#Computers N Peripherals

[cesium-sheep]

I get to enjoy my christmas videos and christmas magazines and christmas decorations until new years at minimum.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Close to You - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer is needy and Reader has a work deadline to meet, so they try something new as a compromise.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: me writing another cockwarming fic? it’s more likely than you’d think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (no mommy kink this time cuz this feels more mild as far as the sub/dom dynamic goes, maybe next time!)

TW: sub!spencer, softdom!reader, cockwarming, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, afab reader

Rating: R/18+ (oops all smut)

——

The blue light of your computer screen was starting to make your eyes hurt, the hours of completed paperwork in your rearview feeling like nothing compared to the digital mountain of remaining work for your proposal you still had to complete by the deadline your boss had given you. Working from home certainly had its perks, but right now the only thing you could think of was how much more focused you’d be if you were still in an office.

“How’s work going?” Spencer’s voice broke your train of thought as he turned the corner into your home office.

“It’s fine, I still have a lot to get done.” You sighed, continuing to type away on your keyboard.

“You know, I was reading an article the other day about studies being conducted that explore the long term effects the extended work hours work-from-home jobs require have on the average adult, it went pretty in-depth on how psychologists suspect the lack of separation between work and the home environment can negatively affect the way we prioritize professional work with personal tasks and quality time.” You could tell your boy-wonder was using his vast knowledge to pick an article with a topic that was a bit too on the nose to beat around the bush of his point, but you didn’t know why.

“That’s very interesting Spencer, but why bring that up when you know I can’t stop working?” You questioned, calling his bluff.

“We haven’t had sex in 2 weeks.” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You knew that, and it was driving you crazy just as much as it was him, but this project was major and if you wanted to get the promotion you had been working so hard to get, you had to set your personal needs aside for a bit.

“I’ll make it up to you once I finish this, I promise.” You weren’t lying, your accidental celibacy had stretched your imagination to some very interesting places, and you couldn’t wait to try those new things with him, but it had to wait, no matter how touch-starved you felt.

“I want you.” He almost whined, taking a couple steps further into your peripheral vision.

“Spencer, you know I need to get this project completed before my deadline tomorrow, I don’t have time for this.”

“But I need…help.” His words were drawn out, his hushed tone piquing your interest. You pushed your chair out, craning your neck to make eye contact with him before his gaze dipped lower and yours followed. The fabric of his pajama pants was pulled taut over his bulge, his fidgeting hands barely restricting your view despite his attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal behind them.

“Oh baby, that must hurt, huh?” You sighed, giving him a sympathetic look before turning back to your work.

“It does, I need you.” He pleaded, coming up behind you to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“You need to take care of it yourself.” Your statement came out more blunt than you intended and a hint of guilt started to pang in your chest, the stress of this deadline was starting to get to you and you didn’t mean to take it out on him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but I already tried and I just made it worse, you feel so much better than my hand does.” He over-explained, continuing to plead his case as his fingers started kneading the sore muscles atop your shoulders.

You mulled over your options, the concept of his admittedly impressive cock filling your neglected cunt sounding all-too appealing in the moment. You knew you couldn’t take the time to fuck him right now, after no sex for two weeks your carnal urges would absolutely take over and you’d wind up ignoring your work for the rest of the night, to the detriment of your employment status. You were about to send him away when an idea popped into your head, something that could be a good compromise to both of your predicaments if done correctly.

“Drop your pants.” You bluntly stated, beginning to stand from your chair. He followed your instruction, a bit confused but too excited to question, always eager to please you. You also stripped from the waist down, ignoring the growing slick between your thighs.

“Sit down.” Came your next instruction, your eyes fixed on his erection, his head blushed pink and dripping with precum. When he was situated you climbed back onto the chair with him, positioning your knees on the suede fabric on either side of his thighs, hips hovering over his member. You reached down, fingers wrapping around his length as you positioned his head at your dripping entrance, reveling in the first sexual contact the two of you had experienced in far too long.

You slowly sank down, your warm walls engulfing his throbbing cock until you were seated fully on his lap, the fullness giving you a sense of satisfaction. Spencer’s breathy sighs and white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were, but you knew he would want more any second. You on the other hand were always better at controlling your desires, even just this level of intimacy enough to satiate you for the moment.

