone and fill some of those spaces you had thought were left to be hollow forever.

The muscles in your jaw are trembling. They want to spill out a sob or a laugh or something else. But you hold firm.

Still, your breaths are released in shivers.

He believes you to be strong. He believes you to be your own powerful person without being shadowed by the ghosts of your parents.

And yet, there is something you spot in his eyes that you don’t want to see there. It’s a flicker of doubt. A tiny glimmer of self-deprecation that tells you he is convinced he is not part of that strength. And that he will never be.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for him, but you don’t dare move.

His eyes are still rooting you to the spot.

His breaths are mingling with yours.

The unrelenting blue of his eyes is so intently drawn to your own gaze.

There is nothing but him.

His touch sets every nerve in your body ablaze, buzzing with a tension so fierce it’s impossible to overcome.

You feel it thrumming between you. A crackling pull.

His eyes flicker down to your lips. And before you know it, your own eyes betray you as well. You trace his plump red mouth. Like poppy flowers. You would have to find those too.

He feels closer. The space between your faces is shrinking. So tentatively.

Your heart races wildly and you feel the rise and fall of his chest against your own.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly against your skin, seemingly torn between letting go and pulling you closer.

You want to close the distance.

You want him to close the distance.

A wave of sensation sweeps through your spine, leaving your skin tingling.

It would be so easy. Just lean up a tiny bit and press yourself against his lips. You already seem to be standing on your tippy toes anyway.

You could let this moment become something even more tangible and real, something you could carry with you in the spaces of your heart reserved just for him.

His lips hover just a breath away from yours, and you can feel the warmth of him. Everywhere. You feel him everywhere. His breath fans over your face so sweetly.

You both know where this is leading.

And unfortunately, you both know why this can’t happen.

Before your lips get the chance to fully touch, he pulls back. Slowly at first. Only an inch, studying your reaction, flipping his eyes between yours so rapidly you can’t keep up.

But then, reluctantly, he lets you go and takes a step back. His hands fall to his sides as if he has no idea what to do with them.

This is the end of the road.

If you fall into his arms now, it will only make the parting more difficult.

But it’s still not even nearly easy.

With a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and pull the cloak tighter around yourself. Just so you have something to do.

A gust of chilly wind hits you and you miss his touch in an instant. You feel removed. Cold.

You’ll carry this hurt, just as you will carry him. Just not behind the same door.

The space between you seems haunted now.

Like something has been stolen from the both of you.

You feel like you’re about to be pressed into the earth.

You know this is the part where you have to go. Where fate and duty carve their lines through your shared path, splitting it in two directions. He takes one half of your heart along with him.

Bucky’s eyes remain steadfast on you. Shadows are turning in and out of his gaze. He watches everything - the wind pulling at your cloak, the slight tremble of your lips, the desperate defiance in your gaze as though willing this not to be the last time.

Breath quivering, you force yourself to stand taller, chin lifted, although you don’t feel like it.

You don’t want to walk away. You don’t want this to end. But it has to. It always had to.

Your voice is thin and brittle like the last leave holding onto a winter branch. “Goodbye, Bucky,” you breathe.

And it still tastes inadequate on your tongue. It doesn’t hold even a fraction of what you truly feel, of what he’s come to mean to you.

Bucky’s movement is a slow gesture of a nod, almost seeming to store this moment away in a secure place deep within him. “Goodbye, darlin'.”

You take a step back, each inch widening a chasm between you. The pain is an entity that breathes inside your chest. Your legs are stiff, the earth not wanting to let you leave itself.

When you are about to turn, your throat clogs and his voice catches you in your tracks.

“Do me one favor, will you?”

You pivot cautiously, meeting his gaze. “Anything.”Fracture lines your voice. But you make it sound resolute. You’ll hold whatever he gives you tightly in your heart where it will live forever.

The corners of his mouth lift into a ghost of a smile. It’s feeble and laden with sorrow. It holds his final goodbye. The sight takes the wind right out of you.

“Don’t forget about me, yeah?”

You won’t.

How could you ever forget about Bucky Barnes.

“I’ll spend a lifetime remembering you.”

- Astrid Suu

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd

[xo2dee]

NOW LOADING. .

JJK MASTERLIST

OPIA/GOJO NSFW WEEK 2023 - DAY THREE: BODY WORSHIP

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x (Fem)Reader WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Body worship, cockwarming, slight body insecurity. WORD COUNT: 1,642 SUMMARY: Between the sheets, he finally bares all to you. Or: You admire Gojo.

A/N: gojo with scars was something we got horribly robbed of.

Milky white skin was what you saw glimpses of at times; a stretch of his arms upwards, like he was cat, letting his shirt ride up and see the beginning of his abdomen lingering down into his groin. A knotted row of abdominal muscles was after that, or perhaps the sleeves of his shirts stretching over his biceps whenever he flexed at them at you for the, ‘Gun Show’ (or maybe you got a peekaboo of that white hair sitting snugly in the middle of that delicious V-line he possessed). Though you supposed your favorites was seeing his hands (long fingers curving and pressing into your thighs) and the sharp junctions of his collarbones (your mouth lingering about the area, pressing chaste kisses to him as he trailed a finger down your spine), yet, all in all, for someone such as Satoru being so close to you at times it was odd to see him completely bare to you.

Which was why when you finally saddled him down (literally) and splayed your fingers across the expanse of his torso before your other hand wiggled its way underneath his shirt to pull it off of him, you took extra precaution to notice that he seemed to… retreat into himself. His shoulders raising to almost… hide himself, but you paid it no mind for the time being as to not intrude him. Instead he let you ride him that night with kisses pressed along his jugular, taking him fully within you as he moaned and his nose scrunched up with red cheeks underneath you, until you were both satisfied and his cum sat inside of you.

However you laid on top of him to bask in the post-coital bliss, the both of you catching your breaths and communing through the lust infested pheromones fogging up your brains and kept his cock inside of you as it began to slowly soften. You fluttered your eyelashes against his throat in butterfly kisses as his fingers traced your spine, your cheek lying against a particular rough patch of skin that you’d only seen a handful of times that made your hand ghost across his abdomen until you were tickling your fingertips across the rather long and deep scar. His reaction was instantaneous, spurning a conversation you’d been longing to have since you’d caught glimpses of it.

