#“it's like being without my other half”

[yapdad]

(trueform) sukuna, the amalgamation of all things sharp and evil, is... a virgin?

you laugh when he tells you. he ponders the merits of spanking you for making a fool of his abstinence.

'don't mock me' he had pouted like a kicked puppy, eyebrows knit together in a faux fury that just makes him look dumb, because anger on ryomen sukuna is only natural in every direction but yours.

you have that asshole wrapped around your finger.

well, you did. until you laughed at him for being a virgin, and he decided his many years of celibacy were ideal to be broken by someone with your gall.

know you're wrapped around his fingers. literally, knuckles deep while he plunges them in and out and in and out of your pussy on a grating loop that has your vision gated by stars and tears after only a few minutes.

he's fucking good for a virgin. you wonder if he's better with his cock than he is with his fingers—whether he's fucked his fist late at night to the thought of doing things like this to you. how depraved he's let his mind become. if his fantasies would frighten you or not.

"i didn't mean to laugh," you try pleading after your first orgasm on his fingers. "i wasn't laughing at you, it's just hard to believe. don't you have concubines?"

"i'm not a philanderer," he grunts, curling his thick fingers inside of you.

"do you even—fuck, ryomen—do you even know what a philanderer is?"

"a whore," he bites. "i saw no point in engaging in such... carnal affairs. i don't like playing with my food."

well that's a lie. you roll your eyes, half in defiance and half because you think sukuna might be rewiring your brain matter with this kind of pleasure. so much so that you start to say stupid things without thinking of the consequences in doing so.

"so it's not because your cock is small?"

and he stops. you're thankful for the break, though you tighten around his fingers in some sort of biological protest to the lack of stimulation. sukuna, all hot and heady, takes your face in his one of his free hands and squeezes your cheeks together, bulging your lips.

"my cocks are adequate in size."

"cocks?" you're speech is muffled by sukuna's grip on your face. "like, more than one?" you squint your eyes at him "do you have multiple cocks, sukuna?"

indeed he does.

after another orgasm on his fingers, and then one on his tongue (which left both you and him in a mess of spit and sweet release) he finally disrobed and let you bask in the frightening sight of his two cocks, stacked one on top of the other, both hard and veiny and leaking at the tips with a copious amount of pre.

he's huge. in both cases. you suppose you should have signed something before laying down for the man, right? still, a curling need eats at your lower stomach: to have him like this when no one else has.

"are... will..." you clear your throat. "so, uh. they're both going inside of me?"

sukuna doesn't speak at first, probably because he's growing impossibly harder at the look of fear on your face. he lays you back and situates you beneath him, his rough hands oddly gentle for what's most likely the last kind thing he'll do to you tonight.

"no," he says. "next time. i want to... see something."

see something? sukuna steps between your parted legs and looks lustfully at the mess he's left of you. you're somewhat ashamed for becoming such a sight after teasing him like you did, but the hunger in his eyes are enough of a balm to shift your shame into... fear? want? a deep-rooted masochism?

kuna strokes one of his cocks, the one on the underside, a few times before lining it up with your entrance. resigned to your fate, you close your eyes and take a long breath in and then letting the air empty from your lungs in preparation for the stretch.

but it doesn't come.

you open one eye to find sukuna staring back at you. two of his hands hold your thighs apart in a force that is sure to leave bruises, the third holds his cock steady against your pulsing hole... but the fourth just hangs.

that is, until he snakes it up your torso, nice and slow, and then trails it down the length of your arm to lace his fingers with yours. a hand to hold through his first time.

"tell anyone and i end your bloodline," he says. you smile, and he growls and presses forward, taking the plunge and entering your tight warmth, leaving his virginity at the door.

as he pushes himself further and further in, his second cock rests on your stomach, leaking pre-cum all over your pretty skin. once he's bottomed out, which is a feat that takes a whole lot of squirming and clenched teeth on your end, he stills inside of you.

his eyes are glued to where his second cock lays on your tummy. it's an indicator of just how deep inside of you he is. how much of your body he's claimed as his own in that searing but all-too pleasurable stretch of his mean size. he squeezes your hand tight.

you're already teary-eyed, revelling in the almost hedonistic way your pussy tries to suck him in even further. you're sure that any deeper would be a health risk, but you've never felt this good before. this full.

and still, sukuna just stares down at his cock laying on your belly. he's so deep, sheathed inside of you in the most intimate display of connection besides... cannibalism? his mind races, his mouth goes dry, and with an almost pathetic moan from deep in his chest, ryomen sukuna cums both inside of you and all over your stomach at the same time.

without even a full thrust inside of you.

you gasp, the sheer amount of cum flooding into you at once is overwhelming. "did you just—"

"no."

you lift your head to look at the release painting your stomach: so much so that it's covering your tits too. "you just came in one stroke."

"shut the fuck up."

"you really are a virgin, still holding my hand, too."

sukuna growls at that, lowers his body against yours just to show off his crushing weight. a bite to your earlobe is soon followed by a few harsh words in your ear.

"do you want to be ripped in half by my cocks? shut your fucking mouth or i'll gladly—"

"yes. please, yes. yeah. let's do it."

[rottingpink]

free use

cw. cnc, established relationship, free use, going at it CONSTANTLY, p/v, breeding, corruption kink, unprotected sex

synopsis. since discussing the idea of both of you being willing to fuck whenever, your husband has not let up off you.

masterlist

"we should try something fun."

your husband lifts his gaze slowly from the newspaper he was reading.

"fun?" he indulges you, tilting his head slightly to search your face. you suggested something without a description intentionally to make him ask for an elaboration, meaning what you're about to tell him will either be very intriguing, or the complete opposite. he searches your features in an attempt to determine which it'll be. "what kind of fun?"

you pause to make him squirm in anticipation. "i was thinking," you murmur, tracing your finger along the couch's lines with your fingertip, a sign of nervousness. "we could try… being available to each other. like whenever one of us wants-" your face goes warm, "sex."

the newspaper lowers down to his lap so your husband can stare at you intently, but he doesn't move otherwise. he's seated with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his legs apart in a lazy manspread, looking way too composed for what you just suggested. your body is so tense right now that you feel the urge to take a cold shower before the conversation continues. why isn't he saying anything?

"available," he echoes your choice of words. "as in free use."

you nod, trying not to squirm in your seat. "mhm."

he hums, tongue running over the inside of his cheek, and his eyes drag over your body as if he's already imagining all the different ways he can catch you off guard and ruin you. just as you suggested.

"sweetheart," he murmurs quietly, folding the paper and setting it aside, "do you even know what you're agreeing to?"

you shrug, a guileless glint in your wide eyes. you couldn't seriously be asking him this. you, who cries within the first ten minutes of him fucking you and tries to crawl away from him when he's pounding into you, wants to be free use for him, constantly? "i trust you. there... shouldn't be any issues."

he leans back in his chair and lets a silence pass once more. he seems to be considering it. the longer he goes without talking the more you squirm. he lays a cheek in his palm, and continues. "and why do you want to be free use for me?"

your eyes widen and your lips press together. you're nervous but trying not to show it. "it's not just me, you know. both of us are available for each other. i just wanted to suggest it because it's been on my mind a while."

"mm. no other reason?"

you hesitate a second too long, and he notices immediately. his eyes narrow ever so slightly. "well," you fidget, toying with a thread on your shirt to break eye contact just long enough so you don't explode. "i just thought it might be exciting."

"exciting... how?"

you puff out a soft breath and try to play it off. "i dunno… like, getting dragged into a public washroom while we're out grocery shopping. or, like… in the car. pulling it over so we can go to the backseat. or while i'm doing laundry."

"so you mean you want me to be so desperate i can't wait and have to have you. right then, right there."

you fidget again, but nod. "mhm."

he laughs once under his breath. "that's cute. so if you're half asleep," he says, "and i want to wake you up with my cock inside you, you won't mind? or if we're on a hike and you're in one of those pairs of leggings i really like, i can put you up against a tree?"

you nod, but look away bashfully. "i said whenever."

he hums and looks away for a moment in an attempt to stay calm while he processes. then he looks back at you, tutting with a pitying look on his face. like you're a lamb up for the slaughter.

"you don't know what you just agreed to," he says affectionately, like he's sorry for you.

you frown, feeling like he's underestimating you. "yes, i do."

he smiles. "you really don't."

the first time he tries out your new agreement is when you're brushing your teeth with him the next morning. you're standing at the sink in just one of his old t-shirts, groggy, hair messy, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth as you blink blearily at your own reflection. he's behind you, pretending to brush his teeth too, but he's just looking at you.

your thighs are bare. the shirt rides up when you lean forward to spit into the sink, and he can see the crease where the back of your thighs meet your plush ass. he's entranced by the quiet way you operate when you're still half asleep and unaware of how good you look.

he swishes some water in his mouth and spits, setting his toothbrush back in the holder while watching you. you didn't notice he was ogling until you look up to meet his gaze in the mirror reflection to see him reaching around to pull you flush against his chest, lifting his hands under your shirt from behind to cup your tits. you don't wear a bra around the house, much to his convenience.

"just trying something fun," he murmurs into the curve of your neck, kissing the soft skin there. you tip your head a little, a pleasant feeling washing over your body as his thumbs roll over your perked nipples. he then wraps his hand around your throat to tip your head back. "aren't you so pretty?" he coos, one hand toying with your breast while the other gives your throat a light squeeze. it does nothing for your sanity. your brain might as well be slipping out of your ears.

you try to respond, but all that slips out is a helpless little whimper, the toothbrush still dangling from your lips.

"you're already shaking," he says softly, letting go of your throat only to glide his hand down the front of your shirt, past your navel, and into the waistband of your thin cotton panties. "and it's not even been a minute since i started. why're you acting like some helpless little virgin?"

you slip the toothbrush out of your mouth and drop it in the holder, using both hands to hold his wrist to keep yourself steady. "you're being mean," you breathe, embarrassed by how quickly he's unraveled you.

he hums, slipping his fingers inside your tight pussy to find you warm and wet. your hips jolt, but you don't move away. "i'm doing what you asked of me," he corrects you, his tone patient. "you said 'whenever,' remember?" he begins to lift up your shirt and tosses it onto the counter beside you, and your panties come off right after. then he pushes you forward so you're bent over onto the smooth marble in front of you.

he leans over your back, palm pressing down gently between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. "you know what your problem is," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, "you get way too ahead of yourself. then you ask for things you're not ready for."

"baby please," you whine, grinding your hips back, only for him to pull away. he's teasing you. you look back at him with frustration, wanting friction against your sopping core, but he's not allowing it.

you feel him hook a hand under your knee to prop your leg up on the edge of the sink for a better angle, and he tuts at how messy your little pussy is so soon. he spreads you as much as you can go, then nudges his clothed bulge against your core, listening to your breath hitch and breathy pants to leave your mouth. "hmmh... that spot... do that again,"

he hushes you patronizingly, tugging his pj pants just low enough for his cock to be free. you're completely bare in contrast. with a hand pinning you down and the blunt press of his cock between your thighs, he slowly, maddeningly starts to slip it inside with a purposeful roll of his hips, and the stretch immediately hits you. you feel so full with just the first few inches of his fat cock in you.

your mouth opens around a silent moan, eyes rolling back. your grip on the counter tightens while he rocks into you steadily, holding you firmly while his gaze flits from your hole sucking him in and the lewd look on your face in the mirror.

"you wanted this. look at yourself. look how pretty you are when you're being used."

you try. you really do. your eyes flutter open just long enough to catch sight of your own flushed, wrecked reflection, your hair a mess, mouth parted, as he slowly fills you up to the brink, tip kissing your womb. his hand gathers a fistful of your hair to tip your head up.

your head spins as he thrusts into you roughly, flesh slapping against flesh making nasty sounds that echo off the bathroom walls. "y-you're... haaa gonna be late f'work," you moan as he fucks into you deep and rough, his thick cock curving just right inside you to keep bumping against your sweet spots.

"shit... y'wanna talk about that now?" he tugs your hair a little to make you squeal, using it to keep you in place like it's a handle. "i'll grab breakfast on the way there," he says into your skin. "this is more important."

you reach behind blindly because you're desperate to feel your husband or hold him, but he pushes you back down, then leans down to push his chest flush against your back, his skin hot against yours. he nudges his cock deeper in you at the new angle, moving a bulky arm to wrap around your neck and fuck you in a chokehold.

he groans against your ear, rutting harder now, his rhythm starting to lose control while your back arches for him, trying to take more even though you're so full. his hips snap forward with more force and he chuckles into your ear when you let out a garbled, " 'm gonna cum..." followed by a loud mewl. he groans, slamming into that one spot that gets you to tighten up around him each time his mushroom tip gives it a kiss.

"hmm, ask nicely, sweetheart," he nips your ear and bottoms out with an obscenely wet squelch. "mmmm.... c-can i... fuck, c-cum? please, 'm gonna..." your eyes screw shut and your pussy gushes around his thick shaft, leaving your thighs slick and shaky.

he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you so his cum can shoot as deep inside you as he can. he doesn't pull out right away. arms wrapped around your middle, nose pressed into your hair like he's anchoring himself.

"god," he mumbles, still pumping you full, and there's now a creamy ring where his cock enters your cunt. "filled your little pussy all up, didn't i? now i'll feel bad leaving you like this."

you're too wrecked to answer, slumped forward against the sink, letting him hold you up. he reaches for a washcloth by the towel rack and dampens it so he can clean you up, giving you little kisses the whole time while you cling onto him. he keeps praising you, too. "did s'good for me, pretty baby."

he leaves you with a soft peck on your cheek. "ill see you later tonight..."

it doesn't stop after that morning in the bathroom. that was just his warm up, after all; his first taste of what you gave him. the second the floodgates opened, there was no closing them. poor you.

there's the time in the gym changeroom, right after your shared workout ends. you're both sore and sweaty, and you duck into the locker room so you can grab your stuff and head home with him to shower. however, the second he sees your flushed skin and damp chest through your sports bra, he doesn't hesitate to tug you into one of the showers and sit down on the bench, tearing off your clothes and tugging you into his lap.

he'll stuff your panties in your mouth so your moans are muffled, and fucks up into you hard and fast with no shame, even as he hears people talking and shuffling about behind the flimsy shower curtain. "you're gonna make a mess on me, aren't you?" he murmurs against your ear. "you like knowing someone could walk in right now and see you like this? my sweet girl, cockdrunk in a gym shower?"

he makes you cum on his cock, stuffs you full of his seed and leaves with you once the coast is mostly clear.

next was the hike. you're halfway up the steep trail with him, on a quick break on the grass off the main path. you'd just bent over a little to re-tie your laces since your boots had been far too tight, when he'd come up behind you, grinding against you and palming your ass through your leggings in broad daylight.

"shouldn't bend over in front of me unless you want me to do somethin' to you," he mutters, voice low and warm at your ear as he presses himself closer, fingers kneading into the backs of your thighs.

he doesn't give you a second to argue before he's guiding you face first to a tree and dropping to his knees. he pulls your leggings down just enough to get what he wants, and the air hits your slick folds pleasantly. you whimper, bracing yourself as he spreads your ass to have your pussy fully presented to him.

"gonna be quick," he whispers, "just a little taste." he mumbles, before shoving his face right into your cunt.

you gasp loudly and your hands shoot up to brace against the tree bark right in front of you and dig into the wood. you tremble and let out a shaky breath when he licks a slow, nasty stripe from your pussy up to your clit, shaking his tongue a little so it slobbers over every inch of your drooling pussy lips, occasionally prodding your hole.

his hands are firm on your thighs to spread you open wider, dragging your hips back toward his mouth while he eats you out filthy and sloppy. his nose nudges your clit, tongue flicking in and out of you, then slipping deep inside.

you bite your lip and your eyes, wide and panicked, glance toward the trail. anyone could walk by since you're not that far off the path, hidden, but not well. if someone wandered off long enough, they'd find the two of you.

"god," he moans into you, closing his mouth around your pussy lips and sucking gently, then going back to make out with your pussy. "taste so fuckin' good, babe. made for me." your orgasm hits so fast that you barely have time to warn him, pushing back against him so you cream right into his mouth.

you intended to have one wholesome weekend without your man ravaging you on any available surface in the vicinity. a family gathering that your parents are hosting. you enter the countryside house with your husband's hand on the small of your back to guide you inside, smiling politely as your relatives greet you both with warm hugs and laughter. everyone is in a good mood, sipping drinks, chewing on appetizers. there's music playing, and scents drifting from the kitchen.

he lasts about twenty minutes into the evening before he leans down to whisper filth into your ear while everyone else is distracted in the dining room. "you keep looking up at me like that and you're not leaving this place without my cum dripping down your thighs."

you stiffen, body heating up with arousal instantly, even as your face stays composed for the sake of your family standing two feet away. your husband knows exactly what he's doing. he brushes his lips just under your ear again, letting his breath brush over your skin while his palm subtly slides down to squeeze your ass through your dress, making you yelp.

he's all over you most of the evening. hands holding your hips from behind, cupping your ass, arms around your waist, smelling your hair... blatant public displays of affection. he keeps whispering things. "you're dripping through this dress," he murmurs while you're getting drinks in the kitchen. "do you even know what you look like right now?"

you try to push him away, but he's already behind you, brushing your hair over your shoulder as if he's helping, just to kiss the back of your neck. he's all over you right up until you take a break to get away from the party for a bit before dinner. you choose your childhood bedroom as an escape, needing one second away from him before he decides to finger you at the dinner table or fuck you in one of the bathrooms, but he follows you shortly after.

you just entered your old room, not realizing the door didn't click shut behind you. you make it two steps before he grabs you and pins you down onto your back in your old twin bed.

you jolt. "baby! where did you- what are you- "

"shhh," he murmurs, lips already brushing your neck. "just missed you. five minutes."

your body reacts before your brain can catch up. you tip your head to the side for him, breath catching as he kisses behind your ear and tugs the straps of your dress down your shoulders and pushing it under your tits so he can cup your bare mounds. his thumbs brush over your nipples until they stiffen under his touch, and he groans at your soft whines, pinching and rubbing them with his fingers while he kisses down to your chest, laving his tongue over the swollen peaks. he's practically slobbering on them, one bulky hand playing with one while his mouth works on the other, sucking sharply and then releasing with a wet pop.

he drags your panties down and off your ankles, spreading you into a shameful position to get a good look at you.

"fuck, look at this mess," he thumbs over your pussy with light pressure, teasing you. "this for me?" you whimper a soft yes, causing him to chuckle softly. he leans over you again, playing with your hole while his other hand wraps around his cock to stroke it slow and firm from tip to base, aligning himself with your hole. he doesn't make it easy for you and put it in straight away, instead tapping his cock against your folds and listening to the nasty little squelches that come from you. he slides it up and down, delaying your pleasure to make you desperate.

you gasp and mewl, thighs already lifting for him as he lines up and starts to press in slowly. your body clutches around him immediately, the stretch making your head spin. "ohhh my- fuck," he groans, pushing in all the way until he bottoms out. "tight as ever. made to be fucked in."

you moan breathlessly and tip your head back, letting him start to plow into you. he doesn't waste any time in putting one leg up over his shoulder and thrusting so deep that his balls squish against the curve of your ass and his shaft forms a faint print in your belly from how huge he is. your head lolls back with each of his deep, grinding strokes.

"look at you," he whispers, eyes trained on your filthy expression. "getting ruined in your childhood room. all the innocent memories, corrupted by this one." he mocks you while fucking into you harder. you moan loudly, hands fisting at the sheets, then clawing his biceps, then running down his torso. you have no idea what to do with yourself right now. he's fucking you into oblivion and now you're completely out of it.

"bet your parents think you're still their good little girl," he pants, rocking into you, stretching you out with his fat shaft with every drag. you can feel every vein and the exact angle in which his cock curves inside you. "they don't know you're upstairs getting your pussy wrecked like this."

"fuck! baby slow down, ahn, we're gonna get caught mmfuck, please!"

"please what?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to an unbearable pace. "please fuck me harder?" he punctuates the question with a sharp thrust so deep inside you your vision swims. "or please fill me up in my little princess bed?" he coos, grinding his pelvis against yours. your mouth falls open in a silent scream as a particularly deep thrust hits your sweet spot, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine while your back arches off the bed, pressing your heaving tits more firmly against his chest. you can basically feel his heartbeat against yours, thudding in time with his sloppy thrusts.

" 'm gonna cum inside you," he grits, pounding into you hard, cock scraping against your plushy walls and the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every inward thrust. "goddamn, look at me. want you to -haa- remember this." your nails scrape his back. you're crying out softly, trying to stay quiet, but you're so close. you clamp down on him so hard when it hits that he chokes on a groan, hips stuttering as he starts spilling into you with a harsh jerk of his body.

his cock jerks and pulses as he hilts inside you, the thick head flaring inside you as he releases ropes of hot cum pumps into your greedy cunt, your womb quickly filling to the brim.

within seconds, excess semen is already bubbling out around his shaft, dripping down onto the sheets beneath your ass. your pussy clenches and ripples, desperately trying to milk every last drop of him, and he continues rocking his cock inside you as he cums, fingers moving to play with your clit, and you cum shortly after, gushing around his cock and adding to the mess on the bed.

[strawberry-bubblef]

✦ “It’s Just Another Day… Right?”

Synopsis: In an established relationship, your partner stumble across a surprising truth: their beloved never celebrated their birthday. No cakes. No parties. No gifts. It was always just “another day.” But not this year,not when they're here to make it special. Even if it takes a bit of coaxing, teasing, or gentle love, they’ll make sure this birthday is one to remember.

Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Leona Kingscholar,Idia Shroud, Riddle Rosehearts,Lilia Vanrouge,Silver

I meant to post this on my birthday (28/06), but between being busy and forgetting a few times, it slipped my mind,so here it is, one day late🥳

Vil Schoenheit

“It’s Not Just Another Day”

Birthdays never meant much to you. They came and went like passing clouds, barely different from any other day. Maybe once, a long time ago, you wished they were special. But time has a way of teaching people not to expect things. Eventually, you stopped looking forward to anything at all.

So you treated today just like any other. Casual, quiet. No mention of anything. You were sitting with Vil in the courtyard, sunlight soft against your skin, flipping through a book while he carefully applied lip balm, prepping for his afternoon shoot.

That’s when the words slipped out of you.

“Oh. Right. Today’s my birthday.”

It was like tossing a rock into still water. The silence that followed was heavier than it should’ve been.

Vil froze. He slowly turned to look at you.

“…Pardon?”

You blinked, looking up. “I said it’s my birthday. Today.”

Vil’s expression didn’t shift immediately. But you saw it. The slight narrowing of his eyes. The tension in his jaw. He was processing not the fact that it was your birthday, but how you’d said it. Offhand. Emotionless. Like it meant nothing.

He closed his lip balm with a click. “And you weren’t going to say anything?”

You gave a light shrug, trying to play it off. “There’s nothing to say. I don’t really do birthdays. Haven’t since I was a kid.”

Vil was quiet for a moment longer.

Then: “I see.”

You expected him to press, but he didn’t. Instead, he let the subject drop for now. But the way he gently reached for your hand and squeezed it once told you everything: he wasn’t letting this go.

Later that evening, after your classes, he found you again.

There was no elaborate setup. Just Vil, dressed more casually and something unreadable in his expression.

“Come with me,” he said.

You hesitated. “What for?”

“Something overdue.”

He brought you to a quiet lounge in Pomefiore, one the others rarely used. On a small table was a plate of your favorite dessert and a teapot already steeping something floral and warm. Two glasses. One candle.

“I didn’t have time for anything extravagant,” he said softly, “but I couldn’t let the day end without at least this.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you.

“No. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t matter. Not with me. I don’t know who made you believe your birthday wasn’t worth celebrating, but they were wrong.”

You stared at the table, emotions welling up in your chest unexpectedly. “I just… I got used to pretending it was nothing. It hurt less.”

Vil moved closer, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Then let’s start rewriting that story. I can’t fix what came before, but I can promise you this,so long as you’re mine, you’ll never spend another birthday forgotten.”

Leona Kingscholar

“You Could’ve Said Something, Herbivore”

The sun was high over the Savannaclaw dorm, the heat dry and still. Most of the students had retreated indoors, but you were lying in the shade of a tree near the training yard, flipping through a book and sipping water like it was just another afternoon.

Leona was stretched out beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, his breathing steady. He looked half-asleep,until he lazily cracked one eye open.

“You’re quiet today,” he muttered. “More than usual.”

You hummed, flipping a page. “Just thinking.”

A long silence passed. You weren’t expecting to say anything else, but the thought slipped out of you anyway. A whisper, almost offhand.

“…Today’s my birthday.”

Leona blinked.

He sat up,actually sat up, which was enough of a red flag that you glanced at him. “Come again?”

You shrugged. “It’s my birthday. I don’t really celebrate, so... I didn’t say anything.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, golden gaze sharp. “You’re tellin’ me you’ve been walking around all day, actin’ like it’s just another day, and didn’t think to mention you were born today?”

“I’m not big on birthdays,” you replied, waving it off. “It’s just another day. I got used to that.”

Leona stared at you for a beat longer before flopping back down onto the grass. He muttered something under his breath,something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and threw his arm over his face again.

You thought he might let it go.a

You expected him to leave it at that. To mutter something sarcastic and change the subject. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed beside you the rest of the afternoon, unusually still, only talking now and then. You’d almost forgotten about your birthday again,until later that night, when you returned to Ramshackle.

Your room light was on.

Inside, waiting on your desk, was a single neatly wrapped item: a small, golden box tied with green twine. A little note sat on top in Leona’s handwriting.

> “Didn’t have time to get something flashy.

But it’s better than nothing.Don’t act like it’s no big deal.

You’re not just anyone.

—L.”

You opened it slowly, heart thudding in your chest. Inside was a sand-polished pendant carved with your birthstone in the center, shaped like a rising sun.

You hadn’t realized how quiet the world had felt until now. How much you’d learned to mute your own importance. You stared at the note, fingers trembling.

There was a knock at the door.

“…You get it?” came Leona’s voice, soft and gruff from behind the wood.

You opened the door slowly, eyes still wide. “Leona, you didn’t have to—”

He looked at you. “Yeah. I did.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Just a rush of heat behind your eyes.

Leona sighed and tugged you into his arms like it was nothing. “Next year,” he muttered into your hair, “you’re getting cake. And don’t try that ‘it’s just another day’ crap. You matter to me. So your birthday does too.”

You stayed quiet, tucked against his chest, letting that truth settle into your bones.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like just another day.

Idia Shroud

“You Can’t Drop a Bomb Like That in Casual Conversation”

You hadn’t meant to bring it up. It just kind of… slipped out.