You relaxed into him, back pressed to his chest as you began your work once again, ignoring the dull ache in your core.

“A-are you going to move?” Spencer’s desperate voice broke the silence after a few minutes of you typing away at your computer.

“No. This is all I have time to give you right now. If you’re a good boy and stay still for me, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.” You were curious to see how well he’d do with this. Even though Spencer prided himself on being the smartest in the room at any given time, he wasn’t very good at controlling his urges and it amused you how his composure could disappear if he was desperate enough, particularly around you.

“Okay.” He breathed, seeing the muscles in his arms relax and the grip he held on the chair loosen out of the corner of your eye.

You continued your work, busting your ass to complete your project as quickly as possible. Every once and awhile you’d flex your kegel muscles, your walls contracting around his cock to keep him as hard as possible, teasing him to see how hard you could push his patience.

You grew closer to your last tasks, the end finally in sight when you felt him start to shift under you, hips attempting to thrust up into you. You anchored your hips, holding him down to not break your focus. He let out the most pathetic whine you’d ever heard, running his hand through his hair out of frustration.

“If you move again, you won’t cum tonight. I’m almost done, do not distract me again.” You told him sternly, rocking your hips back one time as an incentive.

“Understood.” He groaned, thighs relaxing beneath you.

You wrapped up the last paragraph of your proposal, satisfied with the work you had done. You could feel Spencer tense when you closed out of the last application and shut off the computer, screen darkening and leaving the two of you bathed in the golden glow of sunset in an otherwise dark room. Instead of finishing him there, you rose off of him, leaving him groaning in desperation.

His cock was covered in your slick, veins throbbing and head almost purple from how desperate he was to cum. You started walking out of the room, finger motioning for him to follow you and he almost tripped over the chair, trailing in your shadow. You found the bedroom, stripping out of your remaining clothing while contemplating what position you wanted him in. Your thighs were starting to burn from sitting in the position you had held for so long, so you opted for good old-fashioned missionary. You laid down on the bed, thighs spread as Spencer pulled off his shirt and waited for your instruction.

“Come here.” The words had barely left your lips and Spencer was already on the end of the bed, crawling up to you like an animal on the prowl.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?” You asked, drawing out his torture just a little while longer.

“Yes please, need to feel your perfect cunt again.” He begged, looking down at you with his big brown eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t cum until I say so.” You instructed, your hand finding the nape of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. He moaned, positioning himself at your entrance before thrusting fully into you, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced with each desperate thrust into your warm cunt.

His pace remained steady, pounding into you, your pleasure slowly building but not quite hitting the spot you needed him to. You wrapped your legs around his hips, angling your hips up ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but cry out, his cock finally hitting the soft spot inside of you that you’d been craving. He dropped his head into your shoulder, bringing his hand to your pussy to rub firm swipes over your clit, clearly desperately trying to make you cum so he could.

“So close, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” He panted, hips faltering slightly.

“It’s okay baby, don’t stop.” You moaned, too close to care about being firm with him anymore after how good he’d been for you today.

His thrusts became increasingly desperate, driving into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, the combined pressure on your clit sending you over the edge in a blur of white hot ecstasy.

“Spencer!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as you rode out your orgasm, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, hips stuttering and you could tell he was almost there, but something was holding him back.

“Cum inside me.”

Your request was all he needed to hear, not having to worry about pulling out anymore allowing all of his focus to finally come undone, hot ropes of cum filling your aching cunt. He pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with his head on your chest, long legs almost dangling off the side of the bed. You laid there spent, gently running your fingers through his hair until you both caught your breath.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“There's no need to thank me Spence, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You were right about overworking, I’ll try to delegate a bit more.” You sighed.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, you deserve to enjoy yourself more often.” He leaned up to pull you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as you finally got a moment to relax for the first time in weeks.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[gyuubear]

Obsession

Kai loves his wife…maybe a little too much…

Pairing: husband!Kai x wife!reader

Warnings: themes of obsession and perversion, dom!Kai, bent over, missionary, fingering, no protection, creampie, slight power dynamics, possessiveness, intense/emotional sex, pet names, anything else I missed, MDNI

A/N: I've been wrestling with this for so long but I finally finished!! And I decided to give it a cute ending cuz why not. I personally really love this one and I hope you guys will too! Enjoy! (≧◡≦) ♡

WC: 3.5k

If there’s one thing Kai loves to do, it’s make love to his adorable wife. Without a doubt it’s his favorite activity. And no matter how much he fucks you, he can’t ever get enough. He's insatiable, the need to be consumed by your warmth a constant hunger in his body.