Satoru reacted underneath you, a snort bubbling out of his chest at your touch as he laughed and wiggled underneath you, “Don’t do that.”

His laughing caused his entire body to move, hips rocking up into you to as his cock jutted up against your insides abruptly. You fought back a squeal, your stomach flipping in circles and hair prickling across your body as you pinched his nipple, “Don’t laugh when you’re inside of me!”

“Well don’t tickle me when I am!” he batted your hand away, his body trying to turn away from you yet not getting very far considering you were attached to him like a leech, and that he was still inside of you. Your knees hit the mattress with huff, wincing at the soreness sitting heavy in-between your legs as you lifted yourself up to sit fully atop of him.

Palms splayed out and finger spread across his chest, you took him in as he gazed up at you, “I wasn’t tickling you… and you of all people aren’t ticklish…”

His thumbs began to rub circles onto your hip bones, a shrug accompanying him later, “You don’t know that.”

The statement made you pause, different situations and scenarios running by your brain in millisecond’s when you considered every possible moment that you had touched him. Surely you would’ve taken notice to that before with how many times you’d snuck your hands under his shirts for warmth and he never once jolted whenever your fingertips pressed so softly against his skin, tracing the sculpture of his muscles as you went. Yet of course, that particular scar wasn’t something he showed off too often; more-so he seemed to cover up as much possible. You wiggled your pinky finger over to where the blemish began, voice coming out softer than you expected, “Is it just that particular spot…?”

Satoru shrugged again, his expression and his tone trying to be as nonchalant as possible “Could be… Sometimes it’s a little more sensitive than the rest.” His voice, however, ended up tapering off in the end, blue eyes in the creamy moonlight losing focus on you as they seemed to find another memory to gaze upon. His pupils dilated only once, lost in the fire of whatever he was remembering before it quickly dissipated and he was back to looking at you.

You frowned, looking down at his body.

“This is the only scar you have…” You began to speak quieter.

“You’re right, and for good reason.” He began to grow quieter.

Satoru didn’t have to tell you, but you more than obliged to let him know you understood.

In the moonlight, you could appreciate him further; all the jutted dips and smoothness where he remained remotely untouched that someone was a perfect metaphor for who he was. His body reminded you of a painting, dips and texture when you ran your fingertips across the canvas akin to how it felt to caress his skin. That scar was its own brush of paint, roping together into an abstract of art that you were eager to admire and even more eager to be able to touch.

With Satoru’s sculpted body on display you slid your hand down and pressed it onto his tight stomach, feeling the muscles twitch and flex underneath your touch as you began walking your fingers up and down each abdominal muscular tissue with a small grin on your face. Once you got to his faint happy trail you ran a slow fingertip along it while hearing him hiss through his clenched teeth in pleasure and his body twitch at the sensation as you did so, a quiet laugh leaving you before tracing your fingers back along each taut part of him.

“Oh my God – babe, you can’t laugh when I’m inside of you,” his cock twitched against your walls, your lips twitching at his hitched breath as you didn’t answer him, leaning down to press a kiss in the middle of his pectorals. His low sigh encouraged you, peppering kisses along his torso much like he did your own in your own form of body worship.

A higher-pitched noise sounding like a whine left him as whenever you laid back down and folded your body fully into his own, kissing around his ribcage as he jumped and you backed off to blink coyly up at him, watching as he kept his eyes on the ceiling and his parted, pink lips continuing to match the coloring on his cheeks, “Still so ticklish? Or are you just sensitive?” you teased.

His fingers dug deeper into your hips, his body shifting to accommodate you and a sigh pushing through his lips whenever you pressed your cheek back into his chest with your arms weaving around his body. His tone was slightly shaky when he answered you, “I don’t know… It – It feels good though, so you can keep going,” he admitted perhaps a bit too shaky for his own liking as his breathing began to speed up the more you kissed along his chest.

You hummed against his hot skin faded with sweat and with Satoru’s sweet sighs and relaxing muscles egging you on, you kissed that old, fading scar. You kissed it with an overwhelming amount of affection, a reminder that he was still gorgeous with it and a reminder that he was strong enduring even the harshest of battles and coming out from them alive; a reminder that his scar (mental or physical) was a symbol of keeping his promise. He blew air through his mouth then, a sigh so soft and full of longing it made you realize he never really had the attention towards himself that way – be it his own reasoning and all.

Each kiss you placed onto his warm skin you sighed afterwards, discreetly inhaling his scent each time you did so for how good he smelled and how his natural scent brought you comfort more than you could imagine. As you felt along his body, you began to feel the jittery nerves you had before slowly begin crawl back into the depths of your mind to be forgotten for the time and to be replaced with the burning affection you had for him. You found your way back to his face with a chaste kiss pressed to his mouth, one filled passion in its own sense and with enough undertone of your meaning in it for him to understand your point. Your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage into his own, his fingers digging slightly into your face and yours lingering about atop his chest, and the wisps of his hair tickling your cheeks as your lips molded together in the perfect fit of the puzzle you’d been searching for. His gratitude in the form of words he couldn’t find for the situation, and you realized suddenly neither one of you minded that each other were naked and could find comfort in the skin-to-skin contact.

You pulled off of him and he grinned at you, all shiny white teeth and batting eyelashes, “Awh, don’t get all sweet on me.”

A scoff left you, the words on the tip of your tongue yet not leaving you just yet. “You say that, but your ears are red, Satoru.”

“That’s because you’re on top of me and I’m still inside of you.”

“Riiiight.”

The rest of your words were lost within the sheets; silk and passion mixing together as you both had found a newfound appreciation within each other.

[ddejavvu]

Animangus reader x Remus where she is a cat and while he sits in the common room asleep on his lap while he readers and Sirius comes in and stops the cat immediately with a "what is that?" In disgust. When Remus responds "a cat?" Padfoot is immediately barking at her and she startals awake digging her nails into Remus before she jumps on top of a book shelf and transforms back and I stuck up there throwing a book at Sirius.

Sirius Black's voice is, perhaps, never melodic, but it's far more grating than usual today when the man stops dead in the doorway and demands to know, "What is that?"