You were both sitting in his room, as usual,just the two of you, some game playing in the background, the only light coming from his computer monitors and the glowing strands of neon-blue hair that curled softly down his shoulders.

It had been a quiet day. Peaceful, even. You’d finished your classes early and spent most of the afternoon in Ignihyde, lounging with Idia while he half-rambled about patch notes and coding and you occasionally added commentary.

He was mid-sentence,something about how a dev nerfed his favorite spell for the third time, when you yawned and muttered offhandedly, “Huh. Weird that it’s already evening. Today passed fast. Guess birthdays are just like that.”

There was a pause.

Then a slow, robotic blink from the blue-haired shut-in sitting next to you.

“…Did you just say birthday?” he asked.

You glanced at him. “Yeah. Mine. It’s today.”

You said it like you were telling him it was cloudy outside.

Idia stared.

A long, horrible silence filled the room, like your words had just sent an error message to his brain.

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT LIKE IT’S NOTHING—”

You flinched as he launched into a flurry of typing. Windows opened and closed faster than your eyes could follow. You could see a gift website, a recipe page, and a link to a video titled “How to Celebrate a Birthday IRL (When You’re Socially Inept)”.

You blinked. “Idia—”

“You didn’t tell me it was today?! That’s, like—” He waved his arms. “Flag on the play! You need to give a guy a minimum 48-hour warning window for this kind of emotionally significant information!”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you replied, chuckling nervously.

“Not a big—” He stopped himself with a groan and dropped his forehead to his desk with a dramatic thud. “You can’t just stealth-drop your birthday on me like that. I’m not built for this kind of pressure.”

“…It’s really not a big deal,” you repeated. “I’ve never really celebrated it, so I’m kind of used to treating it like a normal day. Honestly, I forget it sometimes too.”

Idia turned to look at you, eyes wide behind the glare of his screen. His usual anxiety was still there, but it was muffled now by something quieter,sadness, maybe. Concern.

“You’ve never celebrated it?” he asked, quieter.

You shook your head. “I just… never did. And after a while, I figured it didn’t matter. It’s just another date.”

“That’s…” He trailed off, then frowned. “No. That’s super tragic anime protagonist behavior.”

You laughed a little at that. “Well. You are dating me.”

He didn’t laugh. Not really. His eyes softened, though. The glow of his hair dimmed a little, like the light was leaning toward you.

“…You matter, you know,” he murmured. “Your birthday matters. I-I mean, it’s the day you showed up in the world, and that’s, like… a big deal to me. If I’d known sooner, I would’ve—” He made a vague gesture toward the half-decorated cake recipe on screen. “Well. I would’ve panicked sooner.”

You nudged him gently. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“But I want to,” he said, surprisingly firm. “Just… gimme one hour. I’ll put something together. Just… sit here and look cute or whatever.”

You raised a brow. “Are you going to glitch if I try to help?”

“Absolutely.”

You chuckled again, and this time, he cracked a small smile in return,soft, shy, real.

By the end of the hour, he had thrown together a scuffed but sincere digital birthday party in one of his favorite games, complete with your favorite virtual snacks, background music, and an awkward in-game hug.

It was glitchy, silly, chaotic.

And it was perfect.

You didn’t need anything more than that.

Especially not from him.

Riddle Rosehearts

“You Should Have Told Me”

Riddle never misses a rule. But the most important one? He learns it from you.

Riddle had asked you to meet him in the rose garden during your free period, like he often did when he wanted a little quiet time away from the rest of Heartslabyul. The two of you would sit beneath the trimmed arches of rosebushes, reading together or just letting the wind pass gently between your shoulders.

He’d brought tea this time. Your favorite kind, with delicate biscuits shaped like hearts.

You held one in your hand, staring at it like it was a rare artifact.

“You’re in a thoughtful mood today.” Riddle said, pouring himself a second cup. “Did something happen?”

You blinked, then shrugged. “No, not really. It’s just… my birthday.”

Riddle’s hand froze.

The spoon in his saucer gave a sharp clink as it settled.

“…Your birthday?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He looked at you with a frown,soft, confused but unmistakably troubled. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

You set the biscuit down. “I never really celebrate it. I got used to it not being a big deal.”

“That’s not—” He paused, lips pressing into a tight line as he clearly tried to regulate his tone. “That’s not right.”

You gave him a smile, small and unbothered. “It’s okay, Riddle. I’m not sad about it. It’s just a normal day.”

“But it’s not,” he insisted, setting his teacup down more harshly than he meant to. “It’s the day you were born. The world has you in it because of this day. How could that possibly be ‘normal’?”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and you blinked, startled.

“…Riddle?”

He looked away for a moment, visibly composing himself. “I know what it’s like to have parts of your life controlled. To have things feel routine, even when they should be special. But this your birthday,it’s not something that should go unacknowledged.”

“I’m not upset about it,” you said gently. “I just never had a reason to think it was important.”

“You do now,” he said, eyes flicking back to yours. “You have me now.”

He stood up abruptly, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform. “We’re going back to Heartslabyul.”

“Wait—”

“You didn’t tell me, so I didn’t have time to plan,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, “but I refuse to let this pass like it means nothing.”

You laughed under your breath. “It really doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

“It will be,” he said, and for once, it wasn’t a rulebook talking. It was his heart.

Riddle didn’t throw a party. Not a loud one, at least. What he did was decorate the common room with floating red-and-white roses, bake you a fresh strawberry tart himself, and gather a few close friends (with Grim loudly demanding a second slice).

When you walked in, he held your hand a little tighter than usual and whispered:

“Next year, tell me ahead of time.”

You smiled.

“Only if you promise to overreact like this again.”

He gave you that half-exasperated look you loved so much… but didn’t let go of your hand.

Lilia Vanrouge !

"You deserve to be celebrated"

The sun had barely risen over Diasomnia when you padded into the common room with half-tied laces and a yawn halfway through your sentence.

Lilia, already bright-eyed and drinking what he claimed was a “bitter blend from the Dragon Isles,” waved at you from the couch with a mischievous smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Mhm… Morning.” You slumped beside him, curling up in the folds of your hoodie.

“Did you dream of me?” he teased, tapping your nose.

“Not this time.” You smirked. “Dreamt I overslept and missed potionology again.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not prophetic,” he chuckled, setting down his mug. “Any reason you’re dragging your feet more than usual this morning?”

You hummed, shrugging. “No big deal. Just my birthday.”

Lilia blinked once.

Then again.

“…Your what?”

“My birthday. You know, the thing people make cake for and all that.” You waved it off like it was nothing. “Never really celebrated it. Got used to it not mattering.”

For a long moment, Lilia just stared at you. And then, slowly, his smile faded into something quieter. Something solemn.

“You never celebrated it?” he asked, voice softer than usual.

You rubbed your neck, trying to play it casual. “It’s not a sad thing. Some people just don’t do birthdays. I guess I’m one of them.”

Lilia turned toward you, one knee pulled up to face you fully. “My dear,” he murmured, “you do realize what a birthday is, don’t you?”

You quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s not just cake and singing off-key. It’s a reminder—no, a celebration—that the world was graced with you. That no matter what happened before, something beautiful entered the timeline the day you were born.”

You laughed, a little awkward. “You’re being poetic again.”

“I always get poetic when I’m upset.” He reached out to cradle your cheek with one gloved hand. “You deserve to be celebrated. Not just today, but especially today.”

“I don’t need anything,” you whispered. “I’m okay. I’m happy with you.”

“That may be so,” he said, brushing a thumb across your cheekbone, “but allow an old man his selfish wish. Let me dote on you.”

Before you could argue, Lilia had already sent a flurry of bat-shaped messages out across the dorm. You heard Sebek yelling somewhere in the distance. Silver blinked awake, confused. Malleus… well, you were sure he would find out soon.

But Lilia didn’t let you move.

He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as the morning sun slowly painted the sky beyond the window.

“You may not think your birthday matters,” he said into your hair, “but I’ve lived long enough to know the value of a single person. And you, little spark, are priceless.”

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time, maybe… it did feel special.

Silver

"Today is the day where our fate was linked."

Silver was already awake when you returned from your early morning walk. You hadn’t expected to find him on the bench in the Diasomnia courtyard, but there he was,eyes closed, hands folded on his lap, the first gold of the rising sun catching the edge of his silver hair.

He looked so peaceful you almost turned around to leave.

But he stirred before you could. “You’re back.”

You smiled softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep much last night.” He tilted his head, gaze fixed on you now. “I had a dream… It was about you.”

Your breath caught a little at the quiet sincerity of it. “Was it good?”

He nodded. “You were laughing.”

“…That’s rare.”

He didn’t press. He never did. Silver had always understood that silence was just as telling as words.

The two of you sat together in comfortable quiet for a while. The only sounds were birds chirping and the gentle rustle of wind through the trees.

Eventually, you pulled out your phone, scrolling casually. “Huh,” you mumbled without thinking. “Guess it’s my birthday today.”

Silver blinked. “What?”

You didn’t even glance up. “Yeah. Just realized. Forgot for a sec.”

There was a long pause.

“…You forgot your own birthday?”

“It's not really a big deal,” you shrugged. “I’ve never celebrated it, so I just got used to treating it like any other day.”

When you finally looked up, Silver was watching you with an unreadable expression,softbbut intense in that quiet way he had. Not angry. Not sad. But as if your words had touched something very deep inside him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” he asked gently. “Celebrating, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I just… I guess I never thought it mattered. I didn’t grow up with anyone who really made a big thing out of it. So I didn’t either.”

Silver looked down at his hands for a moment, then back at you.

“I don’t think I could ever forget your birthday,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if the rest of the world did.”

You blinked. “Silver…”

“It’s not about cake or gifts. It’s about knowing that this world was once without you… and now it isn’t. It’s the day you came into it. The day your path started. The day… my future was shaped, even if we didn’t know it yet.”

Your heart clenched, a little too full.

“I don’t need fanfare,” he continued. “But I do need you to know that you matter. Even if I have to remind you quietly, every year, in every way I can.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away.

“…You wanna sit with me longer?” you asked after a moment, voice a little thick.

Silver nodded immediately. “Of course.”

So you did. Side by side, under the sky that had seen so many of his dreams and your forgetfulness.

And maybe, just maybe, this time, your birthday didn’t feel so ordinary after all.

English is not my first language !

[writer-freak]

hii! im having suchh kpop demon hunters brainrot rn omg, could you do sfw & nsfw headcanons for baby saja please? he's my saja boys bias lol, ty!!

A/N: Baby's also my bias, and I actually wanted to write these first but I kept going back and forth on how I see him😭. So if these seem a bit messy or all over the place, that's the reason (maybe I will rewrite them in the future). Thank you though and hope you enjoy

Casually flirty in the most annoying way. Like leaning against a doorframe while you're ranting and going, “You look so hot when you're mad at me.” He says it just to fluster you and walk off before you can react.

In general he will purposefully say the most inappropriate things at the worst possible times ,whispers“Wearing that again, huh? You trying to get punished?” right as you're about to leave the house.

Calls you a very inappropriate nickname even in public one day he just called you "my lil earthquake.” You asked him what that even meant and he just smirked and went, “Cause you shake when I—” Hand over his mouth. Immediately.

Back hugs but like he’ll wrap his arms around you real sweet, then suddenly whisper the filthiest shit in your ear just to make you choke on your coffee.

His hand is either in your back pocket or riding way too high on your thigh. Doesn’t care who might see, he likes the attention. "They should know who you belong to."

His favorite thing in the world? Annoying you for fun. He hides your stuff just to watch you lose your mind over it. “You sure you checked everywhere?” he says, absolutely knowing your phone is in his pocket.

Bored easily. If he's stuck somewhere, he’ll start texting you the wildest out-of-pocket things just to pass the time. “Do you think I’d look hot in a maid costume or should I make you wear it?”

Sometimes just pokes your cheek in public until you react, or slides his cold hands under your shirt just to hear you squeal.

Doesn't help right away when you struggle with something (like reaching a high shelf or carrying a box) because he likes watching you struggle. “Oh I know you got it” he teases from the doorway. Only helps after you call him a jerk (and even then he's grinning while doing it).

He acts innocent in front of others a bit more polite, wearing a smile, quiet. But the second you're alone, his expression changes just enough for you to realize: You're in danger. The fun kind.

Cocky. So cocky. Constantly smug about how much you love him. “You’re obsessed with me, y’know that?” If you deny it, he’ll raise a brow. “Mhm. Keep lying. See what happens later.”

Lowkey possessive. If you’re giving someone else too much attention? He’ll silently pull you onto his lap and whisper, “You’re being real loud for someone who wants to walk tomorrow.” All while sipping his drink like nothing happened.

Instead of “I love you,” he says “You’d be lost without me.” But if you say it first? He’ll blink slow and go, “Yeah. I love you too” Like it was obvious.

Surprisingly affectionate. He’ll play with your hair when you’re sitting together, doodle your name on the sides of his lyric pages, send you blurry animal memes captioned “us.”

He won’t say much, but he knows when your mood drops. Doesn’t make a big deal of it, just puts on your comfort show and hands you your favorite drink without a word.

Secretly protective. He’ll tease you mercilessly, but the moment someone else even thinks about doing the same, he switches up completely. “That’s cute, but they didn’t ask for your opinion.” Cold eyes. Tight jaw. Suddenly very serious.

He can change his tone so fast. Can go from deadpan and chill to teasing in 0.2 seconds. “You really thought you were gonna win that argument?”

NSFW

Talks. So. Much. Shit. Half of it makes you want to slap him, the other half has your legs shaking. “You get like this just from my fingers? You sure you’re ready for my cock?”

Whispers the filthiest things while he’s holding you like you’re fragile. Face buried in his chest, blanket pulled up to your chin, and he’s like, “You looked so pretty choking on my cock earlier. Gonna dream about it tonight.”

Power trips like crazy when you’re a mess for him. Will literally say things like, “Look at you can’t even think straight. I did that. That’s all me.”

WANTS you to squirm. The more flustered and needy you get, the calmer and cockier he becomes. “Aww, look at you. You can’t even talk. What happened to all that attitude, hm?”

His tone of voice drops so low when he's serious. No more playful teasing, just a sharp, commanding, almost cruel tone that makes your knees go weak. “You think I’m gonna be gentle with you after the way you acted today?”

Big on control. Likes manhandling you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other is between your legs

Doesn’t let you win unless he wants you to. If you try to tease him, he’ll raise a brow like, “Cute.” And then absolutely rail you until your legs give out.

Definitely a neck-grabber. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you squirm. Especially when you talk back. “Watch your mouth. Or I’ll find better ways to keep it busy.”

Obsessed with your thighs. Bites them. Slaps them. Sleeps with his head between them like they’re his personal comfort zone. “Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

Favorite thing? When you ride him. Claims he’s letting you take control but ends up grabbing your hips and slamming you down harder, just to watch your reaction

Calls you things like “pretty thing” and “baby” in the most degrading way possible.

Possessive in the hottest way. Leaves bite marks just below where clothes cover. Grips your jaw and makes you look at him when you’re close. “Eyes on me, babe.”

Loves to drag things out. Kisses up your thighs and just stops before touching where you need him. Smirks while you beg. “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll thank me later.”

Loves hearing you beg. The more whiny and desperate, the better. He’ll edge you for hours just to hear you plead. “Say please real sweet for me and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Gets off on making you cry from pleasure. Not sad tears the broken, shaking, can’t-take-it-anymore kind. He’ll wipe them with his thumb and chuckle. “Tears already? We just started.”

He’ll intentionally overstimulate himself just to keep up with you. Like if you're still needy after he finishes, he'll mutter, “So fuckin' greedy,” and keep going anyway, groaning while you squirm. He lives for it.

He’s mean in the moment, but afterward? You’re immediately getting cuddled, praised, fed snacks, and hes putting you into one of his shirts. “You did so good for me. C’mere, lemme hold you.”

But if you ever use your safeword? His demeanor changes instantly. “Okay, okay. You good? Talk to me, baby.” Holds your hand, kisses your forehead. Doing anything that you ask of him

Divider by: @cafekitsune

My Kpop Demon Hunters Masterlist

[mushroom-onalightpost]

i dont often add my thoughts like this, and i hope you don't mind if i do here, but;

I moved out of my very religious, very emotionally abusive parents' house at the beginning of 2025, and Holy Shit have things changed. i knew somewhere in the back of my mind that they would because i also saw the "things get better just wait" variants over and over. but, like a lot of people, i had sort of stopped believing it because it had taken so long to happen, and my situation still felt so fucking shitty. but then it happened. i got the lucky break id been waiting for, and now i live with my partner and meta in a different city with 3 cats and a dog.

i could immediately tell i felt safer before we even fully moved in. we had no couches yet, no chairs, no beds-- just a shitload of boxes and bags of clothes stacked around, and a bluetooth record player blasting hozier as we unloaded the next carload together, and i could fucking breathe

in the 6 months since ive lived here, ive noticed a dozen other signs that ive felt safer here in ways i didnt realize i didnt at my parents

i sing without fear of my mother noticing my voice drop, i do dishes half awake without keeping an ear out for my grandma, i sit out on the front porch without being asked why, i talk to my neighbors without my verbal filter going into overdrive for fear of info getting back to my parents, and-- the most recent thing ive noticed-- i sleep through the night more than ever now

while living with my parents, it was normal for me to wake up 3-5 times every night, and i couldnt figure out why. i mentioned to a coworker last week that since moving out, ive slept better than i have in memory, and they simply said "Good, that means you feel safe there." and boy oh fucking boy if that didnt make me bluescreen in the middle of buttering popcorn at 11:30 in the fucking morning

i just. hold on. you'll get there, and once you do, youll get to experience a million little things that will bring you joy in a way youve never felt before. hold on for that. its worth it.

I get to be more free as an adult than I ever did as a child and I think more kids need to know that. as a high schooler part of what made my depression so bad was being told over and over again that it was the most carefree time of my life. while I was trapped in an abusive home + amongst bullies at school + in a body that wasn’t right for me. opportunities to be carefree don’t end when you turn 18. you can be more you than ever as an adult and that’s such a gift. I know ‘it can get better’ is an annoying thing to see over and over when you’re as trapped as I was back then. and I know that if you’re still a kid you deserve to be free right this second. but it can and will get better and this is not where life stops being interesting. promise

[centaurianthropology]

Another thing I've been thinking about in regards to 'Murderbot' is how far Murderbot's accusations really go as confessions. I've seen people complain that PresAux are 'ungrateful', as Murderbot constantly characterizes them as such. It complains that they don't appreciate what it's done, don't recognize the efforts it's made.

But it's not taking into account what a bad communicator is constantly is. Yes, PresAux don't really understand Murderbot, but it has put very little effort into understanding them. The miscommunication goes both ways! Murderbot is a deeply self-sabotaging character, constantly walking away from moments it might have made a connection, refusing to explain itself or its actions, and then getting upset when people don't simply intuit them and thank it for what it refuses to put voice to.

It's an incredibly understandable flaw. So many people have the flaw of not explaining themselves, refusing to connect or communicate, and then getting angry when they're not understood. It's refusing to meet anyone half-way, because it's spent its existence being treated as an object. So why should it put forth any effort to explain itself now?

Except it still wants to be understood. It still wants to be appreciated. And when it does put forth that effort with Mensah, it's rewarded. She reaches back. She connects with it, but the problem is that she has other connections. She has other people she's responsible for, and so once again Murderbot feels misunderstood because it won't make the same effort with them, and they don't understand, and Mensah has to choose between chasing after it (again) and trying to keep her people cohesive and alive. She chooses the prior commitment, and she chooses to respect its autonomy.

"It's not your pet" echoes in my head, because I think there is a certain impulse in the audience to woobify Murderbot, to reduce it to a sweet baby pet thing that can't possibly help when it spies on people, or invades their privacy, or refuses to explain why it does what it does, or hurts people in unexpected ways (or very expected ways), or gets upset when people can't read its mind. But it's not a pet. It's a wholly realized, broken person. And it's fucking up every bit as much as PresAux is fucking up. Its war with Gurathin is 100% a mutual affair, where they've both been absolute shit to one another simply because they could. Its refusal to speak to the team in anything like an actual back-and-forth conversation is an understandable reaction to what it's been through, and it's still the wrong call and is actively worsening the situation everyone finds themselves in.

And that's what I like about this show. It's not taking the easy way out with any of these situations. Murderbot is an ASSHOLE, and it's wrong about half the things it says. It wants outcomes it can't or won't work for, and wants recognition for things there is no way for people to have know it did. And haven't we all done that? Haven't we all been in that mental place? Having to make connections is HARD. It's scary and puts you in a vulnerable place and may not pay off. And it's the only way to really live. Right now, Murderbot wants the rewards of connection without the risks and pains of connection.

That's a great place to start a long-term character arc! It's wrong and broken and dumb in the most honest, real ways. It makes massive mistakes, and refuses to acknowledge them, and hopes they just go away. Or it tries to tackle them, and does it in the worst possible way.

And then, occasionally, it gets it right. It opens up, and makes a real and beautiful connection. What it has with Mensah is as good as it is because Murderbot, even just a little, was willing to open up, to be vulnerable, to share pieces of itself. And that's the first thing that really matters in its life.

This show has a hopepunk heart, where genuine connection is not only rewarded, it's the only thing that really matters. It's a lesson Murderbot is going to learn, but it's going to be a slow and difficult path to understanding, just like it is for any of us.

[mona-risms]

I have an ask!: Half-Demon!Reader x Rumi

Reader doesn't need to eat souls like the normal demons somehow and needs to only feed on emotions (not in the sense that she takes away peoples emotions and definitely not like a dementor).

So she became a K-Pop Idol and worked her way up to the top (I kinda imagined her to be like IU or Jennie) you can decide how they'll meet personally, how Rumi reacts to the reader being a half!demon and whether or not this is before, after or during the movie.

But it is well known that Rumi and Reader have a crush on each other by the fans and of course Zoey and Mira but they're(Rumi and Reader) both oblivious or in denial of it.

(NSFW or otherwise)

(sorry if this is all over the place)

◆ MAIN COURSE: Rumi x half-demon!K-Pop soloist!fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: [S/N] means your stage name gays 🫶 whether it's actually a stage name or just your actual name is up to you :3c. Anyway this kinda sucked ass my bad bro sigh 😞

This made me think of Merlin from Fate/Grand Order in the way that he's an incubus but he feeds on people's dreams and emotions without actually taking anything away substantial from them. I GOTCHU BRO I GOTCHU

As a half-demon (completely independent from Celine 😒 thank god 😒), you've known that you're the type that needs to sustain herself with more than just normal food to survive. You've always absorbed emotions passively around you, and ofc the way such a thing would be most accessible to you is by having people want you as a constant. It's not like you're hurting them or anything—if anything, becoming a star would make things symbiotic bc them being able to watch you = you get more energy!! You don't need souls or anything, but emotions can come close to it as is :3

How your patterns manifest ultimately boils down to you bc yoohoo you're the reader 🙏🙏 but my personal idea is that as long as you keep feeding on emotions and stuff, you can maintain your own independent glamour better than most. Jinu and the Sajas are all bound by Gwi-Ma so they can't really do it, and Rumi is completely independent in her own way that she doesn't need to consume anything soul-adjacent to survive at the cost of her not really having any way to use the demon glamour whatsoever (hence the long sleeves and stuff

You and Rumi (and HUNTR/X, by extension) would most likely meet in passing during a livestreamed performance program like mnet or KBS prior to the movie. They all have their varying forms of acknowledgement but Zoey would be ABSOLUTELY WRECKED

"Is that..? NO."

Mira raised an eyebrow as she adjusted her gloves, "You okay?"

"NO. NO, I AM NOT OKAY." Zoey grapples onto Rumi's shoulders, who had mostly minded her own business until now, "LOOK at who we're PERFORMING WITH!!!" And she points to you, though your back had been facing them, completely unaware of the commotion a few paces behind you as the staff proceeded to mic you up, "[S/N]! Is sharing the stage! With US!"

Rumi let out a small chuckle of amusement as her hands raised up to hold Zoey's, "Any more of that excitement and you'll end up bouncing on the walls."

The maknae's grip on her shoulder's tightened before she practically shook Rumi, "And for GOOD REASON! She's, like, one of the best soloists in K-Pop HISTORY!! I went to her concert during her world tour and it changed. My. LIFE!!!!"

"Woah, easy--"

A snort left Mira, "I think your life's gonna get changed twice over now because—" she juts her thumb to your direction, where you've started to walk over to the trio, "—she's coming this way."

Zoey practically spun to look, "WHAT."

Unfortunately, in the process of Zoey's whirlwind movements, her strength had essentually pushed and spiralled Rumi around like collateral damage before--

"Woah--"

Before she can either steady herself or fall down completely, an arm reaches out to pull her close and hold her steady—your arm, she realises, when she tilts her head to look at you and.. oh. Oh.

Oh no.

"Are you okay?"

Yes? No? Maybe? She should probably say something but words are not coming out of her when she's currently stunned by the look of you.

But when Zoey's whispered fangirling finally registered in Rumi's brain—"no. frickin'. way."—she realises she's been staring at your face for probably way too long.

She scrambled to straighten herself up with a nod, "Uh, yeah. I am, thank you, I-- oh god--" and she takes a full step back to bow at you in respect, "I am so sorry!"

But you simply dismissed it with a small laugh, "Raise your head—don't worry about it. I'm glad I caught you. ..Rumi, right? Leader of—" you look towards the other two members "—HUNTR/X?"

"You.. know us?" "Mira oh my god [S/N] knows we exist--" "In case you forgot, we're idols too, you know."

"It'd be hard not to. Three new stars of the stage, all with prodigal-level talent. People are even saying you're on track to win this year's Idol Awards." You gave them a smile as your hand went up to Rumi's chin, gently guiding her back to stand up straight before tucking a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear, "No wonder why."

Heat rushed to Rumi's cheeks in a near-instant at the gesture, and she doesn't even notice how the staff are calling you over for your performance slot when your nails graze her skin before dropping back down to your side, "Why do you say that?"

Your answer came in the form of a wink as you backed off, "Just a hunch I've got."

As you leave, Rumi could swear she noticed the tiniest flash of purple on your neck, but then you're gone with a wave as staff herd you to your designated point of entry for your set.

(But what she doesn't know is the way you could taste the emotions between the three of them—each with its own troubles, but all so strong and connected, not just to the Honmoon but to each other.)

(And maybe the 'followed' status on their group social media that they'll find later.)