He’s obsessed with the sweet noises you make when he’s pumping you full of cum, the sight of you being utterly ruined on his thick cock, the way your eyes glaze over when he gives you too much and you can't do anything but take it like a good girl...

And when he’s not fucking you his thoughts are consumed with lewd images of you, and all the filthy things he wants to do to you. 

Doesn’t make a difference if he’s in a meeting or watching tv; he’s always craving you.

Which is exactly why, even though he’s sitting at his desk doing work, he can't pull his eyes away from your pretty thighs. It wasn’t your intention to distract him; you simply wandered into the room looking for the only stapler in your house, which is on Kai’s desk. But since the stapler won’t cooperate you have to stand there fidgeting with it in an attempt to fix the problem.

From his peripheral vision he notices the hem of your short skirt swaying here and there. His eyes immediately latch on to the movement. Fingers hovering over the keyboard of his computer, work is completely forgotten as he eyes the smooth skin disappearing beneath grey fabric and bites his lip. The deadline for the current project report is due in a few hours, it would be a bad idea to get distracted now…but then again…he can’t help the fact that his wife is so cute and desirable.

His hand reaches out, grazing the back of your thigh, sliding up along soft skin. The gentle pressure makes you jump, especially when you feel the cool metal of his wedding band.

“Oh!”, you relax once you realize it’s just your husband. “Kai, what are you doing?”

“Nothing?”, he replies innocently, as if he’s confused what you’re even talking about.

But the slow upturn of the corner of his mouth and his half lidded eyes suggest anything but innocence. Unaware of the indecent thoughts running through his mind you return your focus to the stupid stapler. However, the lust flooding Kai’s senses is only growing.

His hand trails a little higher, just enough so the tips of his fingers vanish beneath the hem of your skirt. Your struggle with the stapler falters. Goosebumps break out over your skin. The familiar silence of the room is now charged with something else, a faint buzzing that can't be ignored. The two of you haven't been married very long, but you've been together for some time now, and yet it always surprises you how sensitive you still are to his touch.

You quickly push your suspicion aside; maybe it’s not what you’re thinking. After all, it’s not uncommon for Kai to have his hands on you.

Kai fights a giggle. He knows you so well, the way you’re so naive and trusting, he can always tell what you’re thinking. As he toys with you, his mind wanders to your panties. The color you might be wearing, the style and fabric type...He loves guessing; maybe it's the pervert in him, it’s like a secret game he plays with himself. Even when he knows he shouldn't, he thinks about you and your underwear, mind forever lost in thoughts of you.

Pink, he decides. It’s your favorite and you have so many in this color, it’s always a safe bet.

His dick throbs at the thought of you in your underwear, wanting to fuck you so bad. In fact, it’s not a want, it’s a need. The need to fuck his pretty wife dumb is like his need for air, and sometimes just the thought of you has him straining in his pants.

His fingers creep up farther under your skirt and ever-so-slightly pull the skin of your thigh away from your core.

“Kai!”, your breath catches in your throat, realizing his true intentions.

He pouts teasingly, “What?”

“D-don’t you have a deadline or something?“

He scowls at that. The deadline is the last thing he wants to think about right now. He can't even bring himself to care when there's a more pressing matter to attend to.

“Shh, don’t worry your pretty head about that, honey. I’m focused on something much better right now.”

Before you can respond, Kai’s fingers brush your clothed pussy, and a bolt of hot lightning runs down your spine. It’s crazy how you never get used to his touch. You try to ignore him; ignore how he softly traces the most sensitive part of your body, how your stomach flutters at every caress.

Maybe he’ll get bored and go back to his work, you hope.

But kai could never get bored of you. His love for you is like a sickness, one that has no cure—not that he would even want a cure.

He observes you carefully, fascinated by the reactions he's coaxing from you, the way you think you’re hiding the effect he’s having on you, but Kai can see the slight trembling of your thighs and the pink spreading across your cheeks. His muscles tense as he resists the urge to fuck you already, because he knows if he goes to fast you might come to your senses and tell him to get back to work. He’s gonna have to get you whining and begging for him, and luckily, that’s something he enjoys doing (and is also very good at).