Remus glances up at him, then down to his lap where Sirius's eyes are locked, finding only your little cat form curled up and dozing.

"A cat." Remus blinks, uninterested until he realizes that his explanation hadn't been enough to de-escalate Sirius. Apparently, he should have notified him that you are not just a cat, but that you are, in fact, his girlfriend. Sirius isn't aware of your animagus abilities yet, and before Remus can stop him, he's transforming into his own animal counterpart.

"Sirius, no-!" Remus tries, but it's too late. He finds that dogs' paws are far less gentle and comforting than cats' paws are, only when there are four of them jabbing into his thighs and torso as Sirius vaults into his lap. Fortunately, you'd escaped the dog's snapping maw, but you'd startled awake with a yelp and jumped onto the bookcase behind Remus's head, which means that you're now sleep-deprived, terrified, and stuck.

"Pads," Remus sighs despondently as the dog braces his front two paws on Remus's shoulder to bark up at you. Your back is arched and you're yowling down at Sirius, until you manage to scramble to the top of the bookshelf and find yourself on a steady surface. You have space to transform back now, and you do so while perched precariously atop the bookshelf, eyes just as sharp and unnerving as they were in your cat form when you glare at Sirius.

"You stupid mutt," You accuse, "I just wanted to nap!"

Now Remus has a lapful of Sirius, fur giving way to pale skin and messy black locks. He glares rather unimpressed at his best friend, but Sirius pays him no mind, gaping up at you where you balance on the top of the bookshelf.

"You're an animagus!" He realizes, and you scoff at his inspiring observational skills.

"Well done, Sirius" You sneer, "I didn't know becoming a dog animagus meant you'd retain the same intelligence level even as a human."

"Dogs are very smart," Sirius muses, unphased, "I didn't know you were an animagus!"

"That's because you were too busy collecting sticks beneath your bed," Remus grumbles, pushing at Sirius's chest, "Come on, Pads, off."

"Alright, alright," Sirius whines, pitching himself rather dramatically off of Remus's lap and offering a hand to you where you're still balanced on the bookshelf, "Here, Y/N, jump off this way."

"Absolutely not!" You vow, then with a whirl of limbs and fur, reside in a cat's body once more. Sirius watches as you bat a paw at his outstretched hand, then leap gracefully back into Remus's lap, hissing warningly at him before curling up once more to doze.

"Prissy," Sirius scoffs, and Remus juts out a gentle hand to stroke along your back when you look like you might leap at him. You're placated enough, for the time being, and Sirius stalks away to busy himself with something, hopefully homework but probably his aforementioned stick collection.

"Well I suppose the cat's out of the bag now," Remus muses, a sound between a laugh and a grunt managing to escape his lips when you dig your claws into his jeans at the poor joke, "Alright! Alright, sorry. But don't let him bother you, darling, okay?" Remus strokes a finger between your ears and grins when they twitch, "He's just a dumb dog."

[koiiiji]

being in big deals from beginning with Sinu, but leaving with Samuel after

pairing ; samuel seo x reader x jake kim

tw ; polyamorous, mfm, possessive! samuel

author note ; my first time writing for lookism and for this two, also im on chapter 343 only, so if something not accurate enough im sorry!! ALSO celebrating 400 followers!! and even tho ask box is closed, i still want to do something nice for you, so if you want you can leave your requests for SHMOL sketches under, i will do it super short and put it in one post!! lookism and windbreaker💋✨💐🤸🏼‍♀️

author note 2 ; not proofed, i wrote it after work with one eye open, so i just throw it to chat gpt to check any mistakes, if you find any you know who you can judge😤🫸🏻

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‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈౨ৎ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

⋆𐙚₊˚ you have been with big deals even before Jake and Samuel joined, which means you were more close with Sinu, who was like a older brother figure for you

⋆𐙚₊˚ you always were good with calculating and make predictions so you literally was the reason why big deals didn’t have any debts to any other gangs or companies

⋆𐙚₊˚ when Jake and Samuel joined big deals they firstly didn't pay too much attention, just another girl spinning around Sinu, nothing new

⋆𐙚₊˚ but then they started to notice that you always appears at every meeting, even if it were just for big deal, not including girls who work on their street, always whispering something on Sinu ear and checking some papers

⋆𐙚₊˚ it was slow burn in beginning, they payed you more attention on meetings, started more small talks time to time, as soon as they caught that you are actual part of big deals. also, later they learned that you actually liked Sinu as older brother, and that was the moment when they start... acting…

⋆𐙚₊˚ of course you had your small moments together before. like you accidentally fall asleep on Jake’s shoulder when everybody celebrated another holiday, or when you asked both of them to show you some actions, - in case if you will be alone on the street, so you can protect yourself - and seemed that Samuel got a little carried away and pushed you too hard, but catching you by your wrist just moment before your head was about to hit the ground

⋆𐙚₊˚ there were always that moments between three of you

⋆𐙚₊˚ but first one who started to show off were Samuel

⋆𐙚₊˚ he already were jealous over the fact that Sinu choosed Jake as his favourite one, so he can’t let Jake to have yours attention as well. later it will be worse, when he will learn who Jake’s father was

⋆𐙚₊˚ Samuel would always flirt with you making it crystally clear that he likes you, and you wouldn't even notice it because of amount of work for big deals and of homework you still had in school

⋆𐙚₊˚ and when Samuel brutally flirts with you, trying to get your attention, Jake would snort, turning his eyes somewhere else, trying to ignore it and telling Jerry to "stop say stupid stuff like this" when he, once again tried to push his boss to admit his feelings towards you

⋆𐙚₊˚ for Jake it's complicating because he see how Samuel likes you, so he doesn’t want to ruin everything even tho he himself had so many feelings towards you

⋆𐙚₊˚ and Jake waited for too long...