Girl doesn't know whether to thank Zoey or kill her. Zoey, for her part, is both sorry and not sorry at all. Mira, on the other hand, is 🤨🤨 at Rumi bc she doesn't usually lose composure with men like her and Zoey but suddenly she's Speechless and Stuttering with YOU. Actual cinema she will NEVER let Rumi live this down

Rumi starts kinda investing quite a bit of her time into watching you, your performances, your appearances and everything. She says it's 'research' but cmon let's not lie here she has a little idol crush on you LOL NO ONE'S FALLING FOR IT 💀💀💀💀

The two of you keep on seeing each other or meeting in passing through the years, it's like an inevitability considering you all work in the same industry and the same field. Sometimes the two of you or one of the other HUNTR/X are seen interacting whenever you happen upon each other—though usually you and Rumi end up talking up an entire storm (once Rumi gets over her initial 'holy shit this woman's beautiful' shock). She doesn't know why, but for some reason it feels so easy to talk to you.. like there's some sort of link between you two that she can't comprehend

I'd like to say that she doesn't really let anything go anywhere though, not at first. For one, you two are just. Acquaintances!! Does she like you a bit? Maybe, but it's not like she can afford to do anything more before they finally get the Golden Honmoon—if she was gonna even ATTEMPT to have something with you, it'd be when her patterns are gone and she's just a human, nothing more, nothing less

So with that in mind, you'll probably stay acquaintances/crushing at a distance until post-movie, when it's all revealed that Rumi's a demon and she wears her markings out without a need to cover them anymore. Seeing that Oh! This entire time you weren't the Only half-demon out there, why not yk? People have already picked up on the ease of interaction and the feelings between the two of you, and it's EMBARRASSING for her but she's like "first of all no she wouldn't like me like that no way and second of all I Cannot", so. Actual full on development would happen post-movie 🫶

"Sleeveless shirts look good on you," you call out from behind Rumi, snapping her out from her reverie, "lets the patterns shine. Colours look good on you too."

She turned around to face you, instinctual panic rising up before realising that circumstances have definitely changed. She looked down at her arms, at the purplish patterns that stretched her skin with an iridescent sheen. "You think so?" She looked back up at you with a small, shy smile on her face—as if she knew she didn't have to hide despite the lingering voices in her head, "Thanks. I'm.. just getting used to it."

"Getting used to not hiding anymore? I watched your interview—talking about yourself and what you've lived with isn't an easy to do."

"Ha, yeah. I had to psych myself up before even getting to the venue at all. Zoey and Mira were both with me, so.. it wasn't all bad in the end." She returned to looking out of the city from the shrine's overlook when you came into step beside her, "..It'll take me a while, I think, to get used to it. I've lived with this shame since the day I was born—it's not just something I can shrug off. Even now, I..."

You watched her in silence, seeing the way she fidgeted with the hem of her own shirt like she wasn't sure whether to run or take it off. With a small sigh, you took off your own jacket and draped it on Rumi, "No one's expecting you to recover at the drop of a hat. Baby steps, yeah? It's the only way we can move past anything that bothers us, especially if it's about ourselves."

A blush coloured her face again as her eyes widened at the sudden contact of fabric around her, and she clenches onto your jacket to keep it from falling off her shoulders. She turned to look at you, "You don't have t-- ..."

And freezes at the sight before her.

"..Patterns." She weakly uttered out, "You have the patterns."

Thick, jagged lines of pale purple ran down your body—lines that were never there, lines that were never supposed to be there.

And yet all you do is raise your arms in a form of surrender, "Guess I do."

No matter how close you are, this girl is on GUARD. This whole time, you were a demon ('half-demon' you correct her, which honestly makes her crisis worse) and she didn't realise. NO ONE realised. She wasn't as alone as she thought she was......though she sure as hell is gonna make you tell her every single thing bc this woman is ever the inquisitor with questions she needs answers to

I'm gonna be honest, she'll go through so many emotions at once. She'd be so relieved immediately because she's not the only half-demon out there!! She's not an anomaly!!! But then she'd get so fucking furious bc why not say anything? Why not do anything? What if Celine knew about this the entire time as well and she didn't care enough to let Rumi know? And what the fuck are you doing with people's emotions? But eventually she kinda simmers down, exhausted at the thought of it all and kinda thankful when she realises you don't actually do anything harmful to your fans whenever you perform and feed off their emotions, though she does get a bit wary at first ("is that why it's really easy to talk to you?" "is it?" "please just answer my question")

At the end of it though, she's actually relieved. You're not evil, you're basically the same as her (minus the Hunter training, or lack thereof) and you didn't get banished by the Honmoon. If anything, once all the information settles in on her, she might even start ask you about what it's actually like to be a half-demon! She's been under Celine's tutelage for so long and was completely made to ignore and hate her demon side that everything pertaining to it (the claws, the teleportation) was completely instinctual thanks to her rage. Now that you're in the picture, it's hard not to be at least a LITTLE curious about it

I think her being taught what being a half-demon actually means would do good for her, little by little, for multiple reasons. It has her learning more about herself that no one else can really teach her, it has her learning to slowly accept the thing she was so ashamed of properly VIA learning about it, and it also has the both of you getting closer and closer with each other

Suddenly you're not just acquaintances. You start talking more, online and offline. You start meeting up with each other voluntarily instead of passing by, and when Rumi goes out and Zoey and Mira ask where she's going, she'll actually say she's meeting up with you (to Zoey's sheer disbelief and Mira's relief). Whenever you have a job going on, like a show or smth, and the other person is free, you two will be seen watching and cheering for each other. Maybe you even start to show your patterns more, thanks to Rumi's public display :3c

The shipping allegations significantly get worse ofc LMFAO. You two are seen spending time a lot, holding hands and being close, and whenever it's relevant you two end up talking about each other like you're gfs it's so fucking funny 😭 but at the end of the day the two of you are like "naaaah nothing's happening!!" Esp for Rumi's case bc she's so blind to it, the girl's thoroughly convinced that it's just you two bonding thanks to your shared half-demon trait

When you end up actually realising that "Oh. This Isn't just a friend thing", methinks it'd be during a quiet night at some rooftop between the both of you. The two of you touch, and your patterns both start to glow—yours violet, hers a myriad of colours

"..Like I said," your hand drifted up to her chest, where you could feel her heart beat, and the iridescent glow flowed all the way through Rumi's patterns like water filling in cracks of rock with its streams, "beautiful."

Rumi's eyes were wide and sporting a glassy sheen as she leaned into your touch, her own hand covering yours and triggering a reaction of her own—the light of your patterns slowly spreading along your skin in bright purple and pink, "..So are you, [Y/N]."

"Yeah? Not afraid anymore?"

You didn't specify on what she'd be afraid of.

"..No." She shook her head, and a peaceful, loving smile was on her face, "Not with you."

And then it's kiss kiss fall in love 😝

[sirenontheloose]

hiiii part 33333 pleaaaseeeeee

I'm just glad some of you are obsessed with this as much as I am LMAO

pt.1, pt.2

Please Don't Clip This pt.3

Lara rushed into her room and slammed the door shut behind her like the embarrassment was physically chasing her. She kicked her shoes off without aiming, tossed her jacket onto the desk chair, and dove face-first into her bed with a groan that echoed into her pillow.

Megan didn’t even flinch from her spot on the other bed. "That bad?"

"I should’ve just stayed seated," Lara mumbled into the blanket. "Why did I go up to her table? Why did I say anything? She looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her whole and now I’m the idiot who made it worse."

"You’re being dramatic," Megan said, scrolling through her phone. "You were chill. Charming, even."

Lara sat up slightly, just enough to glare. "Charming? I interrupted her dinner to remind her of the most embarrassing moment of her year."

Megan shrugged. "Bold of you to assume that’s the worst thing she’s done this year."

Lara let out a shaky laugh, then groaned again and collapsed back onto the bed. "I should’ve just waved from the table. Or not waved. Or sunk into the floor."

"You’re spiraling."

"I’m spiraling," Lara agreed.

She flipped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her heart still hadn’t slowed down. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the moment again, Y/N blinking up at her, cheeks flushed, hoodie half-swallowed by her shoulders like she was trying to disappear. Lara thought she’d play it cool. She was cool, usually. However, the second she stood at Y/N’s table, every word felt like it came out just a little too fast, too soft, too hopeful. And Y/N’s reaction, that wide-eyed silence, well, it wasn’t exactly comforting.

What if she hated it? What if she was only being polite? What if the livestream was just a moment, and Lara had misread everything?

She grabbed her phone, not really expecting anything, just needing to distract herself before she overthought herself into a coma. She was about to open TikTok when her lock screen lit up. A DM. From Y/N.

hey it’s me. y/n. i didn’t think our first meeting would go like that and i’m sorry again for being a total mess during the livestream, but i meant what i said about you being gorgeous and all. so.. if you’re still in seoul and free tomorrow, would you wanna get dinner with me?

Lara sat up like someone had hit her with a defibrillator. "OH MY GOD," she blurted.

Megan startled, then peeked over at her screen. Her eyes widened. "No way. She actually, oh my God, she did."

"What do I say?" Lara whispered, clutching the phone like it might vanish if she moved too fast. "Do I say yes? Is it weird if I say yes right away?"

Megan snatched the phone from her and opened the Notes app. "Okay. Let’s start with 'hi' and work our way up from there."

Lara stared at her phone like it might combust if she touched it wrong. Her heart was pounding out a nervous beat, fingers trembling just above the keyboard while Megan practically hung over her shoulder.

"Read it again," Megan demanded, already grinning like she knew the ending.

"I’ve read it," Lara mumbled, eyes wide. "Like ten times."

"She wants to hang out," Lara blurted, too fast, too defensively, like saying it plain would make it less terrifying.

Megan squinted at her. "Lara, that’s not just hanging out."

"She didn’t say date."

"She called you gorgeous and asked you to dinner, how is that not a date."

Lara clutched her phone like it might shatter. "What if I mess it up again."

"You won’t. Just say yes, no emoji spiral, no punctuation panic, just breathe."

"I am breathing. I’m literally breathing right now."

"Yeah, you're breathing like someone who just ran a marathon blindfolded."

Lara typed each word like she was defusing a bomb with her bare hands.

that sounds really nice, i’d love to. what time were you thinking

Megan beamed. "Perfect, now send it, go."

"I haven’t sent it yet."

"Lara."

"I’m going to."

Right as her thumb hovered over send, the door swung open.

"What are you guys doing," Manon asked between bites of ice cream, already suspicious.

"Y/N just asked Lara out on a dinner date tomorrow," Megan blurted, bouncing like a kid who couldn’t keep a secret.

Lara shot her a look. "It’s not a date."

Manon froze mid-step. "No way, shut up, for real."

Lara handed her the phone wordlessly.

Manon scanned the message, then screamed into her spoon. "Lara, this is so real. You’re being courted."

Then her face dropped.

"Wait, wait, wait, don’t we have a flight tomorrow?"

Everything in the room screeched to a halt.

"What flight," Megan asked slowly, like she already regretted it.

"Gabriella promo. We’re going back to LA. They bumped it up, remember? We leave at five in the morning," Manon said, already pulling up her calendar.

"No," Lara whispered, like it physically hurt.

"Yes," Manon winced.

Lara sank onto the edge of the bed like the floor had fallen out from under her. Megan stopped bouncing.

"There has to be a way around it."

Lara didn’t say anything. She just stared at the screen like it was slipping away, inch by inch. "I should’ve just stayed seated," she muttered into her hands. "What if she thinks I don’t care now."

"She won’t," Manon said gently. "You just have to be honest."

"She probably already thinks I’m ghosting her," Lara muttered.

"She sent that like five minutes ago," Manon said, still beside her, softer now. "She’s probably still holding her phone, hoping you say yes."

Lara didn’t say anything. The excitement had fizzled too fast. She still had the message typed out, sitting there in her drafts like a promise she couldn’t keep. She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over send like muscle memory hadn’t caught up to her heart.

Megan watched her carefully from the other end of the bed, her earlier buzz fading too. "You okay?"

Lara shook her head, just a little. "I feel like I ruined it before it even started."

Manon reached over and handed her a bottle of water she had grabbed earlier, her expression gentle now. "You didn’t. The schedule sucks, not you." She sounded sure. Not just comforting her for the sake of it, but actually believing it. "She asked you out," she continued. "That means something. Whether you meet tomorrow or next week or next comeback, she wanted to see you. That doesn’t just vanish overnight."

"But what if she thinks I’m brushing her off?" Lara’s voice cracked, and she barely caught it.

"She won’t," Manon said without hesitation. "You already did the hard part. You went up to her. You said hi. If she meant what she said, and come on, she definitely meant it, this isn’t the end."

Lara didn’t answer. She just nodded once, then pulled her legs up and curled into the pillows. Megan leaned over, "We’ll figure it out. But maybe you should get some sleep."

Lara stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Then she typed, slowly.

i really want to but we’re flying back to la for work stuff tomorrow morning. i’m so sorry. can i have a rain check?

Then, before she could change her mind again, she hit send. The message disappeared into the chat, and she immediately rolled onto her back, arm flung over her face like she couldn’t bear to see what happened next.

It didn’t take long. Her phone buzzed less than a minute later. She sat up like she’d been electrocuted. Her heart was practically punching her ribs. She grabbed her phone and read the reply.

well are you free now

Lara’s breath caught. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the screen like it might vanish if she blinked.

Megan caught the look first. "What? Did she respond? What’d she say?"

Lara turned the phone around slowly.

Manon leaned in, read it, screamed. "She did not just say that. She did not just say that, oh my God, she said that."

"Are you kidding?" Megan clutched a throw pillow to her chest. "She’s basically asking if she can see you tonight. Right now."

Lara just sat there, frozen in place, gripping her phone like a lifeline.

"Why are you not replying?" Manon was practically bouncing in place.

"I don’t know what to say."

Megan grabbed the pillow and launched it across the room. "Say yes. Say it right now before I explode."

Lara, heart hammering in her chest, tapped out her reply with fingers that could barely type straight.

yes

She hit send.

Not even five seconds passed before her screen lit up again.

where are you staying

The scream that came out of all three girls didn’t sound human. Manon hit the floor like she’d been tackled. Megan grabbed Lara by the wrist and yanked her to her feet. "You’re going. No questions."

"I’m not even ready," Lara said, half-laughing, half-panicking.

"You look hot," Megan said, already digging by the door. "Here. Shoes. Now."

She shoved a pair of sneakers into Lara’s hands and pushed her gently toward the exit. "You don’t need to change. You need to go."

Lara stood there for a second, clutching the shoes, hair a mess, nerves exploding like fireworks. But she was smiling.

She sent the address with shaking fingers before she could think twice. Then she bolted for the elevator, heart racing like it was trying to run ahead of her. By the time she stepped into the hotel lobby, her phone lit up again.

omw

Lara swore her heart actually skipped. She stared at the screen for a second too long, lips pressed tight, trying not to start smiling like an idiot in front of the staff. Y/N was coming.

She checked her reflection in the lobby mirror for the third time, smoothing down her hair even though it looked fine. The hoodie she’d been wearing since dinner still smelled faintly like BBQ, and she winced a little at that, tugging it down and brushing invisible lint off the sleeves. Too late to turn back now.

Her phone buzzed again.

i'm here

Lara turned so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. She scanned the front entrance like she was in a spy movie, eyes darting until she saw her. 

Y/N was stepping in, hood still half-up, mask pulled under her chin. Her hair was a little messy, like she’d rushed, cheeks slightly flushed from the night air. Her eyes found Lara’s almost instantly.

She smiled. It was soft and it hit Lara square in the chest.

Lara stood frozen for a second. Then her body remembered how to move.

They met halfway across the lobby, both a little breathless. "Hey," Y/N said, voice low and warm. Lara swallowed the knot in her throat. "Hey."

There was a pause. Not awkward, just full. Like both of them knew this wasn’t nothing. Y/N then let out a soft laugh and scratched the back of her neck. "I feel like this is the part where I say something cool," she said, eyes flicking to the ground, then back to Lara’s face.

Lara didn’t even think. "I like you."

It came out before she could stop it. Her eyes widened a little, the weight of the words catching up to her after they’d already fallen.

Y/N’s lips parted, surprise flickering across her face. Then it shifted, her whole expression melting into something soft and unreadable and so full of feeling, it made Lara dizzy. "You... like me?" she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Lara nodded, heart drumming so loud she could barely hear herself. "I do."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her lips curling into the gentlest smile. Her shoulders relaxed like she’d been holding something in without realizing.

"I like you too," she said, and it wasn’t dramatic or loud. It was just simple and certain.

She stepped a little closer, close enough that Lara could feel the warmth of her hoodie sleeve brush against hers. "Do you wanna go for a drive or something? I don’t really wanna go back yet." Lara nodded fast. "Yeah. That sounds perfect."

Y/N didn’t say anything, she just reached out, slow and gentle, her fingers brushing against Lara’s like a quiet question. Then, without rushing, she softly laced them together, careful but sure, like she wanted to make it clear she meant it.

Her thumb swept the back of Lara’s hand once, barely a touch, but it was enough to send sparks all the way up Lara’s arm.

Lara glanced down at their joined hands, her chest blooming with something warm and giddy, something that made her want to laugh and cry all at once.

Y/N looked over, her voice soft and a little shy. “Is this okay?”

Lara smiled, breathless. “More than okay.”

[bradleysass]

sex - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 682

"Favourite sex position. Go."

Barty’s voice cut through the quiet of the evening like a knife through softened butter—casual, abrupt, and entirely out of place as they lay tangled together on Evan's bed, limbs thrown lazily across each other, a half-empty bag of crisps between them and a muted documentary playing on the telly.

Evan blinked once. Then again. Slowly turned his head.

"You know I’m asexual."

Barty grinned, as if he was waiting for that. “Doesn’t mean you don’t have a favourite. Come on. Purely theoretical. Aesthetics, physics, moral superiority, whatever.”

Evan stared at him flatly. “You want to talk about moral superiority while half-naked and chewing on expired crisps?”

Barty didn’t even flinch. “Absolutely.”

There was a long silence.

Evan sighed, running a hand down his face, trying to decide whether to engage or throw a pillow at him. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” Barty shrugged. “I just like watching your face when I say things that throw you off. You get all... twitchy and judgy. It’s hot.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know,” Barty said cheerfully, popping a crisp into his mouth and offering Evan the bag like nothing had happened. “But seriously. Favourite?”

Evan took a crisp, chewed it slowly, and then said, “I think you’re confusing my disinterest in sex with a lack of imagination.”

“Oh?” Barty sat up a little, grinning wider. “So you have thought about it.”

Evan gave him a look. “Everyone’s thought about it. Even if just in passing. Doesn’t mean I want to do it.”

Barty quieted a bit at that, expression flickering into something softer. “I know.”

He did. And Evan appreciated that—appreciated him, even on days when Barty’s energy was like a buzzsaw to Evan’s calm. He always knew where the line was. He might skip rope on it, dance a little, test it, but he never crossed it without permission.

Evan leaned his head against Barty’s shoulder. “I like the idea of someone curled into someone’s lap. Close. Secure. Doesn’t even have to be sex. Just… that kind of positioning. Warm.”

Barty made a noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I like it.” He bumped his shoulder lightly against Evan’s. “That makes sense. You always look happiest when I’m clinging to you like a barnacle.”

“You’re always clinging to me like a barnacle.”

“Because I like you.”

“Disgusting.”

Barty snorted. “What about spooning? That’s a classic.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “This isn’t build-a-kink-workshop, Barty. I’m not listing a menu.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll drop it.”

And he did. Just like that. He let the topic go, leaning back against the pillows and sliding a hand into Evan’s hair without asking, just the way Evan liked it—gentle, grounding. Comfort instead of chaos.

After a moment, Evan said, quietly, “Why’d you ask?”

Barty shrugged again, slower this time. “I dunno. I guess sometimes I worry I’m too much. Like… I’m always thinking about this stuff. Wanting it. You’re not. And I don’t want you to think I don’t love you exactly how you are.”

Evan blinked. He hadn’t expected that answer.

He turned to look at Barty, really look at him. The mess of his hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he was trying to act nonchalant but had that tightness around his mouth that always gave him away when he was feeling vulnerable.

“I don’t think that,” Evan said, firm. “I’ve never thought that.”

Barty looked at him.

“I know you want different things sometimes,” Evan continued. “And that’s okay. We talk about it. We figure it out. You never make me feel broken for being me.”

Barty reached up and touched Evan’s face, just briefly. “You’re not broken.”

“I know,” Evan said. And he did. He really, really did.

They were quiet for a while again, the documentary now long forgotten.

Finally, Barty whispered, “Okay, but if I had to choose, it’d be against a wall. You know, lifted—legs around, rough makeout, some biting—”

Evan shoved a pillow in his face.

Barty cackled underneath it.

[starrbishops]

⟡Perfect Situation⟡

(John Walker x f!Reader)

Summary: You and John have a penchant for getting into stupid situations together. When you kiss him to get out of one such situation, it leads to something more in your friendship.

Word Count: 4.6k

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, the 'ol Natasha Romanoff fake kiss on a mission trope, SMUT, shower sex, male masturbation, voyeurism if you squint, blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up), brief fingering, John Walker's praise kink (ofc), Walker is down BAD, Walker has a big dick (sorry not sorry), reader is a New Avenger/Thunderbolt, Yelena appearance!

a/n: This one has been in the works for a while. My magnum opus of idiots to lovers truly. Idk why I wrote the smut half from John's POV but uh. It's there. Have fun :)

You knew it was a stupid idea from the start.

Unfortunately, if you and John had one thing in common, it was committing hard to stupid ideas.

You were supposed to be doing simple recon, hanging out at a bar which known organized crime members frequented, hoping to pick up some kind of information. The thing was, you’d forgotten the fact that the two of you were now plastered on every billboard and Wheaties box in the country. 

You now found yourselves being chased out by several gangsters with guns and other assorted weapons, trying to get out of sight without being shot.

“Told you this was a dumb fuckin’ idea.” you panted out as you ran, close behind Walker.

“Yeah, well you’re the one who said we didn’t need backup.” he retorted, ducking into an alleyway. You followed, the sound of the gangsters still close.

You found yourselves in a crowded plaza, people bustling all over the place. You scanned the area, looking for soemwhere to hide. You had learned the hard way that you and Walker were now recognizable, and he was a big guy who was hard to hide in a crowd.

A lightbulb went off in your head.

“Follow me.” you grabbed his arm, dragging him off to one of the brick walls encicling the plaza. You leaned your back against it and pulled John towards you.

“What the hell is your plan-”

“Kiss me.”

“What?” he stared down at you, confusion written clearly on his face. 

You could hear the shouts of the gangsters getting closer. “Just, fucking do it, okay? I’ll explain later.”

He just took a breath before leaning in and smashing his lips to yours, pressing you against the wall. His arms caged you in as he kissed you, covering you from view of the mobsters.

John was a surprisingly good kisser, you thought to yourself. He was married for years, of course he was. Still, even faking it he was doing a damn good job. He kissed with a fervor, like it was the last thing he was ever going to do.

He was the kind of guy to commit to a dumb idea.

You kissed back, wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to make a passionate show of it. You heard the mobsters walk by, one of them making an ‘eugh’ sound. After a moment, you pulled back, opening your eyes and peering over John’s shoulder.

“We’re good.” you turned to him, finding his face red and nervous. You’ve never seen John flustered before. “Hey, you okay?”

He nods feverishly, straighetning up in front of you. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah, it’s just, uh, been a while.”

Oh. Right. The divorce. It’s been a while since he and Olivia officially divorced, even longer since they’d separated. As far as you knew, John wasn’t interested in dating after her.

“Shit, sorry.” 

He just shrugged. “Not like you’re stealing my innocence, I mean, I was married.”

You both laugh it off awkwardly, moving to the alley to make your way back to the Watchtower.

You walk in silence after that, both trying to move on from what’s just happened. Usually you’d be quick to argue with or tease John after a shitty mission like this, but today all that runs through your head is the kiss, the memory of his lips on yours, his massive figure pressing you against the wall as if he was trying to meld himself with you. 

Next to you, John was quiet too. You assumed he was either planning out how to come back from this shitshow of a night, or thinking about Olivia. It made something in your stomach twist, a kind of…jealousy? Whatever it was, you felt it burning inside you as you clenched your fists, walking on without meeting his eyes.

“Oh, you two survived. Wonderful.” Yelena called from her spot on the couch as you entered, shoulders sagged and tired from running. “I see it went well.”

“Shut up.” John grumbled as he made straight for his room, not even saying a goodnight, leaving you alone in the entryway with the Russian spy. You can hear his door creak and slam from down the hall.

“What’s got him all grumpy?”

“Getting chased down by gangsters who keep calling you knock-off Cap will do that to you.” you slid your jacket off and plopped down next to Yelena, staring aimlessly at whatever reality TV show she was playing. “Mission was bad, he’ll get over it.”

Yelena just shrugs, turning her attention back to the TV. Part of you wants to tell her about the kiss, but you know she’ll tease you relentlessly for it, even moreso if you admitted that you liked it. 

“You know, Walker usually comes home happy when he’s with you.” Yelena comments, drawing your attention from your spiraling thoughts to her, “Even when things go bad. You make him more…optimistic.”

You just stare down into your lap, knowing she’s right. You get along with Walker more than anyone else on the team. An unlikely pair, but the two of you work well together. It’s why you agree to his stupid missions and why he supports your dumb choices. You’re two idiot peas in a pod, always in it together.

You worry you’ve ruined what you had. Things have been different with John for a while now. Where silence used to be comfortable it becomes more intense, like there’s words going unsaid in the way he looks at you. 

You’ve thought about kissing him before. Hell, you’ve thought about doing plenty of things to him before, and you weren’t thinking about smacking him when he did something wrong. Maybe your dumb kiss idea was an extension of that, your brain resorting to primal instincts instead of your training. And now here you sit, John having barely spoken to you after the kiss.

God, you fucked up.

You make some excuse about getting some rest to Yelena, making for John’s room immediately. How could you be so stupid? Letting your dumb feelings get in the way of the mission, of your friendship, of the whole team dynamic. You knock on his door, silently praying he’ll forgive you your stupidity. 

You receive no answer. You think for a moment, trying the door and finding it unlocked. You step in, hoping he’s just tired and avoiding you for the moment.

You find an empty room, hearing the shower from his en-suite running. Shit. You’ll try again tomorrow.

As you turn to leave, you hear some kind of grunting noise. You whip around on instinct peering around for the source of it. Something coming from the bathroom. It sounds like the grunts John makes when he’s focused in battle, the ones you always tease him about. 

You hear it again. It’s less angry sounding than it is when he’s fighting, but still as intense. Is he having a batte with the shampoo bottle or something?