Slipping a finger beneath your panties, he curses under his breath at the wet warmth of your pussy. You thought you could resist but when you feel his finger directly on your folds you know you’re a goner. The stapler in your hands is worthless as you drop it on the desk with a gasp and rest your shaky hands on the wood. Kai takes his time with you as he spreads your slick along your folds, drawing out pathetic whines from you with every stroke. He slides his finger back and forth a few times before tracing agonizingly gentle circles around your fluttering hole.

When he finally slips a finger into your gummy walls you can’t stop the moan that escapes you. Your fingers curl, nails digging into the wood as you turn your face away from Kai. Cute, he marvels. It’s endearing to him how you still get embarrassed by your own moans.

The pad of his finger prods at the inside of your pussy, finger sinking in an out, knuckle dragging deliciously against your opening. Applying gentle pressure at first but increasing in intensity as he begins to pump his finger in and out.

“K-Kai…”, you whimper.

Smiling smugly, he inquires, “Something wrong, bub?”

You whine at the tone of his voice. You know he’s damn well aware of what he’s doing to you, he just loves teasing you. Especially when the trembling in your legs is getting more noticeable. You squirm against the pleasure, whining and biting your lip to prevent more moans from pouring out. "Don't", he urges, "you know I always wanna hear you".

"But-"

He cuts you off with a gentle, but stern, warning, "Don't force me to be mean, bub."

You whine a bit more, but ultimately concede with a surprised moan when his thumb brushes your clit.

Head clouded from the pleasure and barely able to keep yourself standing upright, your arms drop onto the table, and you lean all your weight forward so that you’re completely bent over Kai’s desk. The sight of his wife surrendering herself to him, putting herself totally at his mercy, ignites a rush of adrenaline through his veins. The high he gets as a result makes his dick strain painfully in his pants. He could probably cum just from this.

His breath hitches once he realizes your skirt has risen up, revealing the color of your panties.

Pink.

Getting the color of your underwear right always feels like a reward. He palms his dick over his pants to get some relief, while simultaneously increasing the speed of his finger in you. “Kai!”, you gasp for breath at the way his finger curls against your walls. “M-more..”

Hueningkai's heart swells in his chest whenever you say his name like that, breathless and calling for him like a lifeline. It's the sound that plays in his mind 24/7, a sweet melody meant only for his ears, because only he can do this to you; only he can make his wife feel so good.

"Yeah?", he rasps, voice thick with desire, "My baby needs more of me?"

Too embarrassed to speak, you nod meekly. He slides in another finger and as he ramps up the speed your jaw goes slack, leaving you unable to formulate a single word. Every nerve, tendon, and muscle in your legs is useless as the pressure builds and you completely slump over his desk, boobs flattened against the wood.

When the stickiness between your legs starts to drip down Kai's hand, he teases, “What a mess baby, dripping everywhere…” And he’s right, you are a mess, nothing but a puddle of bliss on his desk as he parts your walls over and over again. " 'm cumming!!" is all you manage to choke before your orgasm takes over you, knocking the air out of your lungs and leaving you breathless and heaving.

Once your orgasm subsides, you get up on shaky legs, but you grip the edge of the desk for support at what you see when you turn around. Kai is running his tongue up his hand, licking your juices off his fingers, groaning at the flavor cuz he's completely obsessed with the taste of his wife. You gulp and attempt to keep yourself steady, but he keeps his eyes on you while he cleans you off his fingers. Your knees buckle when he says, "mm, taste so good, honey".

He gets up from his chair, warm hands pulling you close, tight grip on your waist in case your legs give out. Your hands instantly tangle themselves in his shirt, clutching him for dear life to stay afloat in this feeling of absolute intoxication.

He cups your face with his clean hand, and leans in for a loving kiss, pressing his lips softly against yours. Breaking away only to come back harder. He tilts your head back to deepen the kiss, brushing his thumb softly over your cheek. He opens his mouth against yours, sucking the plump fat of your lips, running his tongue and teeth over the skin. You respond in kind, letting him devour your lips but also running your own tongue all over his mouth. The kiss quickly becomes wet and sloppy, driven by passion as you both consume each other.