⋆𐙚₊˚ when Samuel took leading position in big deals you were forced to stay by leader side to help him earn as much money as possible to pay to big four, but when Samuel left big deals for workers he asked you to go with him

⋆𐙚₊˚ Samuel was far from gentle man, but when his huge arms hugged your shoulders from behind, softly murmuring into your ear to come with him in new gang, to join him and stay by his side, offering you simply better life, where you won't need to calculate how to save more money until next month, where you will be able to buy expensive clothes, where you can offer yourself jut... more... it was hard to resist to Samuel espesially when you lived your whole life expecting how to safe money to the next month and economize as much as you can

⋆𐙚₊˚ so thats how you left big deals with Samuel, still with heavy heart for Sinu and big deals in general

⋆𐙚₊˚ Jake was feral when Jerry told him that. in his head it was more like Samuel forced you. oh, Jake were fully aware that Samuel were able to use power over girls, and Jake blamed himself for the fact that you had to leave the big deals

⋆𐙚₊˚ when you and Samuel become part of workers, he won’t let you go far away from him. you would be his personal assistant and manager. everything but always by his side. you always. by his side. always. Samuel even went that far that he rent big apartments for both of you, of course with separate rooms, you still didn’t accept his feelings and were naive about what kind of emotion you rise in him

⋆𐙚₊˚ Jake tried to contact you few times but, oh wow, what a surprise, Samuel always were the one to pick up the phone, telling him to leave you alone

⋆𐙚₊˚ to say less Jake felt terrible back then, things that happened to Sinu, Gun Park and his big four gangs, praises about money and the heir at his place, big deals, everything at one time…

⋆𐙚₊˚ and then prison… Jake felt like biggest loser on this planet

⋆𐙚₊˚ and he would never wish you to see all horrors of this place, but here you are sitting on the other side of safety glass, looking too beautiful to place like this, too pretty in your fitted white shirt and pleated skirt. Jerry probably yanked you right out of the office. another self note - to chastise Jerry next time for bringing you to place like this

⋆𐙚₊˚ “Jake… im sorry, i had no idea what happened to you” you murmured softly into the receiver of the phone connecting the two sides. “Samuel never said anything about that… I was shocked when Jerry just caught me near office and crammed me in the car”

⋆𐙚₊˚ after that day, you came to Jake more often, slipping away from Samuel under the pretext that you wanted to meet an old friend from school and he didn't need to attend girls' gatherings

⋆𐙚₊˚ when Jake finally got out of prison, one of the first things that he did was ask you to eat ramen together. you told him everything about your new life, that now you live with Samuel and he takes care about everything, starting with payments for apartments, finishing with fuel for car, as he always ready to ride you to any part of city

⋆𐙚₊˚ Jake felt feral when you told him whole story.

⋆𐙚₊˚ not only that bastard not tell you what happened to Jake, but he also controlled the calls and forced you to live with him. Jake knew what Samuel's feelings were for you, even if you perceived his care and relationship as friendly or brotherly, Jake still guessed what was behind it. but he never imagined that his friend would get to the point where he would keep you with him 24/7 and secretly control your phone calls from anybody from big deals

⋆𐙚₊˚ after that meeting Jake knew that he can’t offer you to stay at his small room he rent, even if he really wanted you to stay more by his side. he didn't tell you about his guesses about Samuel, you don't have to worry, yet you were safer with him than with Jake now. the only thing he did before sending you home in a taxi was hug you so tightly - tightly, it seems that his hands were a little lower than he should have allowed himself, and his hot breath was a little off when his lips were too close to your neck.

⋆𐙚₊˚ in the end, Jake pushed your hair off your forehead, and pressed his lips firmly to your forehead, shut his eyes and quietly promised himself to deal with Samuel later

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈౨ৎ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

[theoriginalkaminari]

Attention span of a squirrel

Shoto Todoroki with an S/O who is very silly

Also seriously pls do not repost or reblog

Warnings: swearing sorta? Uh reader is GN and stuff.

Also the reason I call this 'Attention span of a squirrel' is bc squirrels have the attention span of uhhhhhh

Shoto was hanging from a rope, ankle first and upside down. The rope made him spin around the room very slowly as he felt the blood go to his head.

To make things worse, Shoto was dangling over a pit. It was foggy down there, so he wasn't able to see the bottom.

You both were chosen to go against Aizawa for this project, to see how well you did in a real villain situation.

So far?

Not so great.

Shoto was beginning to feel lightheaded, so he called out to you to try and bring your attention back to the situation.

"L/N." He calls, making you jolt out of your distracted state and back at him. "Hm?" You look up at him. "Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot." You laugh nervously, scratching the back of your neck.

"Okay...so..." You tap your chin in thought as you stare at the rope wrapped around Shoto's ankle. "If I were me...which I am...then how would I get Shoto out of here?" You jut out your bottom lip slightly, narrowing your eyes as if it would make you think harder.

"I don't mean to rush you," Shoto begins in his usual monotone voice. "But Mr. Aizawa could be approaching." He says, spinning slowly as the rope clings to his ankle.

You don't seem to hear this, as you're staring down at the pit. "Aha! I've got the situation!" You grin confidently, stumbling slightly as you take off your right shoe. Shoto raises an eyebrow, confused to what you were doing.

Then you suddenly throw your shoe into the pit. "One..." And you begin counting. "Two...three....four.....five..." You continue. Shoto feels confused as he stares at you. What the hell were you doing?

"L/N. What are you doing?" He finally asks, eyes still trained on your every move.

After you count to ten, you beam proudly, like you made a shocking discovery. At least, you thought you did.

"Well my icy friend," You begin as you point down into the pit. "We have discovered a bottomless pi-" You were interrupted by a soft 'thud' of your shoe finally hitting the bottom of the pit.

"Oh. Nevermind. Not bottomless, just ten seconds deep."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Shoto asks, tilting his head as best he can. You just turn back and grin at him.

"Well, if I cut you down from there, at least I know how long you'll be falling for!" You beam, like you've solved all world problems.

"Okay, now hold still." You try to reach for the rope, but stumble and almost fall into the pit. "Whoa!" You yelp lightly as the dirt crumbles beneath your feet. Luckily you got out of the way in time.

"Okay! New plan." You clap your hands together. Then, to Shoto's dismay, you begin to pace around the pit. After a while, you grin. Its not an innocent grin, but a mischievous one. Almost Bakugo like.

You suddenly run backwards. Shoto sighs in disappointment, thinking you've given up on him. "How do I-" He stops himself when he looks back at you, now charging at him. "L/N! What are you-"

You grin as you jump off the ledge of the pit, jumping up to grab him. You use a pocket knife to cut the rope in the process so you both don't get stuck.