You tiptoe closer to the door, your brain trying to come up with potential reasons. Maybe he’s hurt and didn’t tell you. He does historically have a tendency to not mention his wounds, deal with them himself so as not to worry others. You’ve insisted time and time again it’s no burden, and you thought he’d gotten over it.

You’re about to knock on the door, ask if he’s alright, when you hear it.

Your name.

Your brain screeches to a halt, wondering how he knew you were there. Then you hear it again, not an acknowledgement or a greeting, but a groan.

Oh. That’s what he’s doing.

Oh.

You clamp your hand over your mouth to avoid gasping, praying he didn’t hear you. Your mind is rushing at a million miles an hour.

So that’s why he was being weird after the kiss. It’s why he always stares at you in silence, looking like he has something to say. It’s why he shivers every time you touch him, clean up his wounds or even just nudge him in a meeting.

You’re frozen to your spot, wondering what you do now. The groaning sounds continue, and it certainly sounds like he’s enjoying himself. While thinking about you. Just imagining him, hair soaked and skin drenched in water, touching himself to the thought of you sparks a fire inside you.

The sounds stop. You snap out of your fantasies and immediately enter a state of panic, wondering what to do. This is not a scenario you’ve ever planned for. Do you wait for him to come out and confront him? Terrible idea, you look like a pervert. Do you run away and bring it up later? Again, pervert. There’s no winning. Best idea is to pretend it never happened.

But you don’t want to do that. You want to stomp in there and help him finish the job.

The water shuts off, and you decide on running. You tiptoe as fast as you can to the door, quietly turning the knob.

You think you’re home free till you hear the loud screech coming from the hinges of the door.

Damn John and his propensity for dramatically slamming doors.

The sounds of activity in the bathroom cease. You freeze, hoping and praying he didn’t hear it.

“Hello?” Shit, he heard it. Now what? “...Hi?” you call out nervously, immediately slamming your head against the wall.

You refuse to look back as John walks in, instead closing the godforsaken creaky door as you contemplate your fate. You’ve made things so, so much worse somehow.

“Hey.” he says, a tinge of nerves in his voice.

You clear your throat, trying to disguise your own fear and embarassment. “Hey.”

“How long were you, uh, out here for?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, still gripping the doorbknob like a lifeline. “Um, not too long. I was just, uh, coming to check on you because you seemed mad and I, I didn’t know you were in there. I was just leaving!” Great lying. You wonder sometimes how you became an Avenger.

“Oh.” His voice is gravelly, tired from a long day and after his shower activities. “So you, um…” 

You don’t even let him finish his sentence. “I didn’t hear anything!” Shit.

“I didn’t…” he trails off with a sigh. You can hear his wet foot squelch against the floor as he takes a step towards you. “Look, I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have had to hear that, it was…inappropriate, to say the least.”

“Oh, yeah.” you mumble, your brain basically running on fumes and reverting back to your base state of sarcasm. Walker just sighs in embarrassment behind you.

“Look, I… I don’t want things to be uncomfortable. If you don’t want to be around me after that, I understand, but I-I do enjoy being your friend. Even if I may want something more and you don’t.”

You finally open your eyes, leaning agaisnt the now shut door as you turn to face John. He’s clad in nothing for a towel, hair messy and sticking to his forehead. You can see everything; his strong biceps, the vein in his forearm that drives you crazy when he flexes it, his v-line running down beneath the cotton towel. You do your best not to ogle, focusing on his face, which has gone beet-red from the heat of the shower and the embarrassment of being caught.

You take a breath, trying to calm yourself before you speak. “Who said I didn’t want something more?”

His eyes light up, his face somehow becoming even more red. “You do?” he practically whispers, hope growing. 

“I was going to say sorry, for kissing you earlier, because I thought you were angry with me.” you chuckle, reeling at the insanity of your current situation. “I thought I ruined our friendship, and I was gonna beg for your forgiveness because I let my feelings get in the way of things and I made you hate me-”

“Hey.” he interrupts your rambling, crossing to room to stand in front of you, a mirror of your earlier kiss, with you backed against the wall and him hovering above you. “I could never hate you.”

You just nod, gazing up at him. “I do. Want something more.” you breathe in as you realize you’ve been holding your breath. “I want you.”

He’s giving you that look again, the one you now recognize as longing, although he looks strained, like he’s still holding himself back.

“Can I…” he steps closer, almost flush against you. “Can I kiss you? Again?”

“God, please do.” you grab the nape of his neck and pull him down, smashing your lips to his like it’s the end of the world and this is the only chance you’ll get. His hands move to cup your face, kissing back with all the intensity and feeling he’s held back. All the words left unsaid, the yearning looks, the late nights lying awake, he pours it into this, clutching onto you like you’re his salvation.

“You’re wet.” you mumble against his lips, feeling the rumble of laughter in his chest as you kiss him again, pulling him against you. Your clothes are wet now too, but you couldn’t care less. You just keep kissing him like his lips are the air you need to breathe.

His hands move from your face, trailing down to your waist, just above the curve of your ass.

“Can I have you?” he asks, breathless, his mouth resting on your forehead. “Please?”

“John.” you pant, and you can see his face fall, just a little, as you look up. “I am so gross from all that running.”

He just laughs, taking your hand in his. “That’s what showers are for.” he grins as he tugs you towards the door, holding it open for you to walk through. He wolf whistles as you do so, checking you out from behind. You elbow his stomach gently on the way in before you move to start undressing.

John’s still only got his towel, so he simply turns the water on and stands back to enjoy the show, watching you tug your shirt over your head, start to unbutton your pants. Every piece of skin you show somehow makes him harder, and the towel is doing a poor job of covering him up. Still, he waits to drop it, biding his time.

“What, are you enjoying the show?” you pause as you notice John’s eyes on you.

“Very much.” he grins cheekily.

“Alright, get in the shower, loverboy, I’ll see you in there.” you wave him off as you move to unclip your bra.

He does as he’s told, although he can’t help but mouth off. “That’s a new nickname.” he comments as he slides the glass door open once more.

“Would you rather I call you ‘creep?’”

“See you in there!” he ignores the last comment as he drops his towel, tossing it on the counter as he steps back into the shower. This time you whistle at the sight of his ass, eliciting a chuckle from him before he shuts the door again.

The water borders on scalding, the way he likes it. The serum made him run warm, and it takes just that much more heat for him to really feel it. He lets his pour over his face, run through his hair as he tries to ignore his aching erection.

It wasn’t the first time he’d masturbated to the thought of you. It’d been an accident the first time, honestly. He’d already been in the process, near finishing when all of a sudden your face had popped into his head, clear as day. Not even anything sexual about you, just your presence, your smile. He came harder than he ever had with just his hand before.

He felt guilty about it after. And every other time he’d done it. He couldn’t look at you for days afterwards. He liked you, a lot. You were on his mind all the time, not just when he was jerking off. And it was more than just your body. It was you, the way you believe in him, backed up even the stupidest ideas, laughed at his terrible jokes. The fact that you were unbelievably attractive was also a plus.

Just thinking about you right now, undressing outside for him made him have to steady himself against the wall, hand pressing into the tile just to avoid touching himself. He’s about to ask what’s taking so long when the door slides open, revealing your naked form as you step in to join him.

Any snarky remark he was going to make leaves his brain immediately. His eyes rake over you, taking it all in. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the sharp edges of your collarbone. He’s honestly speechless, even more so when you turn to shut the door and he can see your bare ass. He doesn’t even hear what you say as he struggles to put into words the sheer beauty before him.

“Huh?” he manages to snap out of it, standing up straight.

“I said, are you okay?” you laugh, joinigng him under the stream of water. The droplets soak your skin. Leaving shining traces where they drizzle down. 

“You’re so beautiful.” he finally manages.

You just smile, running your hands through your now wet hair. John feels like his heart is going to explode. And his dick, too.

Instead, he blinks hard, trying to ignore how goddamn horny he is. “Um, you need some help?” he waves a bar of soap in front of you, and with a nod from you, begins lathering your shoulders with it.

Neither of you talks as he explores your body with his hands, tracing the curve of your spine down to your ass as he cleans you. It feels intimate, safe here with you, like the rest of the world disappears. In here, there is no failed mission, no New Avengers, no pressure to save the world. It’s just you and him, baring yourselves to one another.

Once you’ve rinsed all the soap off, you finally turn to him, a mischievous grin on your face. “Need some help?” you echo his earlier words, one hand moving to wrap around the base of his cock. He hisses at the contact, his aching erection finally reivieng some attention.

“God, yes, please…” he can barely string a sentence together while you sink down to your knees, beginning to stroke him up and down. His hand returns to the tile, trying to hold himself together as you touch him.

“Jesus, so good.” it’s intoxicaintg, the sight of you on your knees before him. He’s imagined it before, but nothing compares to the real thing. Your eyes, blown out with lust as you look up at him, one hand around his length and hte other between your thighs. He memorizes the sight, wanting to preserve it forever in his memory.

Then you’re licking the dripping precum from his tip, and he groans outright. “You’re a loud one, huh?” you comment, before taking the head of him in your mouth, earning another broken moan from his lips. 

You take him deeper into your mouth, and it feels impossibly good. He can feel a moan vibrate around his cock as you suck him. One hand moves to grab your hair, not pulling, just grounding him as you continue bobbing your head on his dick, your hand stroking the base of him. “Fuck, John,” you moan as you take a momentary break, “‘s big.” 

He was already close before, having been unable to finish during his earlier shower, but he feels about to go off the deep end already now, the way you caress him, the feel of your mouth on him yoru dirty compliments.

“God, baby, I’m gonna…Christ, you feel so good.” He starts weighing his options, cum in your mouth, or cum in your cunt. He picks the second one. “Honey, wait, please.”

You release him with a wet pop, a lewd sound that makes up for his removal from your mouth. You give him a confused look, as he tries to catch his breath. He can feel his brain short circuitng at the sight of you, water streaming down your naked form, on your knees with your hands wrapped around his cock. You look like a work of art. “First time I cum with you is gonna be inside you.” You grin, giving one last lick up the underside of his length, his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Alright, get up here.” he releases your hair, instead pulling you back to standing. He stumbles back a bit as he removes his hand from the wall, still dizzy from his near orgasm. He pulls you in close, kissing you once more as he backs you against the wall.

“Fuck, John…” you moan as he kisses down your neck, sucking a bruise into your collarbone. He couldn’t care less if anyone sees it later. Let them, he thinks. Let them know you’re mine.

He wraps his hands under your thighs, pulling you up. He silences your yelp with another burning kiss, desperate to be inside of you already. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as his cock brushes agaisnt your soaked core.

Holding you up with one hand, his other moves to your cunt, feeling your wetness mixed with the water of the shower. He delves one finger into you, eliciting a gasp. He can feel you squeeze around him, arousal practically dripping from you. “This all for me?” he asks between kisses on your neck. 

You nod fervently, wiggling your hips as you try to pull him in deeper. “Yes, God, John, all for you.”

He smiles, removing his finger, much to your displeasure. You’re distracted from it as he brings it to his mouth, sucking your juices off slowly, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. He’ll have to eat you out after this, he thinks, moving it to the top of the list of things he wants to do to you. The look of awe and pure lust on your face will have to do for now. First, he needs to fuck you like his life depends on it. 

He grips his cock, dragging it agaisnt your cunt, lining himself up. “You ready?” he checks in, blue eyes meeting yours. “It’s a lot.”

He doesn’t even mean to brag, just pointing out a fact. He’s always been on the longer side, but the serum somehow added more girth, something he had to adjust to. You’re the first person he’s had sex with since the divorce, so he’s extra careful.

You just chuckle, your hand threading into his blond locks. “I’m ready.” you tell him, the same confident tone you go into a mission with, the voice you use when you’re about to dive headfirst into danger, or another stupid situation.

He is quite the stupid situation, he thinks. This whole thing is a terrible choice. Putting yourself on the line with him, of all people? He’d never think poorly of you, never think of you as stupid. You just tended to make dumb choices, and he was the dumbest choice of all. Maybe that’s what made you perfect for each other.

Still, he furrows his brows, eyes trained on yours as he begins to push in. You’re so hot around him, your walls squeezing him like a vice, and he’s only put the tip in. He goes as slowly as he can, not wanting to hurt you. Inch by inch, he keeps his eyes on your face, watching every moan, the way your face contorts with pleasure. He groans as he finally bottoms out, his hands gripping your thighs with the effort it takes to keep from fucking into you.

Your own hands dig into his shoulder blades, hard enough to break skin. He’s sure he’ll be left with a few crescent scars from where your nails scratch his skin, and he couldn’t be happier. He tries to breathe, to hold himself together and not fall apart instantly with you clenching around his cock.

“Holy shit, John.” you groan, trying to catch your breath. “Y-you can move.”

John is a man who follows orders, and with your permission, he slowly pulls out of you, quickly thrusting back in. He sets a pace, pulling lamost all the way out before he slams back into you.

“Harder, John.” you moan into the crook of his neck. He groans at your request.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna kill me.”

He does as you tell him, picks up his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. His balls slap against your ass, the sound of wet skin on skin echoing through the shower. “So good, John, so full…” one of your hands runs along his jaw, caressing his cheek. You use it to pull him into another kiss, this one all teeth and tongue clashing against each other, reckless passion as he pounds into you. “So fucking handsome, John.”

Your praise only drives him crazier, his hips bucking into yours as he fucks you with all his might. It feels like heaven, being inside you. Better than any dream he’s had of it. Your tight, wet cunt practically choking him as he thrusts his cock in and out of you. He’s grateful for the stamina the serum gave him, because he thinks he’d die if he stops now. His brain has turned off fully, barely able to string together words anymore. All he knows is that he has to keep going, has to feel you cum on his cock, and has to fill you up with his cum.

He doesn’t even realize he’s talking aloud till he feels you grip him tighter, nodding agaisnt his shoulder. “God, yes, John, fill me up, please.” you moan. The sound is music to his ears. 

“Gotta cum for me first, honey.” he pants, thrusts becoming shallower and more erratic as he feels himself getting closer. He moves one hand to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles into your sensitive bud. “Please, cum on my cock, baby.”

If he thought you were tight before, it’s nothing compared to how you spasm around him as you cum. You scream out his name, nails cutting into his skin. He doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking you like his life depends on it, chasing his own release desperately.

“John.” you murmur out as you come down. “Cum inside me, please, need you too.”

John Walker is a man who follows orders.

He lets himself go, with one last thrust pushing himself as deep into you as possible. His cock releases hot ropes of cum into you as he finally fnishses. He moans out your name, biting your shoulder in an attempt to stifle himself. His hands clutch yoru thighs hard enough to bruise as he instinctively thrusts once, twice more, as if he’s trying to fuck his spend as deep into you as possible.

“You’re perfect.” he catches his breath as he comes down from his high. He knows better than to say ‘i love you,’ even if it’s what he’s thinking right now. Later, he tells himself. It’s exhilarating, the thought of it. That there will be a later, that you want to be with him. “God, you’re incredible.” he kisses you, the promise of more to come, the promise to be here for later. Even as he doesn’t say it aloud, the kiss is as much an ‘i love you’ as the words themselves. For now, that’s all you need. 

a/n: i'm really proud of this one and i hope y'all liked it as well! thank you all for reading and sticking with me as my writing has improved, i love sharing my love for these characters with y'all! ain't much, but it's honest work.

[breadwithpoprocks-fandom]

replies;

@skyeventide : no it's real tho. the manipulation especially. elthina substituting herself as a mother to him and filling the void of seb's actual mother in terms of praise and love

like if you think about it sebastian and leliana go through the same kind of arc in that sense except that sebastian has no chance to escape the trauma even a little bit and has direct targets to blame

tags;

@periwinkle-warden : #if only he got more screentime for those interesting elements to get fleshed out#he feels like an afterthought from beginning to end

@numerous-knives : #I quite like him actually#I want to break him out of his self-imposed prison of repression#like sir if you were truly so against unleashed mages and promiscuity you would not be hanging with this crew#you’re here cause vicariously you’re having a good time for once#I love pestering the poor guy with male mage Hawke

@kossithmercar : #despite andrastianism being so prevalent we get few and non mages that have been involved with the chantry in a highly suspect way#but Sebastian handled it soooo well#he has been manipulated has been left alone without family there is only one person he could trust#how could he see behind the mask if the mask is the only comfort he has had for years?

@kaldurrr : #the man is closeted but also no he’s not 💕#he knows what he’s about and has no idea what he’s doing

#i said what i said before#stop fucking that cop cullen and get with a real freak#he laughs at all my terrible jokes and has strange and violent ideas about revenge

@zoneofsmites : #sebestian is a very interesting character fr#i also just. do not like him on a personal level but man… objectively he should have everything going for him

@feralkwe : #don't get me started on how he would have been a beautiful narrative foil to anders#if bioware wasn't cowards#wasted opportunity#instead of making him a dlc

@faerun : #unfortunately it is all under the surface and implied bc bioware doesnt give a shit about him either#but if people put even half the work into humanizing and deepening his character that they do for other similarly shallow companions#than he ends up being a very complex and compelling character#idk idk i just love him and he was given so little to work with in canon that its easy to eexpand him in#literally any direction. i esp love darker takes on his character

@red-wardens : #i still wont let him kill anders in my canon but#i get it

@dungeons-and-dragon-age : #mmh i think a lot of people really sleep on his fucked up ness#he is just as messy and conflicted as all the others in the crew and i love him for it#i love listening to his dialogue its soooo.#he contradicts himself all the time he tries to convince himself of ''his'' values so so much and is in denial so bad and it is delightful

@curiouslavellan : #one of my favorite things about him is how he clearly wants to be a peace and love pacifist#but he REALLY enjoys all the fighting and daredevil shit Hawke brings him into

@deedeemactir : #there’s this comment that Sebastian can make to Hawke about disappointing his parents being the only way he’d know it was really them#that just UGH#he was a throw away child who rebelled for attention and originally hated the idea of going to the chantry#but then he found meaning and belonging there and while religion isn’t for everyone#and the chantry is deeply flawed#it gave him peace the same way that Leliana found peace there#I could also go on for ages about his relationship with Isabela#and Fenris for that matter#love him

Sebastian Vael is actually a very nuanced and complex character if you chew on him for more than five fucking seconds especially when considering his rakish behavior the family pressures and survivor’s guilt all culminating under the religious manipulation of the chantry in this essay I will—

[kamospeach]

(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: sukuna gets injured, good thing you're always there to help

content warning: sukuna himself is a warning, mechanic + boxer sukuna, because they're the same in my head

dean's (aka peachy) yap: broke mechanic rising boxer sukuna makes so much sense to me also makes more sense after watch Isi and Ossi on Netflix.

days like these were rare. it was so rare that when it happened, nobody knew what to do. it started like every other friday night. sukuna was warming up in the ring for his fight in the next hour and a half. you sat on the stool, legs crossed, watching his fluid movements. 

“you'd better not mess up his face!” you yelled to the other boxer he was practicing with. one thing about sukuna, he hated to get hurt because when he did, you were at his beck and call. he hated being waited on, especially by you. you were overprotective and wouldn’t let him step outside if injured. 

“please, he couldn’t even land a hit on me even if he tried! no one could.” but he was wrong, terribly wrong. because that’s how he ended up sitting on the nurse's bed as you stood between his legs, patching up the long scar under his eye. 

“so tell me what happened, ryomen,” you tell him, and he smirks, looking down at your frustrated state. he loved the way your brows furrowed when you took care of him. 

“was fightin’, you were there, you saw it.” he huffed, and you gave him a look that said ‘you know what i mean’. “fine. i took my eyes off of him for a second.”

“ryomen.” you gave him a look to explain further. it was like sukuna to tell half the story to avoid being scolded. “if you tell me what really happened, i’ll have your back when you talk to coach yaga,” you offered, and apparently, he was a fan of that deal.

“i was tryna make sure someone was watchin’, that’s all.” he shrugged as if that was nothing. he knows better than to be looking at the crowd when he’s fighting. “she was looking, so that’s all that mattered.”

“no, it’s not, you’re hurt, sukuna, that’s what matters,” you said, walking over to the ice bin to fill a bag of ice for him. he stood behind you a little closer than usual, but you didn’t even notice.

“it’s fine if i get hurt, you’ll be there to take care of me,” he said, and it almost sounded like his voice was softer, maybe even caring. yet you didn’t notice that either, but sukuna sure did and cleared his throat to hide the embarrassment. “at least you better be, since this is your job and it’s what you're getting paid for.” his voice was back, monotone and demanding.

“not by you, by the school, so you better watch that tone of yours,” you playfully said back, and it surprised sukuna how you heard the bad attitude in his voice, but never the times when he got ‘soft’. he grabbed your chin, squeezing your cheeks, making your kissable lips form into a pout.

“you’re getting too bold, brat,” he said, and you rolled your eyes at his nickname for you, that he never retired even after 4 years. you placed the bag of ice on his scar, which was slowly starting to swell. 

“what girl were you looking for?” you asked, cleaning up the athletic room while sukuna followed you around like a lost puppy. 

“someone,” he cleared his throat, and you snorted at him, trying to be secretive. “wanted to make sure she saw me knock him out.”

“and then you didn’t. tell her to come to the next fight,” you tell him as you pack your bag, getting ready for the night. he was silent; you paid it no mind since he was usually quiet anyway. 

“she’ll be there, she comes to all of them,” he tells you. you nod, picking up your bag, and sukuna grabs it out of your hand, slinging it over his shoulder. you locked up the door as the two of you walked to his car. he usually took you home on days he had fights, so this was routine.

“you workin’ tomorrow?” you asked, and he nodded, sighing, opening the passenger door for you and going to the driver's side.

“‘course i’m working, money don’t grow on trees,” he says clearly, not looking forward to going to work. “can’t wait til i go pro, i won’t have to worry about working on rich asshole’s car.” 

“but then you won’t be able to fix my car,” you pout, and he looked at you with a lopsided smile. whenever he gave you that smile, it almost made you see him in a different light. you loved his smile, it was like a rainbow: you don't get to see it often, but when you do, you appreciate it deeply.

“i’d still fix your car after i go pro, ma,” he said, and you scoffed, not believing a word he was saying.

“you’ll be too busy for me then, you probably won’t even remember me,” you say, and it hits you that he may not want to be bothered with you. you would call sukuna one of your best friends or even your best friend. he was one of the first people you met in your freshman year, so he meant a lot to you. 

you both spent a lot of time together outside of practices and matches. you’d frequently visit him at work, sitting in his manager’s office. who just so happened to be the father of a mutual friend of sukuna and yours. or you’d spent time in his dorm watching his film, even helping him notice where he went wrong.

sukuna had become a big person in your everyday life. after classes, you’d be sitting next to the ring, patching up his cut knuckles when he was done. and hopping in his car after so the two of you could get dinner and go home. it was a simple routine, but it was all you knew.

“won’t remember you? every time i get hurt, all i’ll think about is you.” he scoffed, offended that you thought you meant so little to him. “shit i might even hire you.” 

“what?!” you said, shocked, and he parked the car, turning to look at you.

“you’d like that, huh? getting to fix me up even after college.” you looked at sukuna, and you weren’t even sure what you were feeling. you almost felt as if you liked him, but you knew that wasn’t possible. maybe it was just joy that he appreciated you that much.

“‘course i would, i’d get to yell at you for getting hurt forever.” you smile, grabbing your things to leave the car. “i’ll bring you lunch tomorrow after i go see my parents. i asked them to make extra for you and your coworkers.”

“tell your fine ass mom i said-” you cut him off by slamming the door shut and he rolled down the window laughing at your disgusted expression. 

“good night, sukuna! i won’t be telling her nothin’,” you said, walking to the front door of your apartment.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“you going to see sukuna after you leave here?” your mother asked as you got in the car. she knew where you were going; she just wanted a reason to say that you and sukuna should go together.

“to drop this food off, yes, he’s been working since 6 am.” you say as a smirk spreads across her face, ready to taunt you about it.

“you know, the two of you should date. he cares about you, and you must care about him too since you invited us to his championship fight.” she smirks, and you chuckle at the predictability of your mother. 

“no thanks, ryomen’s mean and angry all the time. i can’t take that,” you said truthfully, sometimes his mean and brooding attitude scared you. 

sure, he was a great-looking guy, and he was built like a greek god. and just maybe he was really good at fighting, and he always stood up for you. and he always took you home, and he never let anyone touch him except you. and maybe he never made you drive anywhere if he was going too.

“maybe that’ll be good for you so you can stop being a pushover,” your mom said with a shrug, snapping you out of your thoughts. she started walking towards the house, turning around to say one last thing. “your dad likes him, too! but anyway, see you soon!” she gave her usual smug smile, knowing your dad was trying to marry you off.

you laughed driving to the car shop where sukuna worked. your parents weren’t fond of any man you brought around. they always compared them to sukuna since when he came he was a big suck up. 

he offered to help your dad fix his old school car, and cleaned all the dishes by himself once dinner was done. refusing to let your mom touch a thing, had you been at your apartment, he’d make you do it all alone.

not to mention, one time in his dorm, he instructed you to grab him a beer. of course, you told him no, and he went and got it himself. sukuna wasn’t the sweetheart your parents thought he was, and you knew that better than anyone else.

“finally, you’re here, woman,” he huffed, opening your car door and leaning on it. because your mom used her voodoo magic on you (not really), you’re currently finding him oddly attractive. not a lot, just a little, because he’s all roughed up and sweaty and manly looking. 

his hair was disheveled, and sweat was still on his forehead. the overalls were now wrapped around his waist, and his wife-beater was stained with oil. that cocky smirk was on his face again and he looked at you expectedly.

“you’re lucky i didn’t let your ass starve.” you scoff getting out of the car and he closed the door for you. he followed behind you as you walked into the shop. sukuna's eyes were wandering to your ass, he didn’t want them to but they did. the little shorts that you wore left nothing to the imagination, and to be honest, sukuna was loving it.

“your shorts are small,” was all he could figure to say, and you laughed, turning around to look at the shorts with a shrug.

“i thought they were cute, you don’t like 'em kuna?” you asked, looking up at him, and he wanted to take you right then and there. but he had to remind himself he’s at work and you guys are best friends. 

“i never said i didn’t like them,” he mumbled, pulling on the belt loop that snatched you back. you gave him a nasty glare, but he was looking down at you like you were a full-course meal. you paid him no mind, continuing your walk to his manager’s office.

once both of you entered, you handed over the bag full of food for everyone. your mom made you help her cook a lot since you told her that sometimes you stop by and bring them lunch. unfortunately for you, your mom’s voodoo magic (again, not really) infested the men who worked with sukuna. 

“you sure you don’t want to marry her man? we’ll be eating good every day,” he said, and sukuna scoffed, stuffing his face with food.

“she didn't even make this, her mom did,” he said, and you hit his arm, giving him a death glare.