The hand on your waist runs down your back, pressing you into him. His kisses are all tongue and saliva as he curves into you, always wanting more, more, more. You have to physically force him away to be able to catch your breath. Even then, he only gives a few centimeters, breathing you in while he watches you pant.

“My darling wife”, he whispers, his breath warm and moist against your cheek, “all mine”. The words would sound sweet to anyone else, but you know him like your own skin; you can hear the intensity in them, the silent threat that he’s going to devour you. It’s that threat, that promise, that sends heat coursing through your blood, leaving your tummy and fingertips tingly.

He sits you on the desk, easing you down so that you're laying on your back. Nimble fingers slip your panties down and off your legs, tossing them aimlessly, as he hurries to unbutton his jeans and push his underwear down just enough. You watch with eager eyes as he takes out his beautiful cock, so big and veiny you feel yourself salivating immediately.

"Your shirt", you mumble quietly, wanting to see more of your husband's perfect body. He smirks as he goes to grant your request, but the small reminder of your desire for him sends a shiver through his body, because he still can’t quite believe his luck, that this is his reality. The knowledge of it makes him dizzy.

"Eager for me, honey?" He drawls, voice slow and deliberate. One hand pumping his dick, the other finds the flimsy fabric of your skirt, flipping the material over your stomach with a flick of his wrist, and exposing your puffy, swollen pussy.

You inhale sharply, not so much from the cold air, but from your husband’s predatory gaze. The weight of his attention sinks into you, searing your sensitive skin as he eyes you like a delicacy made just for him. Your bottom lip quivers at his fervor, " 'c-course I am...always am for you. You know that.” At the sight of your sweet, devoted expression, eyes wide with adoration, his patience snaps. He can't wait anymore. He needs to feel you around him right now.

One hand on your hip, he aligns his tip with your hole, rubbing it a few times against your folds to get it nice and wet, before parting your walls in one long, slow thrust.

"Fuck, bub..." he sighs at how your pussy welcomes him, your body so willing and compliant for him. He goes slow, wanting to savor the moment, the heavenly feeling of your tight, hot pussy enveloping him, slick walls making way for him and pulling him deeper and deeper.

“Ah..! Kai—nng—too much!” Your mind reels at the feeling of being stuffed full of your husband's fat cock. But he barely gives you any time to adjust, pulling out half way and slamming back into you, stretching your poor pussy so good you’re wailing on his dick. Your arousal is out of control, sticky syrup coats him with every thrust, and you mewl helplessly at the way he splits you open.

He leans over your frame, one hand caging you in while the other skims over your skirt, finding your plush tits. A cloud of haze has fallen over him, wrapping around his brain, and his eyes, drowning out everything—except you. “My pretty wife”, he whispers, almost as if to himself, “Mine, all mine. Mine, mine, mine.” He punctuates each word with sharp thrusts, rocking your small frame. 

He kneads your breast like it’s his own personal stress toy. Roughly groping you, relishing in how you cry out for him, but never relenting. He pushes your shirt up and hastily unhooks your bra, lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He sucks your sensitive bud harshly, biting and nipping, a cruel eagerness that has you squealing and writhing below him. "Oh...shit, so cute….just wanna ruin you over and over again”. Kai’s hands and lips ravage your body, hips quickening their pace, ramming into you as his worship of your body increases in its desperation. He trails sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over you, slobbering like a dog, leaving your boobs red and shiny with his saliva. More profanities fall from his lips at your sweet noises of pleasure.

There’s something different about him right now, something foreign in his intensity…at least that’s what you tell yourself.

Deep down, you know it’s always been there. His love, his touch, has always been all-consuming. You never let yourself acknowledge it before, because you couldn't face the truth. Not that your husband has an unhealthy addiction to you, but that you can't help but be turned on by it. It’s so hot. 

“So perfect— god….” His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed. Kai’s usually very teasing and mischievous during sex, never this vehement. He knows it. He’s aware of it; of the cracks forming, his obsession— something he always tries to keep at bay— flooding out.

It’s getting harder and harder for you to stay afloat. You dig your nails into his shoulders, frantically trying to hold on to your sanity, but Kai has long since lost his. He’s unraveling completely. “Sweetheart", he groans against your neck, half delirious with desire, “my sweet angel...what are you doing to me?”