You and Shoto tumble onto the otherside, landing into a pile of eachother.

Sort of a 69 position.

Quickly, you both pull away and stand up.

Shoto feels embarrassed, looking away from you and not knowing what to say.

That is, until you clear your throat. "So...here." You hand him a small amethyst rock. Maybe you collected it a while ago, or you found it somewhere. Eitherway, you don't really remember.

Shoto tilts his head, looking at the amethyst in your palm, then back at your face. "Whats this?" He asks.

You smile softly, finding his confusion amusing. "A gift! See? Its pretty, like you." You beam. Shoto swears he sees light emitting from you as you smile at him. Shoto gives a small smile in return, and takes the amethyst. "Thank you, L/N." He says, his voice soft.

You laugh softly and place your hands on your hips. "And since I gave you a gift, we're friends now. Is that okay?" You say, even though Shoto doesn't have a choice in the matter.

Shoto puts the amethyst in his pocket. "Okay."

You grin and give him a small thumbs up. "Great! So you have to call me by my first name now, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, Y/N."

"Atta boy!"

Shoto smiles softly. He feels a sudden feeling in his chest, snapping him out of his thoughts. He places a hand on his chest, suddenly very confused.

Did my heart skip a beat? Do I have heart problems? Perhaps I should see Recovery Girl after this.... He thought.

Eventually, the day ended, and everyone was heading to their dorm rooms to finally get some sleep.

All except Shoto. He stayed on the green couch in the lounge, staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought.

"We're friends now, so you have to call me by my first name!" Your voice rang in his head like a lullaby.

A week passed, and you and Shoto stared hanging out more. You would say things like:

"Shoto! Do you ever thinks ants get lonely?"

"Shoto! Did you know worms have an asshole?"

"Shoto! Whats your least favorite animal?"

Things that would make him smile, or things that would make him confused. Things that would make him think, or things that would make him surprised.

Every little thing you did made him have a soft and warm feeling in his chest. Shoto, completely oblivious to these feelings, decides to confront his friend, Izuku. One night, everyone is staring to head to bed, when Shoto approaches Izuku.

"Midoriya." He says, staring the conversation. "I need your help."

Izuku tilts his head, looking up at his friend. His green eyes fill with curiosity. "What is it, Todoroki? Is everything okay?" He wonders.

"I think I have heart problems." Shoto says, in earshot for Mina and Ochako to hear.

"WHAT?!" Mina gasps, suddenly very interested to Shoto's conversation with Izuku. Mina and Ochako rush over to them, their eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay, Todoroki? Should we get you to the hospital?" Midoriya asks, standing up as his expression turns to one of concern.

Shoto thinks for a moment, before speaking again. "No. I just feel a warm feeling in my chest, and sometimes my heart skips a beat. Sometimes my face gets hot, even though I try and cool myself down with my left side."

Mina and Ochako's eyes widen. The two beam, leaning ever so closely to Shoto. "Do you feel this way around a certain someone?" Mina says, her voice giddy and excited.

Shoto nods. "Yes, it happens around L/- I mean, Y/N."

Mina and Ochako squeal, while Izuku sighs in relief, glad his friend isn't suffering from any heart failure.

"What? What is it?" Shoto looks at them all, very confused. Did he really have heart problems...?

"Its love!" Mina grabs Ochako's hands, the two of them bouncing around in circles.

"Love..?" Shoto tilts his head. "Yes, Y/N is my friend. I care for them deeply." He nods, confused to why Mina and Ochako were makeing a big deal about this fact.

"No, Todoroki!" Mina looks at him in the eyes as she stops bouncing. "Romantic love." She corrects.

Something in Shoto's brain clicks. "Oh." He says quietly, a soft dusty pink tainting his cheeks.

Shoto began to hang out with you more, staying by your side as you ramble about silly things, or smiling as you show him silly things.

Until one day, Izuku encouraged him to confess.

Shoto asked you to meet him at the courtyard after school, and you did. Shoto took a deep breath, trying to gather his nerves before he spoke to you.

"Y/N." He says softly as he looks into your eyes.

Your beautiful eyes...the ones he could get lost in for hours. The ones he loved staring into.

"I have feelings for you. Romantic ones." He finally says after a moment of silence.

You, being the person you were, holds up a hand for him to high-five. "Dude, no way, that is awesome sauce!" You say.

Shoto looks at you in confusion and disbelief. You suddenly cover your mouth in embarrassment, muttering quiet apologizes.

"Oh god, I'm really sorry, Shoto! It just popped into my head and then my mouth talked and then it all fell apart but what I ment to say was..." You take a deep breath, and look at him in the eyes.

"I love you. Like a lot." You hold out your arms as far as they could go. "If I was able to, I would stretch my arms pur way further but this is as far as they can go. But I really do love you!" You beam.

Shoto chuckles softly at your antics. He suddenly feels...complete.

You smile as well, and lower your hands. Then, you slowly extend your hand out to him to take. Shoto's eyes light up slightly. He slowly take your hand, and you intertwine your fingers with his.

"Now I get to tell people I have my own furnace AND my own cooler!" You grin brightly, making Shoto chuckle again.

He kisses your cheek gently. "Your pretty." He whispers.

And so doofus and doofus 2.0 relationship begins.

[cameronspecial]

Really, Rafe?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Couple Arguments and Angst

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: What is supposed to be a romantic getaway starts to feel like something else when Y/N realizes the type of activities the resort has.

A/N: Inspired by this post (Totally not because Tom Holland liked the post).

Masterlist

One rule in their relationship is that Y/N and Rafe take turns planning dates. Everything from small picnic dates to large vacation dates. This time, it is his turn to plan a vacation. When it comes to holiday trips, it doesn’t have to be far or grand. It could be a small thing, as long as it is a getaway from their normal life for at least two days. The last one they went on was when they both went to a small beach house in Myrtle Beach. Y/N was lucky enough to have found a private rental away from most of the city’s commotion. It was just the ocean, cocktails and the two of them for a week. It was absolute Heaven. As she watches the scenery pass by, Y/N can’t help her excitement as to where they are going. “Can’t you tell me where we are going?” she pleads. Her eyes are as big as dinner plates. He gently squeezes her thigh and throws her a smile, “That’s a secret for me to know and for you to find out.” She giggles with a shake of her head. “That is such a cliche saying.” He shrugs, “So? It still doesn’t mean I am going to tell you.” She gives him a playful pout and continues to look out of the window. 