“i helped cook it, and actually, i made yours all by myself,” you bragged, but it only made your situation ten times worse. because the men thought it was cute how you made sure you were the one to make sukuna’s food.

you were getting tired of the nagging and were soon ready to leave. sukuna noticed immediately and told everyone you’d be back another day before leading you to your car. it was going on 3, meaning his shift would be over in the next hour and a half.

“i’ll come see you later, okay?” he said, opening the door for you, and you shrugged. he usually came over after he got off work to hang out anyway, but today it felt different.

“you don’t have to if you don’t want, i’ll probably end up just taking a nap anyway,” you tell him, getting in the car.

“stay awake, i’ll be there at 5,” he says, not leaving any room for discussion. he closed your car door and walked away, not even bothering to say bye.

“the nerve of him,” you mumbled to yourself as you drove to your apartment.

to be continued...

one two three four five six

university masterlist

taglist (open):

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[papayaem]

The bug stops here

Dad!Oscar Piastri x Daughter!Reader

Based on this request: Oscar taking care of sick reader

Warnings: Fluff, Mild mention of vomiting (nothing graphic), stomach bug, parent/child care, use of the petnames 'baby', 'bunny', 'daddy' and 'bub'

The day had started off just like any other.

You’d gotten up early, still in your unicorn pajamas, bouncing around the kitchen asking for banana pancakes while Oscar tried to pour his first cup of coffee without blinking one eye open.

But by mid-morning, something had changed.

You weren’t bouncing anymore.

Instead, you were curled up on the couch under your bunny blanket, knees pulled to your chest, face pale and drawn.

Oscar had noticed immediately.

He’d been setting up his laptop for a quick sim session when you mumbled, “Daddy… my tummy hurts.”

His heart dropped.

He was at your side in two seconds, crouching in front of you. “Hey, hey. Like a crampy hurt or a twisty hurt?”

You looked at him with glassy eyes and whispered, “It’s all twisty.”

Oscar placed the back of his hand to your forehead. You weren’t burning up, but your skin felt clammy and cold.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Let’s get you to the bathroom, just in case.”

You didn’t make it.

Halfway down the hall, you’d thrown up all over the floor—and all over his socks.

You burst into tears, horrified.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Daddy!”

Oscar, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He knelt down, pulled you close (despite the mess), and hugged you tightly. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay, baby. You’re sick, not in trouble.”

You sobbed into his shirt, your small body trembling.

“I got you, alright?” he whispered, brushing hair from your face. “We’re gonna clean you up, clean this up, and then I’ll tuck you in and take care of you. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

After a bath (complete with your favorite dinosaur towel) and a full sofa-linen swap, you were bundled up in clean PJs, curled into Oscar’s chest with a bucket by your side just in case.

Oscar sat with one arm around you and the other hand scrolling through his phone, looking up what kids with stomach bugs were allowed to eat.

Answer: basically nothing.

Toast. Sips of water. Clear broth if you could keep it down.

You’d already thrown up twice more, each time with less and less energy. Now you just lay limp in his arms, eyes half-lidded, clutching Maxie the stuffed bunny like your life depended on it.

Oscar pressed a kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “You’re doing so good, bub. So brave.”

You didn’t answer, but you leaned into him.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cartoons, saltine crackers, and washcloths on your forehead. At one point you fell asleep, head in his lap, and Oscar didn’t move for over an hour—afraid to wake you, even as his phone buzzed with messages from his engineer and Lando spamming him with cat memes.

At some point you woke up with tears in your eyes and whispered, “I don’t like being sick. I want my tummy back.”

Oscar chuckled softly, brushing your hair back. “I know, bub. Your tummy’s just got a mean little bug in it. But we’ll kick it out together, okay?”

You nodded with a small whimper and curled tighter into his hoodie.

By dinnertime, you managed a few tiny sips of water and a quarter piece of dry toast. Oscar fed it to you in bites the size of racecar buttons, praising you after each one like you’d just won a Grand Prix.

“See?” he smiled. “Strongest little stomach on the grid.”

You gave him a weak grin. “I get the fastest recovery trophy?”

“Absolutely,” he said, tapping your nose. “And I’ll let you hold my real one until you're better.”

Your eyes lit up—just a little—and he knew that was worth more than any podium.

That night, he set up a little bed on the couch beside you with extra pillows, bringing in his own blanket so he could stay close.

You stirred in the middle of the night and whispered, “Daddy?”

“Right here,” he said instantly, turning to face you.

You sniffled. “My tummy still hurts.”

“I know,” he said softly, tucking the blanket higher up your chest. “But guess what?”

“What?”

“You’ve got the best pit crew in the world.”

You yawned. “Just you, Daddy…”

“Exactly,” he said with a wink. “And that’s all you need.”

Before you drifted off again, you murmured through half-sleep, ��I love you, Daddy.”

Oscar reached out, gently rubbing your back. “I love you too, bunny. Always.”

He stayed awake a little longer, just to make sure you didn’t stir again. And when you finally settled into sleep, breathing soft and even, Oscar smiled quietly to himself.

Even if he had to miss every sim session for the next week and live off toast and water with you, he wouldn’t trade a second of this time.

His girl was sick—but she had her dad.

And he wasn’t going anywhere

Please to not copy or Translate without permission x

[avengxrz]

the thunderbabies ; bucky barnes x reader

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 20.4k (sorry)

summary: you and bucky barnes were enemies. always arguing, always getting paired up for missions that ended with yelling and maybe a few broken ribs. but when the rest of the thunderbolts get turned into toddlers by accident, you and bucky are the only ones left to take care of them. suddenly, you're stuck playing mom and dad to five chaotic babies with too much energy and too many opinions. between diaper changes, late-night cuddles, and a few soft moments you didn’t expect, something between you and bucky starts to shift. but when the babies go back to normal, will they remember what happened... and will he?

warnings: slow burn, enemies to reluctant co-parents to something more, emotional whiplash, soft bucky barnes, soft reader but in denial, found family vibes, accidental parenting, hurt/comfort, some angst, a lot of fluff, crying (mostly the reader), bucky calls the toddlers “his kids” once and means it, thunderbolts chaos, baby bob being the favorite, baby walker being loud, baby yelena being feral, baby ava being shy, baby alexei being dramatic, tiny duck plushie slander, and one single dance on the porch that might ruin you.

note: this was supposed to be a joke. it is not a joke anymore. it got feelings. i blame baby bob. thank you to my brain for deciding bucky barnes as a dad is both funny and heartbreaking. this story includes a lot of cuddles, chaos, and emotional damage. thank you for reading and if you cry, good. i did too.

masterlist

The elevator dinged just once before the doors slammed open like they were afraid of the man inside. Bucky Barnes stormed into the Tower lounge with all the grace of a loaded weapon. His boots were thunder, his jaw was a locked trigger, and his eyes were practically glowing with rage. The kind that was cold, quiet, lethal—but held together by the sheer force of “if I talk right now, I will commit a felony.”

The rest of the Thunderbolts froze mid-conversation. Ava paused in her weird halfway-phase through the kitchen counter. Yelena blinked, a Cheeto half-raised to her mouth. John Walker raised an eyebrow like he was about to make it about him. Again.

Only Bob—the sweet, sunshine-soul Bob—visibly recoiled, clutching his comic book like a holy relic and mouthing a silent “oh no.”

Bucky's metal hand slammed onto the kitchen counter hard enough to make everyone jump. “I can’t stand that bitch.”

The room went dead silent.

Except for Alexei, who straightened on the couch like a Soviet mother had just entered the room and slapped him.

“HEY!” he barked. “We do not talk to women like that!”

Bucky didn’t even look at him. He was pacing now, jacket half-off, murder radiating off him like steam. “She acts like she knows everything. She doesn’t follow orders, she pulls blades out of thin air, and then she’s got the nerve to put one to my throat—”

“She did what now?” Yelena asked, suddenly way more interested.

But Bob was frozen. Like actually frozen. Pale, wide-eyed, whispering something that sounded like a prayer—

Because you had just appeared beside him. Not walked in. Not entered through a door.

Teleported. Green shimmer. Quiet spark. Instant chaos. You were sitting way too calmly on the edge of the couch, next to Bob like you'd been there all day. One hand resting lazily on the back cushion, the other pinching a chip from his bowl like you hadn’t just appeared from a different plane of existence.

“Aw, Bucky,” you said sweetly, voice smooth as honey and twice as toxic. “Miss me already?”

Bob made a noise like a dying animal and scooted three inches away without blinking. Bucky stopped pacing. Turned. Saw you. And you smiled. Smug. Glowing. Infuriating.

His nostrils flared. “You—”

“Me,” you said, cocking your head. “The ‘bitch’ in question. Please, go on. I love fan mail.”

“Do you try to be insufferable,” he growled, “or is that just a natural talent?”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Why, Barnes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re obsessed with me.”

He pointed at you. “You put a knife to my throat!”

“You put your hand on mine,” you said, still grinning. “I thought we were playing.”

Alexei stood up now, arms crossed, beard twitching. “I do not approve of violence unless it is mutual, respectful, or in sanctioned combat—preferably against Nazis.”

Yelena popped a chip in her mouth. “Or bad exes.”

“Or him,” Ava added, jerking her thumb at Walker.

“Excuse me?” Walker said, offended. “I was literally just standing here.”

“I’m just saying,” Ava muttered, “you look punchable.”

Meanwhile, Bob—still terrified—whispered, “Do we need to… call someone? Like HR?”

You were still staring at Bucky, your smirk razor sharp. “I didn’t even go for the jugular,” you added, chip between your fingers. “Should I have?”

Bucky’s jaw was locked so tight it looked like he was going to break his own teeth. He stepped toward you—dangerously close—and leaned down, voice low enough to chill bone.

“You really want to see what happens when I stop holding back?”

You tilted your head, lips parting in the softest smile.

“Yes,” you said. “I do.”

BOB ACTUALLY FAINTED.Bob slumped sideways, half sliding off the couch like a fainting goat in a tactical vest. His head lolled against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut as he murmured something unintelligible that might’ve been a prayer. Or a death rattle.

“BOB?!” you yelped, already scrambling to catch him before he hit the floor.

Your whole vibe shifted in an instant—from feral gremlin to panicked older sibling with a protective streak the size of Asgard.

“Oh, my god—Bob?! Hey, hey, don’t you dare pass out on me, sunshine.” You cradled his head like he was made of glass, gently tapping his cheek. “Wake up. Come on. You’re okay. You’re okay, I’m here. Shhh.”

Yelena, from across the room: “He’s rebooting.”

Walker leaned in, squinting. “Should we get like—uh, water? Salt? Exorcist?”

“I swear to god,” you snapped, eyes blazing as you whipped your head toward Bucky, “if he doesn’t wake up in ten seconds I’m shoving your vibranium arm up your emotionally constipated ass.”

Bucky blinked. “My fault?! He passed out because you—you—teleported in like a damn banshee and started running your mouth!”

“Oh no, no no no,” you said, finger in his face, still cradling Bob like a sleepy kitten. “Don’t you DARE try to pin this on me. You’re the one who came in here radiating murder! You slammed a table. You screamed. You scared my baby.”

“Baby?!”

“Yes, Barnes. MY baby. Not yours. Not ours. Mine.”

Alexei, from the background, solemnly nodded. “She has claimed him. It is law now.”

“You yelled,” you continued, full-on mom rage now. “You yelled and Bob immediately shut down like a Windows 98 laptop in a thunderstorm. That’s not dramatic. That’s trauma.”

“I didn’t even touch him!”

“Yeah, well, your aura did!”

Bob stirred weakly, blinking up at you with the slow confusion of someone waking up after anesthesia.

“Wh-what… happened…?” he mumbled.

“Oh, sweetie,” you whispered, brushing his hair back. “You saw raw unfiltered heterosexual conflict. It was too much.”

Walker blinked. “Why’s she treating him like a Victorian woman recovering from a fever?”

“Because Bob,” you hissed, “has never raised his voice. Or his fist. Or hurt anyone. Unlike you, Buck-o, who storms into every room like it owes you money.”

Bucky stared at you. Fuming. Flushed. Entire body tense in a way that made the room feel ten degrees hotter.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Should I have walked in calmly after you tried to slit my throat earlier?”

“It was a conjured blade! It barely even had weight!”

“IT GLOWED!”

“So do I when I’m mad! Are you scared of me too?!”

“Yes!” Bob croaked weakly from your lap.

Ava covered her mouth to muffle a laugh. Yelena was openly filming now. Walker had pulled up popcorn from somewhere like this was Thursday night drama on live TV.

You stood up slowly, gently setting Bob back on the couch like royalty.

Then you squared up to Bucky again. Face to face. Eye to eye. Breathing hard.

“You owe him an apology.”

“I owe you a—”

“No, no. Don’t even. Apologize. To. Bob.”

Bucky looked like someone had just asked him to punch a puppy. His mouth opened. Closed. Reopened. He stared at Bob, who stared back like a kicked bunny.

“…Sorry?” Bucky grunted.

Bob gave a thumbs up. Then passed out again.

And that was it. That was your breaking point.

You inhaled sharply, stood tall, turned to Bucky—and smiled. Oh, not a nice smile. The kind of smile that came with homicidal intent, the kind you gave people right before throwing hands, flipping tables, or setting their house on fire with your mind.

Bucky looked at you like he could already hear the incoming war drum.

“Don’t,” he warned.

You didn’t even respond.

You punched him.

Hard.

Clean. Right hook. Square to the jaw.

It made a solid crack sound. That perfectly satisfying movie-punch sound. His head actually snapped to the side.

The room went feral.

“OH MY GOD—” Bob murmured mid-faint.

“YOOOOO,” yelled Yelena, who dropped her phone but was already scrambling to hit record again.

“ZAS!” Alexei shouted, absolutely delighted.

“YESSS,” Ava whispered like it was the climax of a soap opera.

Walker gasped like a southern belle at a brunch fight. “Did she just—”

“Yes, she did,” Ava muttered. “Iconic.”

Bucky slowly turned his head back toward you, blinking like he wasn’t sure if he was turned on or concussed.

And you?

You just shrugged.

“That’s for scaring Bob.”

He opened his mouth like he was gonna say something snarky—but too late.

Your hand was already glowing green. A shimmer of chaos energy wrapped around your fingers, licking at the edges of your suit as you crouched down, wrapped an arm under Bob’s knees, and hoisted him bridal-style like he weighed nothing.

“You don't deserve to breathe the same air as my baby,” you muttered.

And with that—

POOF.

Gone. Just like that.

Left behind was a puff of green light and a bunch of emotionally unstable adults who looked like they’d just witnessed the season finale of the messiest relationship in existence.

“…I’ll kill her,” Bucky said under his breath, still touching his jaw.

Yelena choked on her popcorn. “You’re gonna what now?”

Alexei pointed sternly. “You deserved that punch. Also—apologize better next time.”

“She glows when she’s mad,” Bucky muttered again, still dazed. “It’s… not fair.”

Ava glanced at Yelena. “Wanna lock them in a supply closet later?”

“God, yes.”

“HELP!” you shrieked, storming through the automatic doors of the compound’s medical wing like the gates of hell had flung open behind you. “HELP, PLEASE, MY BABY FAINTED, I THINK HE’S DYING!”

Bob Reynolds—six foot two, elite Thunderbolt operative, and literal human marshmallow—was slumped like a tragic sack of potatoes across your shoulders, one arm dangling limply down your back, the other flopping against your hip every time you jogged a step. His glasses were askew. His hair was in disarray. And you looked like a mother raccoon dragging her emotionally fragile child to the vet.

A nurse dropped her tablet. A doctor nearly tripped over a gurney. Chaos bloomed.

“Ma’am—uh—what happened?!” one of them gasped, rushing toward you.

“He fainted!” you cried. “Barnes scared the hell out of him and he fainted! Like actually lost consciousness! Like swoon style! And now he won’t wake up!”

“Is he injured—was there trauma—?”

“YES,” you said, wide-eyed. “EMOTIONAL trauma! He saw his teammates fighting and his nervous system just said no thanks and now he’s DEAD.”

“He’s… he’s breathing,” a medic said gently, placing two fingers at Bob’s neck while you crouched to let his weight slide off your back. You immediately cradled his head like he was a newborn angel who’d been smacked by sin.

“HE’S FRAGILE,” you snapped. “Don’t touch him like that, you’ll bruise his soul.”

Bob groaned softly, blinking once.

You gasped like he’d just come back from the brink.

“Bob! Oh thank god—hi! Can you hear me? Blink twice if you recognize me. Blink once if you want me to punch Bucky again.”

“...what happened?” he murmured.

“You passed out from stress, sweetheart,” you cooed, brushing his bangs back with shaking hands. “Which is totally valid. Honestly, same. But I carried you here because you are precious cargo, and now you are banned from ever hearing emotionally charged arguments again.”

A nurse stifled a laugh. One of the doctors whispered to another, “Is she okay?”

You turned to them, eyes burning.

“I am NOT okay,” you hissed. “That was Barnes’s fault. I told him not to yell. I told him Bob’s nervous system is like a fainting goat on a rollercoaster. And what did he do? Walked in like a drama queen with a vendetta and a jawline and now my cinnamon roll of a teammate is in a goddamn coma!”

“He’s awake now—”

“That’s not the point!”

Bob gave a small thumbs up, still horizontal on the cot, eyes half-closed. “She’s not wrong…”

You leaned down, pressing your forehead to his like he was your baby bird.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” you whispered dramatically. “You scared me half to death. You are my emotional support introvert and I can’t lose you. You’re the only normal one on this team.”

He blinked, dazed. “…Ava’s normal.”

“She’s phasing through walls on purpose to avoid Walker’s playlist, Bob. That’s not stable.”

Another nurse walked in. “Hey, someone said there was a—”

“He’s fine now,” the first doctor sighed. “She just needed to panic dramatically for a few minutes.”

“I’m still panicking,” you muttered, grabbing a blanket to tuck around Bob like he was freezing to death. “Bucky traumatized him. Again.”

Bob whispered, “...did you punch him?”

“Oh, honey.” You kissed his forehead like a war widow. “Of course I did.”

You don’t mean to look like someone’s mom.

Okay, that’s a lie. You absolutely mean to.

The tactical harness is half-buckled over your hoodie as you chase Bob around the room with a protein bar in one hand and a sealed serum injector in the other. He’s dodging you with the agility of someone who’s fully trained in combat scenarios but has the emotional age of a kindergartener when it comes to shots and breakfast.

“Bob,” you warn, voice tight but full of affection. “If you don’t hold still, I swear to god I will sedate you and carry your ass onto the Quinjet in a papoose.”

“I hate needles,” he groans, ducking behind the couch.

“You’ve been SHOT before!”

“I was unconscious for that!”

You huff. Dramatically. The way a tired mother might when she’s already had three cups of coffee and not a single one did the job. You mutter a spell under your breath—just a tiny one—and the serum injector floats, slamming itself gently into his upper arm.

Bob yelps. “Hey!”

You pop the protein bar into his mouth before he can whine more. “That’s for stamina. And to shut you up.”

He chews grumpily, cheeks puffed like a cartoon chipmunk. You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing down the chaos. He lets you, grumbling something unintelligible through the granola. You pretend not to hear it.

Across the room, Bucky watches with a scowl sharp enough to cut titanium.

“You gonna do that for everyone on this mission?” he asks, arms crossed.

“Nope,” you say brightly, fixing the collar on Bob’s jacket. “Just my favorite.”

Bucky scoffs under his breath, but you see it—the twitch in his jaw, the flicker of something beneath the surface. He hasn’t spoken to you since the fight. Since the dagger. Since the words you regret and the ones you don’t. And frankly, you’re not ready to rip that scab off just yet.

This morning isn’t about him.

This morning is about Bob, and Yelena, and Ava, and the rest of the team being sent off on a mission you’re not cleared for. Something dimensional. Temporal. Dangerous, probably. But Val insisted. Said they were the only ones who could do it.

You? You’re “still on cooldown,” apparently.

Read: emotionally unstable.

You kiss two fingers and tap them to Bob’s forehead. “No touching weird glowing objects. No speaking to old women with no eyes. No dramatic sacrifices unless you’re being watched by at least two cameras so I can go viral.”

He gives a crooked smile. “You’ll miss me?”

“I’ll cry exactly once if you die. Twice if you forget to bring back snacks.”

You help him strap on the last piece of gear, fingers lingering at the shoulder just a little too long. Like if you hold him together tightly enough, he won’t come back broken.

And then—he’s gone. Off to the jet. Yelena waves. Ava nods. Walker and Red Guardian are already arguing about socks or strategy or both.

The room empties.

You’re left standing in the middle of it, hands on your hips, magic curling at your fingertips like it knows something you don’t.

Beside you, Bucky speaks, low and gruff. “You really think they’ll be okay?”

You don’t look at him. You just whisper, almost to yourself—

“They better be.”

You always forget how quiet it is out here.

The trees murmur softly around you, their summer leaves catching the light in pale flickers as the wind rustles through the branches. The river moves slow, steady. It glides past the edge of the dock with lazy purpose, carving its way through the grass like it’s got nowhere to be but here. It smells like earth and water and peace.

It’s unnatural. Too soft. Too still.

You’re sitting cross-legged at the edge of the wooden dock, hands idle in your lap, chin tucked toward your chest. There’s a fishing rod resting beside you—not that you’re using it. You just like the illusion of a task. Something to explain why you’re here. Something harmless. Normal.

Like you didn’t nearly stab your teammate to death a few days ago. Like you’re not still vibrating with leftover magic under your skin, the kind that crackles too loud in silence. Like you’re not haunted.

You reach down and skim your fingers along the river’s surface. The water’s warm—sun-heated, soft—and it doesn’t flinch when you touch it. That always surprises you. For all the things you’ve broken, the chaos you carry, nature never seems to mind you.

Unlike people. Unlike Bucky. You suck in a breath and tip your head back to the sky.

The clouds are fat and slow-moving. Lazy. Blissfully unaware. The kind of sky that should be seen from a picnic blanket or a hammock or maybe a child’s drawing. You want to hate it for being beautiful. But you don’t. You’re too tired for bitterness today.

This was his house, after all. Tony’s.

You glance behind you toward the rustic, lake-view cabin. It’s still exactly how he left it. The same red roof. The same old porch swing. The same scattered junk in the shed that looks like it shouldn’t be legal or safe. Morgan’s old crayon drawings still decorate the kitchen fridge, faded but defiant. You never asked Pepper for permission to come here. You didn’t have to. She told you once—quietly, and without ceremony—that the lake house was always open for you.

He wanted you to have somewhere to come back to. You curl your knees to your chest, resting your chin there. God, you miss him.

You miss the sound of his voice when it softens for you. You miss the way he’d flick you on the forehead when you got too moody, and then immediately bribe you with fancy lab snacks. You miss the way he’d look at your magic—not with fear, not with awe, but with curiosity. Like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve, not a threat to contain.

No one else ever looked at you like that. Not even Bucky. Not even now.

You close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. It’s stupid. It’s been years. Tony’s been gone longer than he was in your life. And yet, this house feels more like home than anywhere else you’ve lived. More than the Tower. More than the SHIELD bunkers. More than your own childhood bed, which hasn’t existed for a long time now.

It’s because he believed in you.

Even when you didn’t.

You rub at your face, feeling the crusted edges of the healing bruise along your cheekbone. You haven’t done magic since you got here. Haven’t summoned a single blade. You came to this place to breathe. To remember. To not destroy anything.

You wonder if Tony would laugh at all of this. Probably. He’d say something ridiculous like “I always knew Barnes would be the reason you’d snap. Should’ve let me shoot him in the knee back in ’16.”

You smile at that. Just a little. “Miss you, old man,” you whisper.

And for a second—for a breath—you almost think you hear him. Not words. Not a ghost. Just a spark. A flicker in the air. Like the arc reactor still humming through the fabric of the world.

The mission had been simple.

In and out. Grab the relic. No fighting, no magic, no “accidental” body counts. The directive had been clear: retrieve the object, contain it, don’t touch it. So of course, the moment they got back to the Tower, all five of them stood around the thing like it was the last bottle of vodka in Siberia.

It sat dead center on the briefing room table—short, squat, and sealed with a black wax emblem none of them recognized. The bottle was glass, thick and oddly shaped, like something that belonged in a medieval apothecary or a vampire’s liquor cabinet. And inside it?

A deep red fluid. Thick. Slow-moving. Almost… alive.

"Why is it glowing?" Yelena asked flatly, propping her chin on her fist as she squinted at it. “It wasn’t glowing before.”

“It’s not glowing,” John Walker said, arms crossed. “It’s… resonating.”

“That’s worse,” Ava muttered from across the room.

“I think it’s cool,” Alexei said, looming far too close to it. “Very dramatic. Makes a statement.”

“You want to make a statement?” Ava snapped, flinging her hands in his direction. “How about ‘Don’t store interdimensional biohazards on a kitchen table’? Or maybe ‘Let’s call a sorcerer before we accidentally melt into puddles’?”

“It’s not melting anyone,” Walker scoffed. “We didn’t even open it. It’s sealed.”

“Yeah? Well maybe we shouldn’t be breathing near it either.”

“Oh my god,” Yelena groaned. “Can we not do this for once? We got the creepy demon juice, we’re back in one piece, let’s just—I don’t know—wait for Val?”

“Sure,” Ava said coolly. “Let’s all wait. And if one of us starts speaking in ancient tongues or turns into a pigeon, I’ll say ‘I told you so’ through gritted teeth.”

“Guys,” Bob piped up, timid and wide-eyed, “maybe we should move it to a containment unit?”

They all ignored him.

A beat passed. The tension simmered.

And then, like fate herself decided to screw subtlety, Ava threw her arms up in frustration—just as Walker leaned forward to say something else stupid—and someone’s elbow clipped the bottle.

It wobbled. Wobbled again. And fell. The moment it hit the floor, it didn’t shatter like glass.

It burst. A pulse shot out like a heartbeat—silent, red, heavy—and then thick, crimson smoke curled up from the remnants, slithering into the air like it had a mind of its own. The room filled with it instantly—sweet-smelling, cloying, oddly warm—and then it was everywhere.

Ava choked. “What the hell did you do?!”

“I DIDN’T TOUCH IT—”

“YES YOU DID, I SAW YOUR STUPID ARM—”

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP—”

Too late.

The smoke coiled tighter, circling them like a serpent, and then—, Val walked in. 

The automatic door hissed open just as the red cloud finished swirling and vanished into thin air like it had never existed.

Val paused. Took one step into the room. Brows furrowed. “...What the fuck?”

No one answered. Not at first.