You whine at his sudden declaration, unable to stop the room from spinning around you.  "nnng- ah!" His dick pounds into you so perfectly, slamming into your sweet spot with every thrust. You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting to feel him even deeper. 

“Oh god oh god!” You cry out. It seems as though your husband wants you to lose your mind, just like he’s losing his. Because he’s not holding anything back. His dick pounds into you unforgivingly, stretching your little cunt beyond what it can take. The nasty squelching noises only fueling his desperate chase for release. If he keeps going like this you’re not gonna last very long.

His hand slides up your arm, removing your hand from his shoulder and bringing it to rest above your head. His wedding ring presses into your fingers, and it brings your attention to your own wedding ring pressing into his shoulder— a reminder of your vows to each other. That you're bound to each other.

Your eyes meet his as if you both had the same thought.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and in this moment, that has never felt truer. Kai's chocolate brown eyes seem to engulf you, silently communicating what words can’t. The intensity within them sets your skin on fire. Earlier, he asked you what you’re doing to him…but does he realize what he's doing to you?

In a moment of shyness you look away, but he grabs your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. His grip is gentle but firm, never letting you look away, wanting you to see his every emotion as he makes a mess of the both of you. He wants you to feel his love, his infatuation. Wanting you to see just what you do to him. “Hyuka”, you whimper, overwhelmed at all the sensations he’s giving you— the way he utterly loses himself in you. He forces you to bear witness to how you're undoing him.

“You belong to me”, he rasps, voice heavy with love and desire. His eyes never waver from yours.

You make a choked noise of confusion, hardly able to process anything over your approaching orgasm.

“Say it", he groans, urgently, "say you're mine!"

“I’m yours!” You gasp. 

At that, Kai's hands tighten around yours, knuckles white as his hips stutter against yours. A few erratic thrusts and he deposits his cum deep into your pussy with a loud, broken grunt. His whole body shudders against you, eyes shut tight and face buried in your neck. Your own orgasm hits you like a tsunami, wave after wave pulling you under, drowning you in his love, in his obsession. “Fuck”, he moans at how you tremble beneath him, and the way your pussy clenches around his dick, milking him dry.

He collapses against you, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity. Quiet, except for the sounds of panting, as you both try to catch your breath. Even once you’ve calmed down, you stay fixed in place, both stunned and anchored in the moment, not wanting to face what just happened as the haze starts to lift.

The minutes stretch, and you finally feel him shift against you, slowly, almost reluctantly. His hair, damp with sweat, skims your neck and jaw as his face comes up to look at yours. “You alright, bub?” he asks gently, his voice a contrast to the intense desperation it held just minutes ago. The second his eyes meet yours, heat sparks under your skin, and you clench around him involuntarily. His eyes flutter at the feeling, momentarily caught off guard. When he meets your eyes again your blushing and biting your lip, suddenly shy and embarrassed. God, you just had him all to yourself, don’t you have any self control?, you mentally scold yourself. Maybe you’re just as badly obsessed as your husband.

Kai sees the wheels churning in your pretty little head and chuckles at your cuteness. “Only you could be so shy and cute after such intense sex…” He plants a kiss on your lips, lingering a bit, before pulling away and repeating, “But seriously, bub, you alright? I wasn’t too much? ‘Cuz I know I kinda went a little crazy there…”

“I mean, i-it was a bit too much”, you mumble, “b-but I liked it!”

He huffs, grinning at his adorable wife, heart swelling with pride and cockiness, and a little something else too…but he quickly gets rid of the thought. You’ve had enough for today. He slowly drags his dick out of your soaked pussy, hissing at the feeling. After tucking himself back into his jeans he picks you up bridal style, taking you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up, murmuring softly about how well you did, and how good you are to him. 

——

Taglist: @beomgyusluver

[sunskisser]

STRICTLY BUSINESS — BUCKY BARNES

⭑ congressman!bucky x stripper!reader — wc 2.8k

⭑ summary: you're bucky's informant, strictly a business partner. nothing more, right?

⭑ cw: not nsfw but a few mentions of the word sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, bucky is a gentleman

This is louder than what he’s used to, much louder.

Neon signs and posters of sex icons lined the graffitied walls, air reeking of smoke, weed, and booze. Groups of drunkards staggered this way and that, and Bucky skilfully swerved to avoid getting into fights he didn’t have time for.