Ten minutes later, the dense forest turns to equally placed decorative trees and the paved road turns to decorative stones. He parks the car and steps out to open the door for her. She takes in the castle-like resort. The golden trimming and fascia remind the girl of Versailles. She imagines all sorts of things they can do together. Sit by the pool with a drink in hand. Relax thanks to the hands of a masseuse. Dine in fairytale-like restaurants. It takes her breath away, but only for a second because she finally spots the real reason why they are here. To the right of the building are expansive green plains with people of various ages swinging back a club to send the ball flying through the air. Y/N notices Rafe isn’t by her side and turns to find him unloading his golf clubs from the trunk. He packed the trunk, so she didn’t notice it. Disappointment falls over her as it all clicks into place. 

“Really, Rafe?” she disgruntled. Her arms cross over each other and her right hip juts out. He looks at her with a tight-lipped smile, “What? This place has a great high tea evening, which I know you’ve been dying to try. And they have an indoor and outdoor pool that you could take advantage of. Plus, a great spa package for you to try.” This man is really digging his own grave. She lets out a bitter laugh. “You do realize through your whole little spiel, you always said you. Never we, like you expect me to do all those things by myself while you go off and spend all your time with your golf clubs,” she argues. Rafe’s eyes widen, “No, Sugar, you got it all wrong. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I planned on doing all those things with you. I promise I just brought my clubs in case you got sick of me and I need to give you some space.” She didn’t believe him. Not when a previous experience told her otherwise. It may have been four years ago when they started dating, yet a girl never forgets. Rafe had planned a date at a football bar. It would’ve been fine if his sole reasoning wasn’t to be surrounded by TVs to watch the game. Halfway through the date, other football fans joined their table to watch the event with him. She felt so ignored and unimportant during that hour. She left the date without so much as a goodbye.

She wouldn’t have seen him again if it wasn’t for how apologetic he was. He expressed remorse through his words and then flowers. She eventually forgave him, agreeing to another date. However, she never forgot the way that she felt in that bar. The humiliation of walking away from a man who paid her no attention. Up until today, she never regretted the decision to give him a second chance. Now, she feels the same way. She worries he didn’t listen to her concern about them not being able to spend a lot of quality time with each other because of how busy they have been with work. It’s the reason why they decided to go on this two-week getaway. To reconnect with each other and they couldn’t do that if he planned to spend all his time on the course. “Sure, that’s totally why you did it. If you didn’t want to spend time with me, Rafe, you could’ve told me. I would’ve given you the space and you wouldn’t have had to drag me with you here,” she criticizes, storming into the hotel to calm down.

———

For the past five minutes, she has been cooling herself down in the resort lobby. Rafe has been at the front desk, probably checking into their room. She doesn’t know if she should stay or just call a cab to take her to the nearest train station. She watches as he points in her direction and the receptionist gives him a nod. The woman removes herself from behind the counter, walking over to Y/N with a smile. “Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N? Could you please follow me to the front desk?” the receptionist, named Kate according to her name tag, asks. Y/N hesitates to nod, yet still obeys the request. Once at the front desk, Y/N keeps her distance from Rafe. Kate types into her computer and turns it toward the female guest, “Mr. Cameron requested I show you all the bookings he made for stay here.” Rafe’s girlfriend stares at him with narrow eyes and he leans in to whisper in her ear. “I didn’t tell her what happened. I just asked her to show you what I booked.” She gives him a small nod, turning her attention toward the screen.  

The list is long, but it is easy to recognize a pattern. Everything is reserved for a couple and not a single one is a tee-time reservation. She couldn’t argue that he had Kate remove his tee times because literally every single minute between nine in the morning and seven in the evening had something planned. She made a horrible mistake and accused Rafe of not caring about her. She turns to him with teary eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, Rafe,” she apologizes, wrapping her arms around him. He lets her snuggle into his neck and wraps his arms around her waist. His lips rest on her forehead, “It’s okay, Sugar, I know I was really an ass on that date so long ago. I mean I can’t say I’m not hurt that you still think I could still be that idiot, but I am grateful every day that you chose to forgive me. Which means that I have it in my heart to forgive you too. I love you.” She presses her lips against his. “Thank you for forgiving me. I love you too.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[wileys-russo]

Leah Williamson “I leave you alone for 5 minutes” park

left unsupervised II l.williamson

"don't run mia, walk!" you yelled in warning after your niece who sprinted off the moment leah helped her out of the car and her feet hit the ground. "did you ever walk at that age? you hardly sit still now love." your girlfriend teased, holding the door open for you.

"she was born with two left feet, i have fantastic coordination." you scoffed defensively, leah clearing her throat as you reached in and grabbed mia's backpack.

"chivalry isn't free babe, kiss please." the blonde puckered her lips as your own curled into a smile. "clingy." you teased, but rewarding her none the less with a gentle kiss as she beamed, practically skipping off after your niece.

"great, now i have to babysit two kids!" you sighed watching the defender scramble off into the playground after her four year old accomplice who'd been stuck to leah's side from the very first moment you'd introduced her to your entire family.

it was quite endearing really despite how much their alliance drove you up the wall at times, the pair having far too much fun ganging up on you. then when mia's mum, your eldest sister, was around it was an all out three on one mutiny that had you pulling your hair out at the best of times.

"leah! get her down!" you cupped your hands over your mouth, pointing toward mia who was squatted and readying herself to leap off the top of the jungle gym onto the sand below which was an easy six metre drop.

"nah she's got it!" your girlfriend dismissed with a flick of her hand, moving to stand beneath her with her arms open clearly ready to catch her as mia's face lit up.