There was just silence. Stillness. The room looked the same. The table was wet with the remains of the fluid, the bottle pieces scattered like shattered candy. There was no fire. No screaming. No alarms.

And yet. Something was… off.

Val’s heels clicked as she walked further in, eyes narrowed.

“Okay,” she said slowly, taking in their expressions—or lack thereof. “Who broke it?”

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Just wide, blank eyes staring back at her.

Bob blinked first. Then, he sneezed.

It was a very high-pitched sneeze.

You didn’t speak to each other at first.

The elevator thrummed gently beneath your boots, a soft mechanical hum that did little to settle your nerves. You stood on opposite sides of the lift, backs to the walls, arms crossed like shields. The kind of stance people take when they’re trying very hard not to punch each other again.

The silence dragged.

Bucky was the first to break it, voice low and rough. “You think she’s exaggerating?”

You raised an eyebrow without looking at him. “It’s Val.”

He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. He looked… worse for wear. Tired. Bruise healing along his jaw. A tiny scratch just beneath his ear that you didn’t want to stare at, but your eyes kept flicking to anyway.

“She sent twenty-seven texts in five minutes,” he muttered. “She doesn’t do that.”

You nodded slowly. “Which means it’s either interdimensional, magical, or something’s exploded.”

“Or all three,” Bucky said darkly.

The elevator pinged. Floor 44.

You shifted your weight, tugging your sleeves down over your wrists, trying not to fidget. You hadn’t spoken since the lake house. Since the fight. Since you’d stabbed him in a training room full of witnesses. And now you were here—reunited by shared emergency, standing side by side in uncomfortable silence like the world hadn’t tilted three inches to the left the last time you were in the same room.

Another beat passed. Bucky cleared his throat. “I, uh—was gonna text. After…”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He fell quiet again.

The elevator slowed as it reached Floor 47—restricted access, Val’s designated “oh-no-no-no” floor where emergencies were dealt with before they spilled into the public. You turned toward the doors, fingers tingling with restrained magic, muscles tensed.

Bucky watched you from the corner of his eye. “You ready?”

“Not even a little.”

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. And your breath caught in your throat.

You blinked once. Twice. There, in the middle of the hallway, was Val.

She looked like she'd been through a war. Hair disheveled, one heel missing, shirt untucked, and a stain on her blazer that looked suspiciously like applesauce. In her arms was something squirming. No—someone.

A baby.

A small, squishy, extremely furious baby with way-too-familiar dark hair and an itty-bitty SHIELD onesie.

You blinked again.

“Don’t say a word,” Val snapped, eyes bloodshot. “Just… come inside.”

You and Bucky exchanged a look.

Then, slowly—cautiously—you stepped into the madness. And chaos met you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t even crossed the threshold before your instincts started screaming. Magic—thick and wild—still clung to the air like smoke after a fire. It buzzed faintly against your skin, prickling at the fine hairs on your arms as you stepped deeper into the hallway. Bucky followed close behind, one hand near the knife strapped to his thigh, the other flexing like he was itching to punch the unknown square in the face.

The lights in the corridor flickered ominously, and you had to sidestep what appeared to be a trail of goldfish crackers leading directly into the main conference room. You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know.

Val stood just inside the doorway, her face an exhausted masterpiece of rage and disbelief. Her dark hair was pulled back into a half-undone ponytail, her mascara was smudged, and she held what looked like a baby in her arms—fat-cheeked, glaring, with a tuft of auburn hair and a scowl that, disturbingly, reminded you of John Walker.

You stopped short. Bucky nearly bumped into you. Val didn’t give either of you time to process.

“Come in,” she said, voice hoarse and tight with a fraying edge of hysteria. “Close the damn door behind you.”

Your boots clicked against the tile as you obeyed. Bucky muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch, but it sounded like a prayer. The moment the doors sealed shut behind you, a new sound filled the air—high-pitched, chaotic, overlapping.

Crying. Arguing. Giggling. Something heavy crashing to the floor. You turned the corner and froze. All logic stopped.

Five small figures occupied the room like gremlins unleashed from hell itself. One of them—Alexei, you assumed—was trying to climb the window blinds using only his teeth and a wildly ineffective pair of toddler arms. Another, unmistakably Ava, sat cross-legged under the conference table, surrounded by floating pieces of dismantled tech, tiny face screwed up in furious concentration.

Yelena was in a corner, stabbing a juice box with the savagery of someone trying to commit war crimes through a straw.

And in the center of it all, surrounded by a small pile of blankets, was Bob. Tiny. Round.

Wearing one of those ridiculous “I’m the future” shirts that someone must have dug out of a Stark Industries drawer.

He saw you and his entire face lit up like a sunrise.

“Mama!”

You blinked. Bucky swore under his breath, spinning on his heel like he was about to hit the emergency elevator button and vanish from this plane of existence. You grabbed the back of his jacket before he could escape.

Val rubbed at her temples and muttered, “I told you not to touch the bottle. But noooo, someone had to argue about proximity spells and elemental containment and—well, now we have baby assassins, congratulations.”

You stepped forward on unsteady feet, crouching slowly as Bob toddled toward you with his arms outstretched. He tripped once, recovered, and barrelled into you like a chubby missile, wrapping his tiny arms around your neck.

“Mama,” he mumbled again, this time softer, more tired. “You came.” Your throat closed.

You wrapped your arms around his tiny frame, magic flaring silently under your skin as you scanned him for injuries. Nothing broken. No magical burns. Just… small. Vulnerable. And looking at you like you were the only safe thing in the world.

Bucky crouched beside you, eyes flicking over Bob and then around the room like he was still waiting for the real threat to reveal itself. “They’re all like this?”

“All of them,” Val said, sounding like she needed a drink, a nap, and possibly a new career.

You stood up, lifting Bob easily in your arms. He curled against you instantly, one thumb in his mouth, the other hand tangled in the collar of your shirt.

“This is temporary, right?” Bucky asked warily.

Val didn’t answer right away. She just exhaled slowly, like she was bracing herself for an explosion that hadn’t happened yet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve got two sorcerers on a call, one is crying, and the other just said something about ‘age-locked soul regression’ and hung up.”

Bucky ran a hand down his face. You just stared at Val.

“So what you’re saying,” you said flatly, “is that you called me back from my grief vacation to run a daycare full of mini war criminals, and you don’t even know how long this lasts.”

Val smiled grimly. “Welcome home.”

Val checked her watch like she wasn’t surrounded by chaos. Like there weren’t juice stains soaking into Stark Tower’s designer rugs or an unconscious Red Guardian face-first on the floor after trying to body slam a beanbag chair. She smoothed her blazer, adjusted the one-heeled shoe still attached to her foot, and—while you cradled a drowsy toddler Bob on your hip and Bucky stared blankly at the wall like his soul had just left his body—said the words that would forever haunt your dreams:

“Well. I gotta go.”

You blinked. Bucky blinked.

Val clapped her hands once, as if trying to shake off crumbs. “I’ve got a crisis call with a coven in Prague, and then there’s a press situation brewing with the UN. Something about unauthorized dimension-hopping and a minor possessed goat.” She waved vaguely toward the ceiling. “Anyway. This—” she gestured broadly at the pint-sized chaos, “—is officially not my problem anymore.”

“Val,” you said slowly, adjusting Bob’s weight in your arms as he yawned and drooled on your shoulder, “you cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” she replied, already moving toward the exit. “Pepper said not to disturb her unless something was on fire or bleeding, and technically no one is bleeding right now, so.”

“Yelena bit Walker,” Bucky said flatly, arms crossed.

“Baby Yelena,” you clarified. “Bit baby Walker.”

“She also cursed in Russian,” Bucky added. “Twice.”

Val waved that off like it was paperwork. “You’ve both handled worse. I have faith in you. You're a natural leader.”

“You left a literal god in a diaper and called it leadership,” you muttered.

“Correct,” she said cheerfully, already halfway out the door. “And hey—think of it as team-building. Trauma bonding. Therapeutic domestic immersion!”

The door hissed shut behind her before you could hurl something after her.

Silence fell. Well—not silence. There was still the sound of baby Ava stacking StarkPads like building blocks, the rhythmic creaking of toddler Alexei trying to bounce off the walls again, and a very soft, very suspicious splorch noise coming from somewhere behind the couch.

You sighed. Loudly. Bucky exhaled beside you and rubbed a hand down his face, voice low and tired. “What the hell do we do now?”

You looked down at Bob, who had his thumb in his mouth and his other hand tangled in your hair. His eyes were already fluttering shut. He looked so peaceful. So innocent. So unaware of the raging dumpster fire surrounding you.

You adjusted him against your chest and said, “First? We find juice boxes. Then? We pray.”

Bucky nodded, slow and solemn. And for the first time all day, he actually looked at you. Not just a glance. Not a glare. A real look. Soft. Quiet. Maybe even… apologetic. But there wasn’t time for that now.

Because baby Yelena had disappeared. And the emergency sprinklers just turned on.

There is a kind of silence that comes right before everything explodes. A charged, fleeting moment where the universe holds its breath.

And then—

The crying starts.

It begins with Bob. Just a soft whimper, barely a sound, muffled against your chest as he stirs from his nap. He’s warm, flushed, eyes still bleary, but the instant he realizes he’s not in your arms anymore—just lying beside you on a pillow—his mouth opens in a slow, terrible wail that rises like a storm cloud and does not stop.

You reach for him instantly, but you’re too late.

He sets off Ava.

Her screech is sharper. Meaner. Like glass shattering on tile. She’s standing in the middle of the room with her fists clenched, bottom lip trembling, tears welling like twin tidal waves. One second she’s fine. The next she’s full banshee. She throws her spoon. It explodes against the wall.

Alexei joins in before he even knows why. He hears the sound, sees the distress, and promptly throws himself on the ground, legs kicking, wailing like someone just stepped on his dreams. He rolls over, bumps into a cushion, and starts yelling louder.

And Yelena—sweet, violent, unpredictable Yelena—stands up from the laundry basket she was using as a fort, looks around at the descending bedlam, and starts crying out of pure spite.

It’s deafening.

You scramble across the room on your knees, arms outstretched, magic sparking helplessly at your fingertips as you try to gather them. Bob first—his arms are already reaching for you. You scoop him up, kiss his forehead, shush him, bounce gently. He does not care. He screams louder.

“Where is Bucky?” you growl, trying to untangle yourself from Bob’s sticky grip.

“Right here!” he barks from the hallway, rushing back in, hair a mess and his shirt inside-out. Yelena is clinging to the front of him like a spider monkey, her face mashed against his collarbone, screaming directly into his soul.

He looks wild-eyed. Rattled. Afraid.

You want to laugh. You don’t. You don’t have the air to laugh.

“Help me!” you shout, trying to levitate a bottle of formula while Bob beats his tiny fists against your chest and Ava levitates a couch cushion with intent to murder.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO,” Bucky yells, trying to detach Yelena without getting bitten.

“You’ve fought HYDRA death squads, Barnes, just PUT THE BABY DOWN—”

“She’s got my hair—”

“I DON’T CARE—”

A loud thud cuts you off. You whirl around.

Alexei launched himself off the back of the couch and landed flat on his stomach, wailing like a siren. He doesn’t seem hurt. Just… upset. And wet. He’s crying with his whole body, fists pounding the ground like it personally offended him.

Bucky finally peels Yelena off his shoulder and deposits her into the playpen. She immediately tries to scale the mesh wall like she’s in baby prison.

“WE NEED A PLAN,” he pants, hands braced on his knees.

“I NEED SIX PAIRS OF ARMS AND A DAMN EXORCIST,” you snap, trying to keep Bob from kicking his bottle out of your hand.

The noise crescendos. Crying. Screaming. Something electronic explodes in the corner, sparks shooting out from under the TV. You don’t care anymore. You’re soaked. You’re sticky. You’re seconds away from crying with them.

And then—

Silence.

Just for a second. Just long enough for you and Bucky to lock eyes across the battlefield.

You’re both breathing hard. Wide-eyed. Disheveled. You with Bob on your hip and dried applesauce in your hair. Him with baby sock prints on his shirt and Yelena’s pacifier tucked behind his ear like a grenade.

“This,” you breathe, “is hell.”

He nods. Grim. “Actual hell.”

Then someone starts crying again. And the moment shatters.

You were one scream away from combusting.

The lights were flickering. The tower’s temperature regulation had failed—again—and somewhere in the hallway, a fire alarm was going off that no one could reach because it was twelve feet in the air. Ava had levitated two coffee mugs and was currently banging them together like ritual drums. Alexei was naked. You didn’t know when or how, but he’d shed every piece of clothing and was sprinting through the living room like a glittery gremlin on a sugar high. Walker was sobbing into a pile of couch cushions like the world had personally betrayed him. Yelena was sharpening crayons. Sharpening. Crayons.

And Bob, your sweet little Bob, was wrapped around your leg like a weighted anchor, wide-eyed and sniffling, clutching the hem of your shirt like it was a holy relic.

Your eye twitched. Your jaw clenched.

And then, very quietly, you snapped.

Magic flared like a shockwave from your fingertips. Not out of rage, not yet—but out of sheer, unhinged desperation. You waved one hand through the air with a sharp, sweeping motion, and with a flick of your wrist, the living room shifted.

The floor shimmered, glowed, and transformed.

The couch cushions floated gently into the air and reassembled themselves into a playpen fortress, complete with safety barriers, tiny blankets, and soft lights that pulsed like stars. A calming scent of lavender and cocoa drifted through the room. The broken coffee mugs reformed into glowing orbs that danced mid-air, swirling like baby mobiles. The fire alarm shut off. Alexei’s clothes reappeared on his body mid-run, and he skidded to a halt, confused but delighted.

Every child went still.

Ava’s mouth fell open in awe. The mugs dropped to the floor with a soft clink as her eyes tracked the lights like they were fairy spirits. Yelena—tiny, lethal Yelena—sat down cross-legged on the spot, crayons forgotten in her lap. Even Walker, snotty and red-faced, blinked up in wonder.

And Bob?

Bob was glowing.

Not literally—but in the way toddlers do when something lights up their whole world. His eyes sparkled as he stared at you, face round and amazed, mouth opening in a joyful little gasp.

“More!” he chirped, grabbing your hand. “Mama! More pretty!”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Something in your chest eased. Warmed.

With a softer motion, you conjured a gentle snowfall. It wasn’t cold—just glittering illusion, falling like sugar from the ceiling. Bob reached for the flakes with both hands, giggling in delight, and Ava squealed, chasing them across the carpet.

Alexei threw himself into a pile of conjured pillows with a triumphant yell. Yelena tried to catch a flake on her tongue and grumbled in Russian when it disappeared.

Bucky appeared in the doorway, stunned silent.

He took in the scene—five tiny Thunderbolts sitting peacefully in a glowing, enchanted wonderland, laughter echoing like music—and blinked slowly like his brain had blue-screened.

“What the hell,” he muttered.

“I snapped,” you said, breathless, still holding Bob close. “Magically. Domestically. Emotionally.”

He walked forward slowly, dodging a floating duck-shaped spark of light. “You turned this into a preschool fantasy movie.”

“I saved our lives.”

Bob giggled again, clapping tiny hands against your cheeks and leaning into your chest. “You did magic,” he whispered proudly. “You magic mama.”

You felt your heart split clean down the middle.

Bucky rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know if I’m terrified or impressed.”

“Both,” you replied, brushing a curl from Bob’s forehead. “Be both.”

You made the fatal mistake of blinking.

One moment—peace. Quiet giggles. Sparkly fake snow drifting through the air. You were a goddess among toddlers, a mother of dragons with a halo of glitter and cocoa-scented calm. Bob was nestled in your lap, playing with a soft conjured rabbit. Bucky was cautiously sipping cold coffee while keeping one eye on Ava, who had finally stopped trying to rewrite Stark protocols with finger paint.

But peace, as you were learning, was a trap.

Because the second you turned to conjure a new blanket for Walker—who was beginning to sniffle again with the kind of pout that threatened to erupt—the room descended into absolute anarchy.

It started with Alexei. Of course it was Alexei.

You didn’t see him do it, but you heard the crash. The unmistakable sound of a plastic bin full of LEGOs and emergency tools being upended onto the floor. You turned just in time to see his chubby little legs disappear into the hallway, a screwdriver in one hand, glitter still stuck to his forehead, screaming something that sounded vaguely like, “I BUILD NOW!”

And then Ava shrieked.

Not because she was scared—no, no. It was the shriek of competitive bloodlust. She took off after him like a heat-seeking missile, levitating the duck-shaped mobile and hurling it like a weapon.

“GET BACK HERE,” you shouted, scrambling to your feet, Bob tumbling against your chest like a startled kitten.

“Why is she flying?!” Bucky barked, pointing at Ava as she literally lifted off the ground for three seconds before crashing into a beanbag chair.

“I DON’T KNOW, BUCKY, MAYBE BECAUSE SHE’S MADE OF MAGIC AND SPITE.”

Yelena, meanwhile, took advantage of the chaos by climbing the bookshelf.

You didn’t know how she got up there. You didn’t want to know. One second she was scribbling ominous symbols on the wall in red crayon—yes, red, of course—and the next she was crouched like a tiny sniper on the fourth shelf, chewing on the binding of a S.H.I.E.L.D. training manual like it owed her money.

Walker had begun crying again.

Not just crying—screaming. Full-volume toddler meltdown. He crawled under the couch, sobbing “I WANT MY SHIELD” on repeat like a tiny brainwashed Winter Soldier, refusing to come out.

“Bucky,” you yelled, trying to teleport Bob’s toy out of Ava’s war path. “GET YELENA.”

“She’s got a knife!” he hissed back.

“What?!”

He ducked behind the couch, emerging moments later with Yelena wriggling under his arm, a makeshift dagger made from a broken spatula clutched in her tiny fist. She screamed something guttural and kicked him in the ribs.

“I hate this,” Bucky grunted, staggering.

“I told you we should’ve just faked our own deaths!”

Bob, still in your arms, was clapping. “Fun!”

You looked down at him, sweat on your brow, hair in your mouth, glitter somehow in your eyelid.

“Sweetheart,” you panted, “are you… enjoying this?”

He beamed, two teeth showing. “So much fun!”

You groaned and dropped back into the armchair as Yelena shrieked “FREEDOM!” and escaped Bucky’s grip like a feral badger. Walker was still sobbing under the couch. Ava was now levitating herself again. Alexei had returned and was trying to unscrew the floor vent.

Bucky leaned against the wall, disheveled and furious. “They’re going to kill us.”

“Not if I kill myself first,” you muttered.

A bottle flew past your head and exploded against the wall.

Bob clapped again. “Boom!”

It was Bucky’s idea.

You should’ve stopped him. Should’ve tackled him when he opened his mouth and said the now-infamous words: “Okay, who’s hungry?”

Because the second those words left his lips, all five children lost their collective baby minds.

“ME!!” Alexei screamed, punching the air like someone had offered him a fight instead of food.

“Ava hungee!!” Ava shrieked, arms flailing as she levitated a fork from across the room and nearly impaled a couch cushion.

“I wan’ 'ghetti!” Yelena shouted, her voice dangerously close to demonic pitch.

“I wan’ chikkie!” Walker sobbed, still under the couch but apparently motivated enough by processed meat to join the living.

And Bob—precious, sweet Bob, who had been clinging to your side like a sleepy koala—perked up with a sleepy little smile and said, “Nuggy time?”

Bucky looked at you.

You looked at him.

The kitchen door creaked open like the gates of hell.

You set Bob down in his little booster seat at the table and conjured another chair with magic for Yelena, who was already trying to climb onto the counter with one leg and no pants. Bucky was wrestling Walker out from under the couch with one arm while using the other to hold a frozen bag of peas to his forehead. Alexei kept yelling “HUNGEY HUNGEY HUNGEY” while trying to crawl into the fridge.

“Ava,” you said sharply, ducking as a spoon whizzed past your face, “you levitate one more utensil and I will enchant your applesauce to taste like toenails.”

She froze mid-levitate. The spoon dropped.

“Tha’ gross,” she muttered, pouting.

You started plating like your life depended on it—because it did. Bucky had dumped three boxes of frozen chicken nuggets onto a tray and tossed it in the oven while you used your powers to conjure fruit, toast, mini pancakes, and six bowls of mac and cheese.

Alexei was already trying to eat his with his hands.

“No hands! Use fork!” you said, guiding his chubby little fingers toward the utensil.

“Nooooo,” he whined, stuffing noodles into his mouth and onto his forehead. “Me big boy!!”

“Okay, big boy,” Bucky muttered, putting a juice box in front of him. “Try not to stab your brother with that straw.”

Yelena grabbed her plate, glared at her peas, and yeeted them over her shoulder like a war crime. “I wan’ 'ghetti!”

“I told you there’s no spaghetti!” you snapped, catching Bob’s juice before it spilled.

“I WAN’ SPAGHETTI!!” she screeched, slapping the table. Ava screamed in solidarity.

Walker had fallen asleep in his plate of chicken nuggets.

Bob, on the other hand, was being perfect. Bob ate slowly. Neatly. Like the tiny polite prince he was. He chewed each bite thoughtfully, his little feet swinging under the chair, hands slightly sticky but contained.

You wiped his mouth gently and smiled at him.

“Good boy,” you murmured.

“I eat good?” he asked.

“The best,” you whispered.

Then he knocked over his cup of juice with the most gentle swipe of his hand and looked genuinely surprised.

“Oopsie.”

“Of course,” you muttered.

Across the table, Bucky looked done. His hair was a mess. His shirt had a banana smear across the front. He was trying to convince Yelena to sit back down without losing a finger. His soul had left the building.

You handed him a fork with quiet pity.

“Welcome to the dark side,” you said, deadpan.

“I fought a Nazi assassin on a train once,” he muttered. “This is worse.”

Bucky's Side: The Boys’ Bath

Bucky Barnes had survived snipers, bombs, interdimensional threats, and the slow emotional death of Avengers press tours. But none of that—none of it—had prepared him for giving a bath to three superpowered toddlers in a room tiled like a war zone and soaked like a rainstorm.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself as he set the baby shampoo on the edge of the tub, sleeves rolled up and damp already. “We go in fast. No hesitation. No fear.”

He looked down into the tub where Bob, Alexei, and Walker sat, naked, slippery, and foaming.

Bob was the only one sitting still. Bucky could kiss him for that. The kid blinked up at him with big eyes, cheeks rosy from the warmth, clutching a rubber duck like it was sacred.

Walker was chewing on a loofah like it owed him money.

Alexei was trying to stand.

“NOPE,” Bucky barked, yanking him back down just as the kid tried to launch himself out of the tub like a glittery torpedo. “Sit. You’re wet, not aerodynamic.”

“But I fly!” Alexei squealed, giggling.

“You fly after you graduate potty training,” Bucky muttered.

Walker let out a yell and splashed so hard the shampoo bottle went flying. Bob blinked, looked down at his duck, then slowly and methodically bit its head.

Bucky was soaked from the waist down. He grabbed a cup, filled it with warm water, and tried to rinse Alexei’s hair while the kid twisted like an eel.

“You’re getting shampooed whether you like it or not, buddy.”

Alexei screeched in mock betrayal. “BUKY BAD!!!”

Bucky froze. “You—what did you just call me?”

“BUKY BAD MAN!”

Bob gasped. “No! Buky nice! Buky gib nuggies!”

“Damn right I did,” Bucky muttered, pressing a washcloth to his own soaked face. “I earned your loyalty, Bob.”

Walker dunked himself under water without warning and popped back up sputtering, spitting suds and yelling “I’M 'MURICA!!”

Bucky genuinely considered walking out and joining a monastery.

Your Side: The Girls’ Bath

In the other bathroom—smaller, quieter, but somehow more dangerous—you knelt by the edge of a clawfoot tub with Yelena and Ava seated like tiny empresses in a mountain of enchanted bubbles.

You had already reinforced the walls with a low-level barrier charm.

For safety.

For sanity.

“Okay, let’s keep hands to ourselves,” you said, gently running your fingers through Ava’s hair. “No throwing the soap this time.”

“She startit,” Ava muttered, pouting as you combed conditioner through her curls.

“I no!” Yelena snapped, slapping bubbles like she was interrogating them. “She touch me face!”

“You touched mine!” Ava shot back.

“Okay—enough,” you said firmly, placing a floating duck between them like a peace treaty. “Duck is neutral. You hurt the duck, you answer to me.”

Ava nodded solemnly. Yelena squinted like she was planning treason.

You conjured warm water and let it rinse gently over Ava’s head. She relaxed a little, eyes fluttering shut.

Yelena took the moment of distraction to summon a bubble the size of a basketball and smack it into her sister’s face.

Ava screamed. You caught her before she could retaliate with a water whip spell.

“Yelena!” you warned. “What did I just say?”

She crossed her arms. “Duck say nothing.”

You inhaled sharply. Counted to three. Didn’t hex anyone.

“You are both getting clean if I have to freeze time to do it.”

Ava hiccuped and curled closer to you. “I wan’ braid,” she whispered.

You smiled softly, brushing back her hair. “You got it, sweetheart.”

Yelena huffed. “I wan’ dagger.”

“Absolutely not.”

Back in the hallway…

Two bathroom doors opened at the same time.

You and Bucky stared at each other across the wet tile battlefield. You had Ava on your hip and Yelena wrapped in a towel like a burrito. He had Bob cradled like a baby koala and Alexei wrapped in four towels for containment. Walker was dragging a shampoo bottle by the nozzle like it was a trophy.

“Please tell me yours didn’t pee in the tub,” you said.

“I’ll tell you,” Bucky grunted, “when I find out which of them did.”

It had been your idea.

Beds—five of them—spread out in the Tower’s movie room like a makeshift camp, each one layered with thick comforters, soft pillows, and tiny stuffed animals that had magically appeared during the day when no one was looking. The overhead lights were dimmed, the air warm, and fairy lights—actual glowing enchantments—lined the ceiling, flickering like sleepy stars.

You sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, Bob curled up against your chest, his curly hair still damp from the bath and his thumb tucked halfway into his mouth. You cradled him gently, rubbing slow circles against his back.

The movie ended ten minutes ago. And yet—no one was asleep.

Alexei was bouncing from bed to bed like a caffeinated frog, yelling about monsters and bears and how he could defeat them all. Walker had declared war on the pillows, launching them across the room with toddler-like glee and zero aim. Yelena was spinning in slow circles, singing nonsense in Russian and holding a plastic spoon like a sword.

Ava sat quietly in her own bed, arms around her knees, eyes darting from one loud sibling to the next. She wasn’t scared. But she was overwhelmed. You could see it in the way she clutched her blanket tighter every time someone shouted too loud.

Bucky walked in then, holding three bottles and looking like a man on his final life.