Poppy music blasted from clubs and bars, a harsh contrast to the sounds of throwing up and making out — dirty people being dirty all over the streets.

Bucky kept his vision focussed straight ahead, taking it all in from his peripherals. He looked sort of strange in his suit, like an animal out of its natural habitat — he was surrounded by people in skimpy skirts and shiny tights. But he’s done this far too many times to care.

The door to the strip club creaked as Bucky pushed it open. It was darker here than it was outside, the only source of illumination being the disco lights gliding around in time with the sensual music.

A performance was ongoing, some woman in a tight corset and sparkling panties moving around the stage seductively. It seemed these were her final pieces of clothing; dollar bills lay all over the stage, a mini skirt and top discarded. Bucky didn’t spare the scene a glance.

He approaches the counter, handing the receptionist the small wad of cash. “My usual room.”

She nods mindlessly, taking the money and computing it. Bucky doesn’t wait for her to lead him there, turning on his heel and making his way to the private rooms at the far end of the club.

He thinks he’s done a pretty great job of convincing the staff of his credibility so far. In this club, he’s just a depressed widow desperate for sex. And they believe he’s a regular of your room, either because: a. he’s stupidly fallen in love with you, or b. you’re the only one who fulfills his desires. Either way, the managers don’t care — to them, he’s just a horny man helping in paying their bills.

Bucky knocks on your door, hearing your quiet grunt as an invitation as he turns the knob. Cold air hits him as soon as he enters the small room, the small disco ball above glinting with light.

His eyes land on you immediately, casually sprawled out on the bright red cushioning lining the circumference of the room. Your glance up at him. “Hey, handsome,” you grin.

Bucky can never tell with you. You’re surprisingly nice for a business deal, funny and flirty and incredibly lovely. Maybe you’re trying to seduce him, but that isn’t something you’d do, he thinks. He’d like to think he knows you well enough for that.

You’d been Bucky’s informant for a couple of months now, a pair of eyes and ears on the inside. He’d gotten a tip about Valentina some time ago, and had been on her trail. Everybody knew of this area, this club — especially Valentina’s men, who were regular customers. Bucky paid you to get whatever information you could and convey it to him on his weekly visits.

“Hi,” he mutters, unintentionally softening. He clears his throat, taking a seat a comfortable distance away before unbuttoning his suit. “What have you got for me?”

He can’t help but notice how you wince as you sit up. He won’t mention it, doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But he can’t deny the pang of concern that shoots through him, seeing you exhale through gritted teeth. Yet, you still have that stupid smile plastered on your face.

You hand him a file. “This is all I got,” you explain as he looks over pages of your hand-written scribbles, bits and pieces of information you’d managed to pick up. “She’s planning something with all the misfits that work for her, I think. Probably trying to get rid of them.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment. He’s only half-listening, eyes flitting up to you every two seconds as he flips through the pages. He’s observant; he notices the subtle way your palm is splayed over your thigh, the short breaths escaping your lips. You look pained.

He knows he’s not supposed to care. 

“Strictly business,” you’d grinned with a wink when he first asked you for help. “I’m not giving you any services, handsome. Zero, nil, nada.”

“Strictly business,” he’d agreed, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’d never want your… ‘services.’”

You pouted teasingly. “Why not? Not pretty enough?”

All he’d responded with was an eye-roll, clearly meaning to say, ‘you know that’s not true.’

But he couldn’t help but care, worry about you. He couldn’t pretend not to know what happened behind these doors; legal services and illegal intercourse. The thought made something in his heart twinge. He knew how dangerous your job was, how much more danger you put yourself in just for him.

Bucky could hide behind nonchalance, peel off a layer and you’d find concern — but most of all, he felt anger. Anger on your behalf. Anger that you could sit here, looking so beautiful in all your pretty clothes and glowing makeup and softness, and all those perverts could think of was to pleasure you — or worse — themselves. 

Anger that he couldn’t be the one to hold you, to curl you up in his arms and never let you go. He couldn’t trace your lips, your sweet smile. Those lovely eyes which crinkled at the corners when you laughed, that heavenly body which deserved to be worshipped; not used and thrown away like a sex toy. Bucky couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

You arch an eyebrow as you catch him staring. 