"ready? one, two, three!" you winced and looked away as the girl leapt off and landed safely in leahs awaiting arms as you exhaled and shook your head, your phone starting to ring in your pocket.

leah now pushing mia on the swings as she let out an adorable string of giggles you stepped away to answer it, your sister asking if you were able to have mia for an extra few hours as she was caught up at work which you promised was more than fine.

doing shift work as a nurse and a single mum meant your niece had spent a good portion of each week in either your or your own mums care since she was a baby, but you wouldn't want it any other way.

you were pulled from your thoughts as there was a tug on your shirt, glancing down you met the bright green eyes of the four year old in question as you bid your sister goodbye and hung up.

"you alright shorty? where's leah?" you bent down to her level, smiling at the way she rolled her eyes. "not short!" she warned with a huff, poking harshly at your shoulder. "shorter than me." you teased, brushing away some sand from her knees.

"aunty lee needs help!" mia announced as now you frowned. "help playing a game? i told you mi sometimes aunty lee only looks cranky because she likes winning but really-" you started to explain your girlfriends horrid sore loser tenancies but mia shook her head, tugging on your shirt again.

"come on! you're so slow and she's stuck." mia interlaced her fingers with yours with a small groan, pulling you away with a slight stumble as you hurried to keep pace with her tiny legs which pumped furiously.

"oh my god." you gasped as you arrived where in fact your girlfriend did need help. "i got help aunty lee!" mia announced proudly, patting your girlfriends cheek fondly. "yeah you did, thanks buddy." leah mumbled, cheeks flushed red clearly embarrassed as you crossed your arms and jutted out your hip, cocking an eyebrow.

"i leave you alone for five minutes." you sighed with a shake of your head, leahs own dropping in shame. "it was an accident!" leah whined, kicking at the sand with a huff and a scowl, refusing to meet your eyes.

"what happened babe?" you grinned, leahs head somehow wedged between the bars of a makeshift shop counter. "she dared me, its her fault!" leah pointed toward your niece whose posture now mirrored your own, hip jutted out and arms crossed.

"no! aunty lee dared me to and i said no then she called me a little chicken." mia huffed as leahs cheeks blushed even brighter red as your niece stuck her tongue out at her and ran off to keep playing.

"so the four year old is the chicken for saying no to doing something very dumb that you, the twenty six year old adult then did to prove you weren't a chicken, and now you're stuck?" you recounted making sure you had the facts right, still keeping one eye on mia who was busy trying to build a snowman with the sand without much luck.

"no." leah mumbled again kicking at the ground and refusing to meet your eyes. "no?" you questioned, lips curling into a grin. "maybe." your girlfriend admitted quietly, gaze flickering up guiltily to meet your own.

"maybe?" you sung out teasingly as leah groaned. "for fuck sakes would you just help me!" leah whined, struggling to free herself with a grunt. "how the hell did you even fit your head in?" you shook your own with disbelief, moving around behind her and trying to help her pull herself free.

after five minutes of fruitless struggle you had to make the call. "babe no, please no!" leahs eyes widened as you pulled out your phone with an apologetic smile. "i have to love, there's no way we're getting you out of here without help." you dialed the right number as leah moaned, head dropping dejectedly as her body language slumped.

"stop filming me!" your girlfriend growled as you stood in front of her with a grin, mia latched onto your leg as you filmed the fireman cutting off the bars, a small crowd of onlookers gathered around from the neighboring houses at the sound of the sirens.

"lookin good williamson...and she's free!" you cheered happily, leahs face glowing bright red as others joined in the clapping, the firemen doing their best to disperse everyone as the captain gave leah a stern talking to about her actions.

"no i promise i learnt my lesson sir, i am so so sorry for wasting your time." your girlfriend apologised profusely as the older man nodded, calling his team away as they all clambered back into the truck and leah pulled her hood up over her head.

"we're leaving, right now." leah warned, grabbing your hand and dragging you off to the car as you held onto mia by the backpack on her shoulders.

"why the rush baby? i wanna see if you can fit your head through the monkey bars next." you teased causing your niece to giggle and your girlfriend to give you a venomous glare, snatching the keys from her pocket.

mia buckled in securely and leah for once on the receiving end of the four year olds teasing the blonde huffed and jammed the key in, starting up the car. "mia if i hear one more word from you the next time you sleepover you're sleeping under the stairs like harry potter!" leah whipped around and warned as the girls face paled and she was instantly silenced.

"you're gonna be a top mum one day babe." you smiled patting her knee as she narrowed her eyes at you and put the car into drive as you connected your phone to her speaker system.

shuffling the kids carpool playlist you know your niece liked leah groaned quietly as mia began to belt out the lyrics to five little monkeys.

"what are you smiling at?" leah asked suspiciously a few minutes later, glancing to you as she stopped at a red light finding your attention buried in your phone with a smirk. "the video of you getting cut out." you grinned as leahs face shifted into a glare.

"delete it!" her hand reached over to try and grab your phone as you pushed her away, warning her sternly there was a child in the back and she needed to keep two hands on the wheel.

"you better not have shown that to anyone." "i didn't." "good! keep it that way." "i haven't shown anyone but i did send it to a few people." "you what!" "yeah! just your mum, my mum, your cousins, my sisters, lia, beth, laura, viv, steph, jen, alex-"

"oh you are so sleeping on the lounge tonight."

[vinceaddams]

@mxbuster replied to your post “Being a part time alterations tailor may be a very...”:

Omg you are amazing. If you ever want to do a tutorial…….

​Sorry for the delay, I put the photos in a folder on my desktop and immediately forgot they existed.

Alrighty, here is how I shorten modern jacket sleeves.

First I should note that:

I work for a suit store that doesn't take very many outside alterations, meaning almost everything I alter is from the same few brands and I'm used to a specific construction. Other jackets from other brands may have different construction, but it shouldn't be too wildly different.

All the jackets I work on have false buttonholes, or none at all. If you've got one with functional buttonholes (statistically unlikely, but not impossible) you're kind of screwed, unless you need to shorten it by so much they'll all be turned to the inside.

The amount you need to shorten it by should already be marked on the sleeve, or you should have a measurement written down. The salesmen leave a little chalk line for me.

Start by cutting the buttons off. (Both this shop and my previous job use razor blades for this kind of thing, so I can only assume it's common in the professional tailoring world.)

Then turn the sleeve inside out. There will probably be a section on the lining seam where the 2 edges have been topstitched closed. Carefully pick this out with a seam ripper on both sleeves. If it doesn't have this, just open a section of the seam, but not too close to the end of the sleeve.