“I bribed them,” he muttered, passing you one for Bob. “If they lay down, they get a story.”

“That’s not a bribe,” you said, adjusting Bob so he could sip. “That’s diplomacy.”

Yelena ran toward him and jumped into his arms without warning. He caught her with a grunt, her little limbs wrapping around him like a koala on caffeine.

“Story now!” she barked, thumping her tiny fist against his chest. “Bucky tell good one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bucky tells stories?”

“Only the epic kind,” he said gruffly, settling into the big beanbag chair with Yelena curled up in his lap, eyes wide and bright. “Also I’m her favorite now.”

“Bet,” you said, grinning, and kissed the top of Bob’s head.

Walker flopped onto the floor dramatically and yelled, “I wan’ da dragon story!”

“No, bear story!” Alexei shouted, diving under his blanket.

“C’n we have both?” Bob whispered against your collarbone.

Ava peeked out from her bed, voice so small it was barely a whisper. “I wan’ story, too…”

You smiled softly, opened your arms. “Wanna come here, sweetheart?”

She hesitated… then slowly crawled toward you, tucking herself against your side, her little fingers slipping into yours.

You looked across the sea of blankets and stuffed animals at Bucky.

“Ready, soldier?”

He nodded once. “Once upon a time…”

He told the first half.

A story about a brave little girl with golden hair and a mean left hook, who fought off shadow monsters with a spoon and never once cried—not even when she got lost in the woods. Yelena listened with rapt attention, eyes wide, fingers tangled in the hem of Bucky’s sleeve. Walker shouted every time the monsters showed up. Alexei demanded to know when the explosions started.

You watched him—Bucky, the grumpy, growly man who had once refused to hold a puppy on a mission—and your heart ached at the way he tucked a strand of hair behind Yelena’s ear like it was second nature.

Then it was your turn.

You told them about a little boy with curls like clouds and a laugh like thunder, who had a magic duck and a glowing compass that always pointed toward home. A boy who got scared sometimes, but always did the brave thing anyway. Bob’s eyes drifted shut halfway through, his breathing slow and warm against your chest.

Ava stayed quiet, listening. You glanced down to find her still holding your hand, her head on your arm, eyes fluttering closed.

When you finished, silence wrapped around the room like a blanket.

Alexei had passed out face-first into a stuffed tiger. Walker snored with a fist in the air like he’d fallen asleep mid-battle cry. Yelena’s grip on Bucky had loosened, her face soft and peaceful at last.

You didn’t move. Neither did Bucky.

Just a quiet glance exchanged across a battlefield that—for the first time all day—had gone still. He gave you a small smile.

“Not bad,” he murmured.

“You too,” you whispered. “Girl dad.”

His eyes softened. You reached over with your free hand, touched his arm.

“We’re gonna survive this, right?” you asked.

“…Eventually.”

Morning arrived in golden streaks across the curtains, slow and quiet, like the Tower itself was still rubbing sleep from its eyes. The fairy lights overhead had faded to a soft, amber glow. Someone’s lullaby playlist had stopped playing around 3 a.m., leaving only the gentle hum of the heater and the occasional squeak of a plush toy being rolled on in someone’s sleep.

You weren’t awake yet. Not fully.

Your mind stirred before your body did—floating somewhere between dream and waking, wrapped in heavy warmth and a surprisingly steady rhythm of breath that wasn’t your own. Your fingers twitched. Something shifted against your side.

You blinked. And then you froze.

Because your head? Was not on a pillow. It was on a shoulder.

A broad, warm, flannel-covered shoulder.

And your leg? Draped over someone else’s. There was an arm around your waist.

Your heart leapt into your throat as your gaze tilted up—slowly, hesitantly, horrifiedly—to meet the sleeping face of none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

His head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, hair tousled from sleep, stubble thick across his jaw. One hand rested loosely on your side, metal fingers curled like he’d relaxed into it hours ago.

You screamed internally.

Before you could even react, a chorus of chaotic giggles rang through the room.

“Buki an’ mama cuddlin’!!” Bob squealed from his little bed, hands on his cheeks like this was the most romantic moment of his tiny life.

Yelena howled with laughter, rolling back and forth in her blanket pile.

Walker blinked at you both, frowned, then burst into inexplicable tears.

Ava watched from the corner, covering her mouth with both hands as her shoulders shook in quiet delight.

Bucky jolted awake with a grunt, arm tightening around you instinctively before his eyes flew open.

He blinked. Looked at you. Looked at your leg over his. Looked at the chaos around the room.

“Are you—” he started.

“I am not cuddling you,” you snapped, scrambling away so fast you kicked off your own blanket and nearly face-planted into Bob’s pile of duck plushies.

Bucky sat up like he’d been electrocuted. “I don’t cuddle people!”

“Same!!”

Walker sobbed louder. Alexei sat up out of nowhere, disheveled and somehow holding a bag of dry cereal. “Why mama yellin’?”

“I’M NOT YOUR MOM—”

Bob crawled into your lap mid-scream and patted your face gently. “You ‘n Buki had sleep snugs.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Covered your face with both hands. Bucky groaned and dropped his head against the couch behind him.

“Kill me,” he mumbled.

Yelena threw a pillow at him. “Cuddlerrrr,” she sang.

You peeked at him between your fingers. “You drooled on me.”

He didn’t even deny it. “You kicked me in your sleep.”

Bob gasped. “You kick Buki?!”

“Okay, okay, enough,” you muttered, pulling Bob close, cheeks burning. “Everyone up. Let’s get breakfast before I disintegrate into the floor.”

As the kids scrambled to their feet and chaos began its daily resurrection, you caught Bucky’s eye one more time.

He looked away first. And maybe—just maybe—you missed the warmth.

Just a little.

There were two kinds of mornings in the Tower: the usual half-chaotic shuffle of grown adults trying to act like responsible heroes… and then mornings like this—where five pint-sized mayhem goblins were running on toddler fuel, sticky fingers, and leftover glitter from the bath bubbles.

But today? Today felt… soft.

Warm sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Tower kitchen, casting golden rays across the floor where Bob was sitting cross-legged in his duck pajamas, humming to himself and gently rocking a bottle of syrup like it was a baby. Ava leaned against your leg quietly, watching everything with big eyes. Walker had already knocked over a chair and was using it to climb the counter. Yelena was sharpening crayons for no reason again. And Alexei was running laps around the island chanting “PAN-KAKE! PAN-KAKE!” like it was a war cry.

At the stove stood Bucky Barnes.

Flour on his cheek. Hair tied back in a low bun. Wearing a navy-blue apron that read “Kiss the Cook” (you did not question where he found it). One hand expertly flipping pancakes in a skillet, the other steadying the stack already plated next to him. His face was scrunched in deep, world-ending focus.

You leaned on the counter, arms crossed, watching him work.

“Never thought I’d see the Winter Soldier making bunny-shaped pancakes,” you said with a smirk.

“Never thought I’d be this close to snapping over a missing spatula,” he muttered, flipping one like a pro. “We all grow.”

“You’re… good at this,” you admitted.

He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Did you just compliment me?”

“I’ll deny it the moment you bring it up again.”

Yelena skidded into the room, nearly wiping out, then slammed her fists onto the counter. “Buki!! My pancake has no eyes!!”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“His face!! No eyes!! You forget eyes!!” she said, holding up a bunny pancake like it had been personally insulted.

You stepped in before Bucky short-circuited. “Let’s get some blueberries, yeah? Pancake eyes, coming right up.”

Bob clapped gently from the floor. “Buki is pancake man…”

Bucky exhaled, set another perfect circle on the stack, then crouched to look Bob in the eye.

“I am pancake man,” he said seriously. “Fear me.”

Bob giggled so hard he fell sideways into your leg.

Ava tugged on your shirt. “Can I have butter on mine?”

You scooped her up effortlessly, resting her on your hip. “Butter, syrup, and maybe a little whipped cream if we’re feeling wild.”

Walker climbed onto a stool with absolutely zero grace and yelled, “I WAN’ TOWER PAN-KAKE!!”

Alexei crashed into him. “NO! I WAN’ TOWER PAN-KAKE!!”

“Okay, okay—one Tower Stack coming up,” you said, motioning to Bucky.

He saluted with the spatula like it was a mission. “Ten-layer pancake incoming.”

Within minutes, plates were passed, juice was poured (carefully), and the kitchen fell into that rarest of states: peaceful chewing. You sat with Bob on your lap, Ava pressed against your side, watching them eat like it was a feast fit for baby kings and queens. Walker had syrup in his eyebrows. Yelena had somehow acquired a second fork. Alexei was stacking mini pancake pieces into what looked like a tank.

Bucky sat across from you, sipping coffee like a man who’d seen war and made peace with it.

You caught his eye.

And for one long, quiet second—you smiled at each other.

Like, really smiled.

Then Alexei sneezed into the syrup and Yelena started sword-fighting with forks and Bob whispered, “I love you, pan-kake…” and the moment passed.

But it happened.

And it was enough.

The world, for once, had gone gentle.

No glitter explosions. No screaming for pancakes. No enchanted utensils flying across the room. Just the soft murmur of little voices—Ava humming to herself in the corner as she scribbled stars with a blue crayon, Alexei grunting in concentration as he stacked blocks that kept collapsing, Yelena hissing at Walker because he tried to eat her bear—and beneath it all, the quiet, steady rhythm of Bob breathing against your chest.

He was out cold.

His curls were damp from the bath, cheeks flushed a sleepy rose. One of his hands was balled into your shirt like he thought you might disappear. The other was loosely gripping the tail of his beloved duck plush, already halfway down your lap.

You didn’t dare move.

Bucky was sitting beside you on the couch, arms resting on his thighs, head tilted just enough to watch Bob sleep without looking like he meant to. His metal fingers tapped once against his knee before going still again.

The Tower had never felt this quiet. Not even when it was empty.

You shifted slightly to get comfortable and winced when Bob stirred, letting out a soft baby sigh and curling closer to your heartbeat.

“Sorry,” you whispered, brushing a hand over his hair.

Bucky’s voice was low, just above a murmur. “He’s really out, huh?”

“Long day,” you said, glancing at the chaos still moving across the carpet. “They wore each other out.”

“They wore us out.”

You smiled, leaning back slightly, careful not to wake the sleeping warmth curled against you. “I’m starting to think we’re the ones being trained.”

Bucky huffed a soft laugh. It wasn’t sarcastic this time. It wasn’t bitter. Just... tired. Soft.

You looked over at him.

His eyes were still on Bob.

“You’re good with them,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He blinked. Turned his head slowly, like the compliment confused him.

“You think?”

“I know.” You shifted your gaze back down to Bob. “You made pancakes for six people before sunrise. That’s not ‘good,’ Barnes. That’s heroic.”

He smiled. A real one. Small. Hidden in the corner of his mouth. But there.

For a while, you sat in silence.

Ava brought you a drawing. She didn’t say anything, just placed it gently on your lap before scurrying away. It was a crayon portrait—lopsided and sweet. A stick figure with curly hair holding a tiny blue duck, another with a big metal arm. Both surrounded by stars.

Bucky glanced over your shoulder at it. “Is that supposed to be you and me?”

You nodded. “Apparently.”

He leaned closer, just for a second. Just long enough that your shoulders brushed.

Then—

Bob let out a long, dramatic sigh in his sleep, and you both froze.

“Don’t you dare wake him,” you whispered.

Bucky held up both hands, eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything—”

“You thought too loud.”

“Okay, that’s not a real thing—”

Bob stirred again.

You glared.

Bucky shut his mouth.

And for the next ten minutes, you just sat like that. Side by side. Breathing. Watching. Holding the soft, heavy weight of a sleeping child and somehow, maybe for the first time in a long time, not feeling like the world was on fire.

Just tired.

Just... home.

It happened fast.

One moment, you were sitting on the couch with Bob in your arms and a blanket over your knees, sipping tea while Yelena braided Ava’s hair and Alexei tried to convince Walker that glue was edible. The next, your comm buzzed to life—emergency alert, priority red. No time to argue. No time to prep. Just a look exchanged with Bucky and a whispered, “It’s quick, I promise.”

Bob had started to whimper the second you stood up.

Ava froze halfway through her braid.

“Mama?” she asked, barely audible.

“Just one hour, baby,” you whispered, brushing her cheek. “Be good for Bucky, okay?”

But Bob was already clinging to your shirt. “Nooo gooo,” he whined, voice cracking. “Stayyy here, mamaaa…”

You kissed the top of his head and passed him gently to Bucky, who caught him like someone handling fragile glass.

“I’ll be right back.”

And then you were gone.

The door shut.

The elevator hummed.

The silence cracked.

And five seconds later, all hell broke loose.

Bob began to sob, small hiccupy gasps as he buried his face in Bucky’s chest. Ava’s eyes welled up, and she clutched Yelena’s arm like she might disappear too. Alexei stomped his feet, yelling “NO FAIR!” over and over again like it was a battle cry. Walker threw himself backward onto the carpet and began to scream—not words, just primal, chaotic sadness.

Bucky stood frozen in the middle of it all, holding one trembling, snotty, heartbroken child and looking like he’d just been dropped into battle with no weapons.

“Okay, okay, hey,” he said, trying to bounce Bob gently while his metal arm rubbed slow, awkward circles on the boy’s back. “It’s fine. She’s coming back. You heard her. Just one hour.”

“Mama gone,” Bob whispered against his neck.

“No, no—she’s not gone, she’s just… busy.”

“GONNNNEEEEE,” Alexei wailed from the corner, throwing a block with the force of a javelin.

Yelena’s bottom lip quivered. “Mama always go ‘way,” she said, her tiny voice accusing. “We no want you.”

That one hit harder than Bucky wanted to admit.

He sank down onto the floor, Bob still attached to his chest, and reached his free arm out toward the girls.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, eyes softening. “I’m not her. But I’m here. And I’m trying, okay? So… help me out, would ya?”

Ava came first—quiet, hesitant, sitting at his side but not touching. Then Yelena crawled into his lap, curling against his arm with a dramatic huff. Bob had gone quiet now, his face red and puffy, but his breathing slower.

Walker was still howling into the void.

“Kid,” Bucky called. “You good?”

A loud sniffle.

“…No.”

“Fair.”

Alexei marched over and kicked Bucky in the shin.

“OW—what was that for?!”

“You not mama.”

Bucky looked at the four of them—messy, snot-covered, half-dressed, grieving the sudden loss of the woman who had somehow become their whole world.

“I know I’m not mama,” he said softly. “But she trusted me to take care of you. So let’s just… wait together, yeah?”

Walker sniffed again, then crawled up into his lap without asking. Ava rested her cheek on his knee. Yelena reached up and patted his chin like it made her feel better.

And Bob—little Bob—looked up with tear-glassy eyes and whispered, “You stay ‘til she come back?”

Bucky blinked.

Nodded.

“Yeah, buddy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky had never been afraid of noise. Not really. Explosions, screams, the static hiss of war and metal and memory—it was all part of the rhythm he’d learned to move through like a shadow. But this kind of noise? This relentless, high-pitched, emotionally unstable cacophony? This was not battle. This was something far more dangerous.

This was five grieving toddlers, left in the temporary care of a man whose entire emotional toolkit could fit inside a shot glass.

It was only thirty minutes since you left, but it felt like years.

The living room looked like a battlefield. Yelena had overturned the toy chest and was now guarding it like a dragon with a hoard. Bob had cried so hard he’d vomited, then fallen asleep for ten minutes before waking up even more upset. Walker had locked himself in the hallway closet and was screaming about “being brave alone,” and Alexei had somehow shattered one of the tower’s unbreakable vases and was now spinning in slow, guilty circles whispering “uh-oh” like a broken record.

Ava hadn’t spoken in twenty-five minutes. She sat curled up in the corner with a blanket over her head like she was trying to disappear.

Bucky was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him as he cradled Bob again—too tightly maybe, too unsure. He was sweating. His hair clung to his temple. His vibranium hand was trembling.

He didn’t know what to do.

He wanted to fix it, but he wasn’t you.

“You not mama,” Yelena had said earlier, and that truth had landed like a knife under the ribs.

He was not you.

And he could feel that fact with every scream, every whimper, every pair of tear-streaked cheeks that looked past him like they were waiting for someone else. Someone better. Someone that made the monsters under the bed go quiet with just a smile.

“Come on, buddy,” he murmured to Bob, who was sobbing again, clutching at Bucky’s flannel shirt with his tiny fists. “I know, I know—she’ll be back soon. Just... breathe, okay?”

But Bob just cried harder. And Bucky cracked. His head dropped to the wall behind him, eyes squeezing shut. His voice was ragged. “I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t even know who he was talking to. Maybe the ceiling. Maybe the kid in his arms. Maybe you—if the universe had any mercy left in it.

Then the elevator dinged. And everything stopped.

Bob hiccuped. Alexei froze mid-spin. Even Yelena looked up from her pillow fortress like a wild animal catching the scent of home.

And then the doors slid open. You stepped out, windswept and tired, blood on your collar and soot in your hair—but whole, alive, there.

Bob screamed first. “MAMA!!”

And the floodgates burst. He scrambled out of Bucky’s arms like he’d just been released from prison and flung himself into your legs. Yelena was next, then Ava—silent tears this time, clutching your waist. Walker emerged from the closet and ran like he hadn’t been screaming betrayal five seconds ago. Alexei just collapsed in the hallway and sobbed into your ankle.

You dropped to your knees, arms wide, heart splitting in a million soft pieces.

“I’m here, babies, I’m here—I’m so sorry, I’m here.”

They piled onto you. Limbs, snot, sniffles, joy, heartbreak. Bob climbed up into your lap and tucked his face into your neck like he’d been underwater and could finally breathe again.

You held them all. Every single one. Then your eyes flicked up.

And found Bucky still on the floor, frozen in place, his chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. You stood slowly, carefully shifting Bob onto one hip and brushing Yelena’s curls back as you walked toward him.

You crouched. “Buck,” you said softly, your hand brushing his knee.

He didn’t look up. “I couldn’t calm him down. Any of them. I tried—I tried everything. And they just kept asking for you. Because I’m not you.”

His voice cracked, rough and low, choked by something that was too big to name. You took his hand—his metal one, the one that trembled—and pressed it gently into Bob’s back.

“Yeah,” you said. “You’re not me.”

His jaw clenched. “But they still love you.” He looked up then—really looked—and something in him broke.

Bob leaned forward sleepily, still sniffling, and pressed his little hand to Bucky’s cheek.

“Buki no cry,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “You ‘kay now. Mama here.”

And in that moment—cluttered, sticky, messy, real—Bucky exhaled. And maybe, just maybe, let go.

It started with a toy hammer. Of course it did.

You were in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming while cutting strawberries and pretending like your home hadn’t been taken over by an elite squad of emotionally volatile toddlers. It was unusually quiet for a few minutes—too quiet—and you should’ve known something was brewing. Something diabolical.

From the living room: a sudden shriek.

“IT’S MINE!!” Yelena bellowed, her tiny hands gripping a plastic, glittery hammer like it was Mjölnir itself.

“No it’s NOT!” Walker snapped, eyes blazing as he tugged on the other end. “You had it all day!!”

“YOU TOUCH, YOU DIE!” Yelena shrieked.

“YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!!”

Alexei appeared from behind the couch, eyes wide. “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” he chanted like a sports commentator.

Ava sat in the corner looking deeply stressed, clutching her stuffed cat to her chest. Bob was on the beanbag, crying—not because he was hurt, but because someone sat on the red one before he did, and that was apparently a federal offense in toddler law.

Bucky stood in the hallway holding a juice box, watching the chaos unfold like he was witnessing a small civil war.

And then? The hammer snapped in half. Silence.

Walker and Yelena froze, each holding a glitter-smeared piece of plastic, stunned by the consequences of their rage. Bob’s crying reached a new octave. Alexei gasped. Ava covered her eyes.

“...Uh oh,” Walker whispered.

And that’s when Bucky stepped in.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t throw the juice box.

He just walked—slow, calm, terrifying like a thundercloud rolling in—and crouched between the warring parties, looking each child dead in the eye like they were dangerous operatives.

“Do you know what I see right now?” he asked, voice low and steady.

Yelena crossed her arms, pouting. “A winner?”

Walker squinted. “A loser?”

Bob hiccuped from the beanbag. “...Daddy mad.”

Bucky raised one brow. “I see five very lucky little gremlins who are this close—” he held up two fingers, almost touching “—to spending the rest of the day in separate corners with NO pancakes tomorrow.”

Everyone gasped.

Ava let out a horrified whisper. “No pan-kakes?”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Not even one blueberry.”

Alexei collapsed in the background. “Nooo… my soul…”

Walker dropped the broken hammer like it burned him. “I—I didn’t mean to!!”

“She broke it!!” Yelena yelled, pointing with all the fury of a betrayed Spartan.

“You both broke it,” Bucky snapped. “And you both need to fix it. Not with glue. With apologies.”

The room was dead quiet.

Then Bob sniffled. “Can I have the red seat now?”

Bucky turned slowly. “Bob. Do you want the red seat, or the high ground?”

Bob blinked. “...Both?”

“Reasonable,” Bucky muttered.

You peeked in from the kitchen, hands still full of strawberries. “What happened—?”

“Communism,” Bucky replied flatly. “They all think the hammer belongs to them.”

You blinked. “So… Yelena and Walker fought?”

“No. They trained for war.”

Yelena shuffled forward, face pink. “Sorry I yelled. I guess we can… share?”

Walker nodded. “Yeah. Sorry I sat on the red chair.”

Bob perked up. “You said it. Now get up.”

“BOB—”

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s it. We’re instituting the Rotation Chart. Everyone gets the red seat for ten minutes. Timer’s on the table. Touch it before it dings, I swear to God—”

“Will we die?” Alexei whispered.

Bucky didn’t answer. Just glared.

You laughed from the kitchen. “Papa Barnes strikes again.”

And somehow, just like that, the living room began to settle. The hammer got placed in the “fix-it” bin. The red seat rotated. Pancakes were saved.

And Bucky? He finally took a seat.

One long breath in. One sip of juice box out.

The day had been long—block tower disasters, spilled juice, at least one suspicious crayon eaten. But night brought a softness to the tower. The overhead lights were dimmed to a warm golden glow, the air was cool with a hint of lavender from someone’s diffuser (Ava, probably), and every tiny toddler was wrapped in soft pajamas like miniature plush marshmallows.

“Okay, Bob,” you said as you handed him the toy DJ keyboard that lit up and made questionably high-energy noises. “You’re on aux.”

Bob’s face lit up like he’d just been handed the nuclear launch codes. He settled in the center of the living room, pressed a few random buttons, and the air was suddenly filled with electronic bubble pop sounds and a woman’s voice yelling, “LET GO LITTLE FRIENDS!”

“YESSS!” Yelena screamed, launching herself into a spin with arms wide, her pajama top flying up over her belly.

Ava did a tiny, shy shimmy in the corner, holding her stuffed cat like a dance partner. Walker was stomping in place like a Viking toddler at a rave, and Alexei? Alexei was doing the worm. Badly. Repeatedly. On the hardwood floor.

Bucky was standing frozen in the doorway.

“Are they… raving?”

“They’re expressing joy through movement,” you said, grinning as you flicked on the glow sticks you’d snuck out earlier. “Come on, Barnes. Don’t make me outdance you.”

“Challenge accepted.”

He stepped forward, took two glow sticks from your hand, cracked them open, and tucked them into his flannel pajama waistband like makeshift swords. And then—dead serious—he moonwalked.

The babies lost their minds.

“GO BUKI!!” Bob yelled, bashing buttons on his keyboard. “GOOOO!!”

“WOOOOOO!” Yelena howled, grabbing Ava and dragging her into a spinning circle of giggles.

Alexei jumped onto the couch. “I IS DJ NOW!!” he yelled and immediately fell off the other side.

You snorted so hard you nearly choked, one hand over your mouth as you joined them all on the floor, wiggling in place with Bob clinging to your back like a sloth.

Bucky twirled past you—twirled, boss—and pointed. “We need strobe lights.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re turning into a party dad.”

He didn’t deny it. Just grabbed Yelena by the hands and started hopping in a circle with her while she screamed-laughed. Ava danced near your feet, swaying her cat gently. Bob tapped your shoulder and whispered, “Mama… dance is love.”

You scooped him into your arms. “Yes it is, baby.”

Ten minutes in, Walker collapsed mid-wiggle, gasping. “I… need… juice box…”

Alexei fell asleep on the floor with a glow stick in each hand like he was guarding the gates of Baby Valhalla.

Yelena was lying on Bucky’s chest now, curled in a sleepy tangle, eyes half-lidded.

You looked around at the mess of glowing sticks, soft music still playing, and the warm weight of Bob in your arms.

Bucky caught your gaze. He smiled.

“You think they’ll remember this?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe not the details. But the feeling? Yeah. I hope so.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from Bob’s forehead as he yawned, melting against you.

“Dance is love,” you murmured.

Bucky’s voice was soft. “And so is this.”

The tower was quiet in that strange, heavy way—where the silence didn’t feel peaceful, but like the universe was holding its breath.

You were sitting on the edge of the playroom couch, a blanket draped across your lap, Bob nestled into your side. He was chewing on the tail of his stuffed duck, eyelids fluttering, but still awake. He didn’t know. None of them did. Not yet.

The letter from Val sat on the table in front of you, its contents burned into your brain: Formula ready. Reversal confirmed. Administer at 0700. Side effects minimal. Memory retention = 0%.

You’d read it three times. Bucky had read it once, muttered something like “goddammit,” and walked off to fix Bob’s broken toy spaceship in the kitchen with shaking hands.

Now he was standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest, staring out like the skyline held answers it had no right to give.

“They won’t remember us,” you said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky didn’t turn. “Yeah.”

“Not the dance parties. Not the pancakes. Not the bath times. Not…” Your voice caught, your eyes stinging. “Not the way Bob says ‘Mama’ like it means everything.”

His jaw flexed.

You glanced down at the boy curled into your side—his lashes long and fluttering, his fingers still gripped around the stuffed duck he insisted on bringing to every room. His chest rose and fell in that slow toddler rhythm, trusting the world around him to stay the same.

He’d woken up this morning and called Bucky Dada.

It hadn’t been a game. It hadn’t been a joke. He’d said it with a sleepy little smile and a stretch of his arms and then asked, “Where Mama go?”

Bucky had frozen. You had blinked. And the whole damn day had folded in on itself like a house of cards hit by wind.

“We knew it wouldn’t last,” Bucky finally said. His voice was tight. Rough. “They’re not really ours.”

“No,” you said. “But… they were. For a little while.”

He looked over his shoulder at you.

Not annoyed. Not detached. Just… broken.