Often the sleeve lining will be tacked to the outer sleeve's seam allowance in a few places, and you can cut these if they're in the way.

Now you can easily pull out the threads that were holding the buttons on, and can remove the false buttonholes if there are any.

Most of the buttonholes on the jackets I do at work are chain stitch, which means they're easy to pull out quickly once you get one end loose and can un-chain them, but some of them aren't and take a lot longer. I especially hate the ones on the sport coats that have a little contrasting bar tack at the end, those ones are the WORST and take forever to pick off.

There's a seam holding the ends of the lining and outer fabric together. Cut it off.

On jackets with a particularly loose fabric there may be a bit of blindstitching around here holding the end up, same as there is inside a dress pants hem, and you should remove this first. It's big and loopy on the inside and you can find the end and pull on it to make it come apart, just like the string on a potato bag.

There's probably also a bit where the edge of the jacket sleeve is stuck in place with a bit of fusible tape, so pull that apart. Cut through the threads where the seam allowance is sewn to itself, and pick apart the seams that form the corners of the vent.

(I use the razor blade for this too, by pulling the 2 halves of the seam in opposite directions and cutting the threads in between, but you'll probably want to use a seam ripper.) Don't cut the top part of the seam on the vent though, that bit where the seam allowance juts out to provide extra material for the overlap should still be sewn shut, as you can see at the top of the photo below.

Turn the sleeve back right side out and mark the new line all the way around. At work I mainly use wax chalk which disappears as soon as you iron it, but regular chalk works too, it'll just take a bit more work to brush it all off after.

Press out all the creases from the old seams at the corners. (I have to be careful not to get steam on my wax lines, or else they'll disappear.)

Now press the end of the sleeve in and make the new crease. Sometimes I press out the old crease first, if it's far enough away from the marked line, but sometimes not.

I like to press both layers of sleeve at once in the middle, avoiding squishing the sides, and then I press each of those side bits using this little dense pillow thingy we have at work. It's kind of like a tailor's ham but small. You could easily make one and fill it with scraps, it's a useful thing to have. Make sure the overlap & underlap are facing the correct way.

I then straighten out the sleeve and see how the lining length looks. The end of the lining is usually quite wrinkled, so I press it first.

Here the lining is barely protruding, so I didn't trim anything off, but if there's more than about 1.5 cm sticking out past the sleeve then I'll trim that excess off.

Turning the sleeve back inside out, trim any excess off the folded up bit. I try to keep this bit about 4.5 cm wide, so this one just needed a little bit removed.

At this point you may want to add a bit more fusible interfacing to the button area, but it usually goes pretty far up, so I only do this if I'm shortening the sleeve by a LOT. (And if I'm shortening it by that much then there probably isn't enough overlap left to redo the vent.)

Now there should be creases showing where the new vent corners will be. On the underlap side I mark a little + right where I'll start sewing there.

And on the overlap side (the one with the mitred corner) I mark a diagonal x and then draw a line over the whole corner with a ruler, like so.

That is NOT your stitching line!!

This corner isn't perfectly square, it's a slightly wider angle. So when I fold that corner right sides together and match up the lines I start sewing from the tip of that marked line at the fold, but I veer off at a slight angle (in the direction of the seam allowance) and end about 4 mm out from it.

It's not very clear in the below picture, but you can hopefully see it.

Flip those 2 corners right side out, turn the whole sleeve right side out again, and press those corners nice and flat. I use the little sleeve pillow for this too.

Then you can pin the overlap shut just the way you want it to sit, turn it inside out again, and carefully re-pin it so the pin is on the inside, before removing the first pin.

(I actually skip this step and just pin it from the inside and go straight to the rest of the sewing up, and then press the corners after the lining is closed up, but I've done hundreds of these at this point so you'll probably want to do it this way.)

Sew the two halves of the vent together so that it'll stay closed. Just a tiny spot of backstitching on the seam allowances, like so.

Now you can match up the ends of the lining and outer sleeve and reattach them. I always start with the seam opposite the vent, since the vent side doesn't line up precisely.

I put them together like this, right side to right side, and pull those ends out through that opening in the lining before pinning it closed.

Then sew it, starting and finishing on either side of the vent.

There will likely be a small gap between the ends of the seam, since the vent is in the way, but this doesn't matter.

On the non vent side, clip into one of the seam allowances right below the seam.

Fold that seam allowance right sides together, keeping the rest of the sleeve out of the way, and sew it to itself. This is the same bit of stitching you removed earlier in the process, and it helps to keep the end of the sleeve from sagging.

If the seam allowances are too small or frayed you can also just turn it back right sides out and stick a bit of fusible tape in there.

Stuff everything back so that it's right sides out but the sleeve itself is still inside out, and redo that topstitching on the linings. (Or do it for the first time if there wasn't any. You may want to press the lining first if you don't have two nice creased edges.)

If this is your own personal nice jacket you might prefer to slipstitch it closed by hand, or to instead machine sew it closed from the inside and hand sew the lining back to the end of the sleeve, but I'm obviously not going to do that for my very low paying alterations job.

Turn the sleeve right sides out, sew the buttons back on, and you're done!

Nice mitred corner and all!

The first time I did this it took me over 2 hours because I didn't know what I was doing, but 5 years later I've got it down to about 45 minutes.

If the sleeve needs to be shortened by so much that there isn't enough overlap material left to redo the vent, then I just sew it shut and fold the whole thing up. I have to add new interfacing behind the buttons, as mentioned. For this I also need to turn it back right side out before I close up the lining, so I can stick the not-vent-anymore area to itself with some fusible tape.

Sometimes I have to lengthen sleeves, and for that the process is fairly similar, except of course I have to carefully unpick the seam at the end of the sleeve instead of cutting it off, and I sew an extra strip of fabric to the end. (I keep a box of cut off ends from some of the pants I've hemmed for this.)

For that you also need to use fusible tape for both seam ends, because when you've added an extra bit on you can't sew the seam allowance to itself. The amount you can lengthen a sleeve by is limited, since you need to make sure the new piece of material is entirely folded to the inside and out of view.

I hope this helps and makes sense!