And that’s what undid you.

You pressed your hand to Bob’s back, smoothing his hair. You could feel the tears coming, building behind your eyes, hot and heavy and helpless. “We have one night,” you whispered. “One more night before they forget.”

Bucky crossed the room in slow, quiet steps. He sat beside you, his arms resting on his knees, staring down at Bob like he was memorizing the curve of his cheek, the soft puff of his breath, the innocence they’d both been lucky enough to protect.

“They saved us, too,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was faraway. “Didn’t they?”

You nodded. “More than they’ll ever know.”

A beat of silence. Then a small voice piped up.

“Mama?”

You blinked, looking down as Bob blinked blearily, his tiny fingers reaching for your sleeve. You caught them in yours.

“I’m here, baby.”

He yawned. “Why you cryin’?”

You smiled through it. “I’m just… gonna miss something.”

He nodded sleepily like he understood, though you knew he couldn’t possibly. “Can I sleep wif you ‘n Dada?”

Bucky made a noise in his throat that might’ve been a laugh—or a sob—and scooped the boy gently into his arms. Bob curled against him like he always belonged there.

You stood slowly and followed them out of the playroom, down the quiet hall, past the nursery that was still strung up with glow sticks from last night’s dance party. One of them was still faintly glowing.

When you reached your room, you pulled back the covers and let Bob crawl into the middle, where he immediately sprawled out like a starfish. His duck tucked under one arm. His other hand found Bucky’s and held on tight. You climbed in beside them.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His arm wrapped around you both, pulling you in close, holding like he might break apart if he let go. You stared at the ceiling for a long, long time, wondering if tomorrow would feel like grief or just a different kind of empty.

Would they wake up scared in grown-up bodies? Would they blink and not know you? Would Bob look at Bucky and call him Mr. Barnes with that stupid sarcastic smirk again?

Would Yelena roll her eyes and call you dramatic instead of curling into your side during movies?

Would Walker complain about rules instead of juice?

Would Alexei stop begging you to help him build his block fortress?

Would Ava forget the way she tucked her tiny hand into yours, without ever saying a word?

Would they all forget how it felt to be this loved?

Would you?

You didn’t sleep much that night. But you held Bob.  And Bucky held you.  And for one last night… they were yours.

Morning came too fast.

The sunlight spilling through the windows felt wrong, like it had no right to be soft and warm when the weight in your chest was made of stone. You’d barely slept. Bucky hadn’t either. His arm was still around you when the tower lights began to flicker on. Bob was still curled between you both, his tiny fingers locked in the fabric of Bucky’s shirt like if he let go, he’d float away.

You stayed that way longer than you should have.

But eventually… it was time.

The babies were quiet during breakfast. No giggles, no complaints, no pancake-related crimes. Ava clutched her juice cup with both hands and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Yelena picked at her food with her fork upside down. Walker was practically vibrating in his seat, and Alexei had uncharacteristically asked, “Why today feel weird?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Bucky was silent beside you, eyes distant, jaw set. Then the door opened. Val.

Black suit. Tablet in hand. Gaze a little softer than usual. “Are they ready?” she asked.

No.

They weren’t. You weren’t. But this wasn’t about you. So you nodded.

The walk to the lab was slow. You carried Ava and held Bob’s hand. Bucky had Yelena on his hip and Walker clinging to his sleeve. Alexei walked between you, unusually quiet, dragging a teddy bear across the floor.

The lab was too bright. Too clean. Too final. The table was prepped. Six tiny syringes. Labeled. Ready.

“Once administered,” Val explained gently, “they’ll begin to age in accelerated time. Physically, they’ll be back to normal in under ten minutes. Mentally… it’ll be as if this week never happened.”

Bob’s grip tightened in your hand.

You crouched beside him, brushing his curls back, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. We’ll be right here the whole time.”

He blinked up at you. His bottom lip trembled. “But… but I don’t wanna be big.”

You froze. His voice was so small, so certain. You glanced at Bucky, whose whole body had gone rigid.

“I wanna stay,” Bob said, tears welling in his eyes. “I wanna stay wif you an’ Dada. We had pancakes. I like pancakes. I like dancin’. I like... cuddles.” His voice cracked. “I don’t wanna f'get…”

Oh God. You pulled him into your arms, sinking to your knees as he sobbed into your neck. “I’m sorry, baby. I know. I know…”

Bucky was beside you in an instant, kneeling, wrapping both of you in his arms.

Bob reached for him blindly, sobbing, “Don’t wanna lose you!”

And then Ava started to cry. And Yelena, from Bucky’s side, shouted, “No! We stay! We live here now!!”

“NO MORE GROWIN’,” Walker declared dramatically.

Val blinked. “Okay, I didn’t plan for this level of resistance—”

Alexei had thrown himself on the floor. “I will die like this!! In pajamas!!!”

It was chaos. Beautiful, heartbreaking chaos. And in the middle of it, you looked at Bucky.

His eyes were red. His hand was shaking as he touched Bob’s curls.

“Can’t we keep them?” he whispered, not to Val. Not even to you. Just to the world. “Just a little longer.”

You swallowed hard, brushing a tear from your cheek. “If we do… if we wait… they’ll remember this.”

He nodded slowly.

“And if we don’t…” you couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t have to.

Val sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We can delay. A few days. Maybe a week. But after that, the effects might… compound.”

You looked at your babies—all five of them. Crying, clinging, choosing love over logic.

And for now? That was enough. You kissed Bob’s forehead.

“Okay,” you whispered. “One more week.”

The van ride to the lakehouse should have been peaceful.

It was not.

Between the trail mix fight (Walker dumped raisins in Bob’s hair and called it “war”), Yelena screaming every time they passed a cow (“THAT ONE LOOKED AT ME WEIRD!”), and Alexei singing a cursed remix of Baby Shark at top volume, you and Bucky were already on the brink by the time you hit the dirt road.

Ava was the only one quiet—head pressed to the window, blinking up at the trees like they were whispering secrets just to her. You’d reached back from the passenger seat to gently rub her knee, and she’d leaned into your touch like a sleepy cat.

Bob had insisted on sitting beside Bucky, who was driving with the patience of a monk and the dead eyes of a man on his fifteenth round of “Are we there yet?”

“We live in New York,” he muttered under his breath. “Why did we think a six-hour road trip with five toddlers was a good idea again?”

You grinned, exhaustion tucked into the corners of your eyes. “Because we’re masochists who cry over bath time hugs.”

He side-eyed you. “Shut up.”

But when Bob giggled from the backseat and whispered, “Dada say bad word,” Bucky smirked and gave your hand a gentle squeeze on the console.

And then you pulled up to the lakehouse.

The second the van doors opened, chaos spilled out like confetti.

“WOAHHHH,” Alexei screamed, racing toward the dock like it personally offended him. “WE GOTS A RIVER???”

“It’s a lake,” you corrected.

He immediately tried to bellyflop into it. Bucky caught him mid-air like a linebacker.

“NO. No water until after naps,” he barked.

“But I’m aquatic!” Alexei protested.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky deadpanned. “You’re dramatic.”

Yelena ran around the yard in circles screaming “MINE MINE MINE” and refusing to explain what she was claiming. Ava curled into the porch swing, sighing like she’d lived a thousand lifetimes. Walker immediately made a sword out of a stick and challenged a tree to a duel.

And Bob? Bob tugged on your shirt and whispered, “Mama… can we live here forever?”

You crouched, brushing his curls back. “We’ve got a week, baby. We’ll make it feel like forever.”

Inside, the lakehouse was still just as Tony left it—warm wood floors, sunlight pouring through the windows, faint memories still caught in the walls. You caught your breath in the kitchen for a moment, fingers brushing over an old photograph on the fridge. Tony, grinning, sunglasses crooked. Your heart twinged.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, leaning beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, blinking fast. “Yeah. Just… feels like he should be here, y’know?”

“He’d like this,” Bucky murmured. “You. The chaos. The kids. The secondhand glitter on your face.”

You snorted, wiping a tear. “Shut up.”

He didn’t. Just leaned in, bumped your shoulder, and whispered, “Let’s give them the best week of their tiny little lives.”

And oh, Lord—you did.

The next days were pure, chaotic magic. You built pillow forts the size of small kingdoms. You baked cupcakes that looked like disaster but tasted like heaven. Ava finally spoke—not a whisper, but a full, soft sentence: “This place feels happy.” You almost cried on the spot.

Yelena learned how to skip rocks and declared herself Queen of the Shore. Walker tried to fish using only his hands. Alexei built a “campfire” out of leaves and made everyone sit around it and “share our truths.”

Bob? Bob followed you everywhere. His tiny feet slapping against the wooden floors, his voice calling “Mama!” a hundred times a day, his laughter echoing into the trees. He slept in your arms every night, curled up like a song.

And Bucky… God. Bucky was the glue. He held them when they cried. He played rough and gentle in equal measure. He let Yelena paint his face, wore a flower crown Alexei made him, and whispered stories to Bob until the boy drifted off mid-giggle.

Every night, after the kids were asleep, you and Bucky would sit on the dock—bare feet in the water, shoulders pressed together—and watch the stars.

“You ever think about…” you’d start, but never finish.

“Yeah,” he always said anyway.

The last night came too fast. Bob climbed into your lap as the sun set pink across the lake. His head tucked under your chin, his little fingers clutching your shirt.

“Tomorrow?” he whispered.

You swallowed. “Yeah, baby.”

His voice shook. “Will I still love you? When I’m big?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just hugged him tighter. Let the tears fall into his hair.

And whispered, “I think so, sweetheart. I think some love is too big to forget.” 

The sun was setting slow and syrupy, pouring golden light across the lake like it was trying to hold the day in place. Everything felt slower that evening. Softer. Like even time was taking careful steps.

You had your arms wrapped around a wriggling Alexei, trying to wrestle a jelly stain off his cheek while Yelena screamed, “I get to wear the crown! I am photogenic!”

“YOU MEAN PHOTOGENIUS,” Walker bellowed, slipping on the porch stairs because his socks were too long.

Ava was sitting cross-legged in the grass, gently placing wildflowers into Bob’s curls as he sat still and proud, whispering, “Make me pretty, like Mama.”

You pressed your lips together against the wave of emotion rising in your throat. Bucky was fiddling with the camera stand, grumbling under his breath like an old man in the body of a reluctant dad. “Where’s the damn timer button—why is this blinking red? I swear to God, if this deletes everything—”

“You good, tech support?” you teased gently, coming up beside him.

He looked up at you, squinting against the orange glow. “Do I look like Stark?”

“No. You’re taller and moodier.”

He snorted. “And apparently the father of five gremlins.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You knew what this was. You both did. One last photo. One last chance to catch the moment before it slipped through your fingers.

“Okay, munchkins!” you called out, rallying the crew. “Group picture time!”

“Group hug!” Alexei screamed.

“Group MURDER!” Yelena added, because she was feral and unstoppable.

“No one is dying in this photo!” Bucky barked.

You gathered them all onto the porch steps. Yelena on Bucky’s shoulders, Ava tucked under your arm, Bob standing between you with both your hands in his, Walker doing finger guns, and Alexei holding up a stick like it was a championship trophy.

Bucky set the timer, sprinted back, and scooped Bob up into his arms right as the camera clicked.

Snap.

The light froze all of it.

Messy curls, painted fingernails, pajama pants with little ducks on them. You. Bucky. Five little lives tucked into the safety of your arms. And behind you, the lake—still and golden—like it, too, was trying to hold on.

“WE ARE A FAMILY,” Bob declared afterward, clutching the photo print like it was sacred.

“You got jelly on it already,” Ava said quietly, but didn’t take it away.

And then came the part you hadn’t prepared for.

Bob’s tiny voice, lifting up with hope too big for his little lungs. “Mama? Papa? Can we dance now?”

You blinked. “W-what?”

“Dance!” Alexei shouted. “Like you do when you think we sleep!”

Yelena gasped. “I KNEW IT! I saw Mama spin!”

Ava whispered, “I saw Papa smile.”

“PLEASE?” Bob begged, holding your hand like it was the only anchor he had. “One more? One more dance?”

You looked at Bucky. He looked at you. And both of you—still holding hands from the photo—felt your chests squeeze with something too big to name.

But no. Not yet. Not yet.

Bucky crouched down. “How about we dance tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we be big again,” Bob whispered.

And that? That broke you.

You dropped to your knees and pulled him into your chest, hugging him like he might disappear. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Okay. One more dance. Just… not yet. We’re not ready yet.”

None of you were. So you stayed on that porch a little longer, letting the stars come out. Letting the fireflies twirl. Letting the world wait.

Because tomorrow was already breathing down your neck. But tonight? Tonight, they were still yours.

The lake was still when you woke up.

No birdsong. No wind through the trees. Just a kind of sacred quiet that came before big things—storms, endings, or in this case, goodbyes. The sun hadn’t crested over the trees yet, but the sky was beginning to glow pale and gold, the kind of light that made everything look like it was made of memory.

You were already dressed.

Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to. You’d laid awake most of the night, Bob curled against your side, his tiny breaths hitching now and then like even in dreams, he didn’t want to let go.

Now, as you stood by the kitchen sink with a chipped mug full of untouched coffee, you watched the soft shapes of the trees sway gently outside and thought, I’m not ready.

Behind you, Bucky’s footsteps creaked on the old wooden floor.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped up beside you, his hand brushing yours. You didn’t pull away.

“How long do we have?” he asked, voice quiet, like he didn’t want to scare the moment off.

“Val said to be in the lab before eight.” You didn’t look at the clock. You didn’t need to. You felt the time running out.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and nodded, jaw tight. You knew he hadn’t slept either. He’d held Yelena like she was a piece of glass all night, humming lullabies you were pretty sure he didn’t know he remembered.

“Are they still asleep?” he asked.

“For now.”

A beat of silence.

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

You swallowed hard. “We don’t have to know. We just… do it anyway.”

And so you did.

You packed what little they’d brought. Pajamas. Crayons. A bag full of pinecones Alexei had declared were “important evidence.” Yelena’s crown. Ava’s music box. Bob’s duck.

The sun was higher now. The kitchen glowed like it was made of honey. And then you went upstairs.

The nursery was warm and dim, full of soft breathing and quiet dreams. Five little forms were curled up in makeshift beds, the floor covered in blankets and stuffed animals, limbs tangled together like they couldn’t sleep unless they knew the others were close.

You knelt beside Bob first.

He stirred as soon as your hand brushed his hair, eyes fluttering open. He blinked at you for a moment, then smiled sleepily and whispered, “Hi, Mama.”

Your heart shattered and rebuilt itself in the same breath.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered back. “Time to wake up.”

Downstairs was quiet chaos. Toast and juice, Ava sitting in your lap while Bucky tied Walker’s shoes and Alexei asked why everyone looked “like they cried in their pancakes.” Yelena refused to get dressed unless her crown was on straight. You and Bucky didn’t fight it. You let them win every battle today.

Because it was the last. The drive back to the lab was quiet. Too quiet.

Bucky’s knuckles were white on the wheel. Bob was dozing in your lap again, the duck clutched to his chest. You stared out the window, but you weren’t looking at anything.

The lab was waiting when you arrived. White floors. Bright lights. The same sterile calm. Val was there. She nodded gently. Didn’t speak.

The syringes were ready. Each child got their own room. Monitored. Clean. Clinical.

You and Bucky walked them in one by one. You kissed their foreheads. You held their hands.

Walker went first. Loud until the end, fist-bumping Bucky with a watery grin.

Then Yelena, who tried not to cry and failed, sobbing into Bucky’s chest and whispering, “Don’t let me go.”

Alexei gave you his pinecone, said, “So you don’t forget me.” You told him he was unforgettable.

Ava didn’t speak. Just clung to your shirt until the last possible second, then whispered, “Thank you for letting me be loved.”

And Bob… sweet Bob… looked up at you with tear-filled eyes and said, “Will it still be you… when I wake up?”

You kissed his knuckles. “Always.”

Then it happened.

The serum worked quickly. Their little bodies shimmered with a soft red glow, like time reversing itself in fast-forward. Their limbs stretched. Their faces matured. They blinked up at the bright ceiling, no longer toddlers.

Just soldiers. Adults. Confused.

They didn’t remember. They didn’t know.

And when they filed out into the hallway—grown, sharp, strong again—it was like someone had torn pages out of your book and left you with blank paper.

Bob passed you in the hall. He didn’t even glance. And that was the moment that broke you.

You stood there, back pressed to the cold lab wall, your hands trembling, heart cracked wide and raw. Bucky stood beside you, eyes fixed on the floor, jaw locked, like if he opened his mouth, something sacred might fall out.

No one spoke. No one could.

Later that evening, you returned to the lakehouse. Just the two of you. The rooms were quiet. The toys are untouched. You stepped out onto the porch, the same porch where you danced just the night before. It was empty now. No tiny footprints. No giggles. No bedtime stories.

Just you and Bucky. And silence. You sat down slowly, your hands in your lap, your heart still beating to the rhythm of laughter that was already fading.

“Do you think they’ll remember?” you asked.

He shook his head. “No. But I think… we will.”

You leaned into him. He let you.

And together, as the porch light flickered on, you watched the sun sink into the lake and said goodbye—not with words, but with the quiet ache of two people who had held something golden for just a moment…

…and would never, ever forget.

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Hyun-ju being needy 👀?

(So I don't know if you want this 18+ or not. So imma write 2 parts)

Needy girl

(SHES SO PRETTY AAAAAH) Character: Cho hyun-Ju x Fem!reader

Summary: Part 1: Poor girl just misses her girlfriend while at work Part 2: MINORS DNI! Hyunju really Needs reader (BEFORE THE GAMES AND SHE DOES NOT HAVE HER BOTTOM SURGERY YET)

Warnings!: sexual/explicit content, 18+, minor language, sexual terms, smut,

part 1 (SFW)

Hyunju rests her cheek in her palm, eyes flicking between the spreadsheets on her screen and the tiny clock in the corner. Only 2:14 p.m. She groans quietly.

Her office is too cold. The light too fluorescent. Her coworkers' chatter too dull. Nothing’s wrong exactly—just that everything feels a little grayer without you.

She opens your last text again, even though she’s already read it four times.

“Don’t forget to eat, babe 💛 miss you.”

She smiles a little, then sighs and tucks her phone under the desk.

It’s dumb, maybe, how much she misses you over something as simple as a workday. But it hits her suddenly and hard—how badly she wants to be curled up beside you, your hand in her hair, your sleepy voice in her ear saying, “You’ve worked hard enough. Come nap with me.”

Instead, she slumps forward and glares at the spreadsheet.

When her coworker asks what she’s doing for dinner, Hyunju just shrugs.

“Going home,” she says, trying not to sound too eager. “My girlfriend’s waiting.”

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

(here she works as an art teacher! Dw school is long finished so she's all alone)

The classroom was silent, lit only by the golden spill of late afternoon light through wide windows. Paintings dried in their racks.

Brushes soaked in rinse jars. The soft creak of Hyunju’s stool beneath her as she sat back, apron still tied, legs parted slightly beneath her favorite pair of art-splattered shorts.

She’d stayed late to finish grading. Alone. Or at least, she had been alone.

Until her phone buzzed.

A message from you.

She smiled, already expecting something soft. A funny meme. Maybe a picture of your lunch.

But then—The mirror photo.

You, naked.

Back turned.

One hip cocked out.

Ass bare and glistening with lotion or sweat—she didn’t know. All she knew was the sudden heat that tore through her like lightning.

And underneath the image, just three words: “Come home soon.”

Hyunju’s breath hitched.

Her thighs clenched.

She glanced toward the door—locked, of course. No one else was here. School had ended hours ago. Still, she moved carefully. Quietly.

She slipped her hand down.

Not into her shorts yet.

Not yet.

She stared at the photo again, thumb brushing the edge of your skin on the screen like it could make it real.

“Fuck, y'so pretty baby...” she whispered, biting her lip hard.

She could feel it.

The way her body reacted—tightening, throbbing, aching. Her shirt clung to her skin. The apron suddenly too warm. Her shorts... too tight.

Too wet.

She stood, fast. Too fast.

Grabbed her phone. Her keys. Practically stumbled into the supply closet down the hall.

The light was harsh, humming above her like it knew. Like it saw.

But Hyunju didn’t care anymore.

Her back pressed to the wall.

One hand fisted her shorts down just far enough.

The other still gripped the phone, your picture open, her thumb hovering like a prayer over the screen.

“God, baby…Fuck...” she whispered, breathless. “You have no idea what you do to me. Need you...miss you baby...that sweet fucking pussy”

Her hips rolled—slow, searching. Every breath was a hitch, a whimper, a curse caught between her teeth. Her forehead dropped to the drywall behind her. “I need you—I need you—please, please, just—Need you on my fucking face...on my cock..”

She was unraveling fast.

Too fast.

But she didn’t stop.

Couldn’t.

Not when her mind was full of the way you looked, the way you'd sound if you saw her like this—needy and soaked and half undone in a school supply closet, moaning your name into her hand.

And when she finally came, it wasn’t quiet.It was whispered. Raw.

Your name and a dozen desperate promises slipping from her lips like paint down canvas.

She had never bicycled home so fast

(I just have a feeling she bicycles on this pretty yellow bike with a little basket and stuff :》)

[lov3lycosmos]

Can I request some hongjoong fluff >~< you can decide on the topic idm I’m js so downbad for this man ,,

You Look Like My Type In That Sweater - K.H ♡

Genre: fluff

Pairings: Bf!Hongjoong x Gn!Reader

Warnings: just hongjoong being a loser in a beautiful man's body :3

Cosmos note: here go anon! I hope it's what you wanted!

my library!

You woke up to a quiet sort of brightness, the kind that made everything feel slower and softer. The room was warm under the covers, and the scent of your laundry mixed with something unmistakably Hongjoong: skin and cologne, a little citrus, a little sleep.

His arm was across your middle, flopped heavy like he’d passed out mid-snuggle, which—let’s be honest—he probably had. His face was buried somewhere between your shoulder and your neck, and you could feel the faint scratch of stubble against your skin. His leg was hooked over yours like a very needy, very clingy blanket.

You shifted slightly, testing the waters of escape.

He groaned. “Don’t move. I’m in a delicate emotional state.”

You huffed out a laugh, still not fully awake. “Your ‘emotional state’ is that you’re lazy.”

“I’m clinging for survival,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “If you leave, I’ll wither.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Correct.”

You tried again, this time actually sitting up. He flopped his whole body across your back like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Joong—”

“No.”

“Let me pee.”

He paused.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But come back or I’ll die for real.”

You snorted and pried his octopus limbs off you, dragging yourself to the bathroom while he flopped back on the mattress like a man betrayed.

When you came out, he was sitting up, hair a disaster, face puffy, one sock halfway on, and already rummaging through your drawer like it was his.

“I’m picking our outfits,” he said without looking up. “You don’t get a say.”

You blinked. “I didn’t even ask for a say yet?”

“Exactly. Preemptive fashion domination.”

He tossed a sweater at you. It hit you in the face.

“You’re violent,” you muttered, pulling it on anyway. It was soft. Probably his. Definitely smelled like him.

He held up a pair of cargos. “These too. We’re doing layers. I want us to look like we have a joint Pinterest board.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up, this is important to me.”

You raised a brow. “You planned this in advance, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I may or may not have mentally coordinated colors at 2am. The creative mind never rests.”

“You literally drooled on my arm at 2am.”

“And still had vision. Powerful.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and pulled the pants on while he started changing too—right there, no hesitation, shirt half-off while babbling something about beige being an elite neutral.

You watched, leaning against the wall, as he fixed his hair in the mirror with one hand and shoved on a jacket with the other.

“Why are you so pretty and so dumb at the same time?” you muttered.

“Balance,” he replied, fluffing his bangs. “Like yin and yang. Brains? Gone. Jawline? Sharp.”

He spun around. “Okay. Photo time.”

“What?”

“You. In that sweater. Window light. You look like the main character of a song I haven’t written yet.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck, but he was already grabbing his film camera.

“Don’t be weird about it,” he said, already dragging you to stand by the curtain. “Just… do your face.”

“My face?”

“Yeah, you know. Your normal one. The cute one.”

You made a face.

“Okay not that one. You look like you’re about to bite someone.”

“I am about to.”

“Hot.”

You laughed and shoved him lightly, but stood where he wanted anyway. The light really was nice—warm and soft, haloing around your face. You glanced at him just as he took the photo.

He peeked at the camera. “Yup. That’s going on Instagram.”

“You never post.”

“This is worthy.”

He came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, forehead pressed to yours, swaying a little like there was music only he could hear.

“God, you’re so cute it actually hurts me.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is. You woke up and chose violence.”

You grinned. “Alright, your turn. Stand over there. I’m getting revenge.”

He handed you the camera with a dramatic sigh. “Capture my essence.”

“You’re about to get captured looking like you lost a fight with a pillow.”

“And still hot.”

He posed half-seriously, one hand in his jacket pocket, giving you that lazy model-off-duty stare that made your knees feel wobbly.

“Wow,” you said, adjusting the focus. “How does it feel to be God’s favorite?”

He smirked. “Honestly, exhausting.”

You snapped the picture just as his smile turned into a grin. Click.

“I’m framing that one.”

“Put it in a museum.”

“Put it in my wallet.”

He walked over and tried to steal the camera back, but you held it above your head.

“Give it.”

“No.”

“Give—babe—I swear if you make me climb you like a tree—”

You cackled and backed up until he grabbed your waist and spun you, laughing against your neck.

“You’re so annoying,” you gasped.

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He kissed your jaw, soft and lingering, then rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Can we stay like this forever?” he mumbled.

You reached up and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like what?”

“Waking up late. Being dumb. Looking hot.”

“God, your priorities.”

“I’m consistent.”

You turned and kissed him, just once, slow and warm.

“Now I’m really keeping the photo,” you whispered.

“Put a heart on it.”

You did.

He let go of you long enough to go poke at his face in the mirror, muttering about under-eye circles and deciding on lip balm instead of tint.

You just watched from the bed, pulling your socks on and feeling the ridiculous weight of happiness settle in your chest like sunlight.

He came back, smug.

“Okay, I’m ready to receive compliments.”

You gave him a once-over. “Hmm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m dating a hater.”

You stood, grabbing your keys. “You’re dating someone with high standards.”

“And yet you still picked me.”

“Bad decisions are part of life.”

He laughed and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together like it was muscle memory.

As you stepped into your shoes, he pulled you close again—less dramatic this time, more quiet, more him.

“I really do love you, you know,” he said, like he was saying something stupid and obvious.

You looked at him. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, camera around his neck, your sweater hanging off your frame.

“I know,” you said, smiling.

And that was enough.

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