“What?” you tilt your head to the side playfully. “Something wrong with how I look today?”

“Of course not,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you from head to toe. Not hungry, not ravenous. Concerned, trying to spot where you’d been hurting. He sees it again — the way you hide the same area on your thigh, almost self-consciously.

“You’re hurt,” Bucky says bluntly, gaze moving upwards to meet yours. He tries to hide the worry in his tone, for both his sake and yours.

A flash of surprise flits across your face for a second, before you’re back to your usual collected self. 

“I’m fine,” you say airily. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

“Y/n.” He sighs, unconvinced. “You don’t have to hide it.” He reaches out like he means to touch you, then retracts immediately when he realises what he’s doing. He can’t.

You pretend not to notice. “I said I’m fine,” you reply curtly, smile still present but significantly smaller. “I’m all good.”

“You’re not. You’re in pain.”

“I’m not in pain, Congressman Barnes,” you reply sharply, sucking in a stilted breath. Bucky bristles. 

You swallow. “Sorry,” you mutter before he can respond. You rub your eyes, deflating. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m sorry. But you can’t… you can’t do this.”

He frowns. “Do what?”

“This,” you gesture between the both of you, almost apologetic. You hesitate, swallow. “You can’t… pretend to care. It’s not going to get you anywhere. I’m not —“ you inhale, blurt out what you’ve been thinking all this while, “ — I’m not gonna have sex with you, or whatever you want me to do. I can’t.”

Your voice cracks at that last syllable, and Bucky’s heart breaks with it. You don’t have to say it, it’s written all over your face, it’s in your glossy eyes — you feel hurt, betrayed. You think that the one man who’s never seen you as an object has changed his mind.

Bucky’s face contorts almost sadly, an ache tugging on his heartstrings. “Is that what you think this is about? You think I’m asking ‘cos I want your services?”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” he murmurs immediately, tone a colour of fond upset. He reaches out to smooth his palm over your forearm. When you don’t pull away, he presses his thumb into your skin, his way of reassurance. “No, that’s not what this is about. I’m asking because I’m worried about you, doll.”

“So you don’t just wanna have sex with me?” you ask again dumbly, head tilted in confusion.

Bucky can’t help but to indulge you. You poor, lovely girl, so used to being taken advantage of that you can’t fathom what it means to be cared for, to be loved by a man. Maybe loved is too strong a word, but seeing the look on your face right now, Bucky thinks he might just be in love with you.

He shakes his head, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “No, I’m not doing this to have sex with you.”

You blink, perplexed. It’s almost like you’re struggling to believe it. You take a deep inhale, letting it out through pursed lips. Bucky watches you do it a couple more times before looking at him.

He doesn’t push you, doesn’t snap. He just waits for you to speak, looking at you — through you with those soft, dark eyes.

“Wow,” you mumble after a moment, expression a mix of awe and relief as your eyes lock on his, visibly softening. Your heart’s a riot. “Wow, um… okay,” you say again stupidly. “Okay, I really didn’t think so. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, chest hurting with affection. “Nothing to apologise for, doll.” He moves his palm down to your hand, letting your fingers fill the spaces between his. “Where are you hurt?”

The softness of his voice makes you want to melt into the plush couch. Your other hand brushes over the purplish-black bruise on your thigh, eyes flitting down to it. “Here.”

“Can I have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. It’s hard to say no when he’s asking you so genuinely, so nicely.

Bucky kneels down beside you, hand leaving yours as his fingers move to hover over the bruise. Your skin misses his touch already.

It was strange, a suited congressman kneeling in front of a stripper. You think it might make a great poster.

He traces the injury with his index finger, frowning when you wince. For a moment, he doesn’t say a thing, he just observes it.

The suspense gets to you. Bucky can feel you tense up under his touch, anxious. He pats your other knee through the fabric of your fishnets.

“What happened?” he asks gently, a hint of concern and protectiveness in his tone. His gaze is still fixed on your bruise, like it’s physically hurting him to see you injured. “Who did this to you?”

You grimace, feeling your cheeks start to heat up. “No one.”

Bucky looks up at you with pinched brows and upturned lips. There’s the slightest bit of rage in the way he’s looking at you — though you know it’s not towards you, but for you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how stupid you’re going to sound.

You let out a small, sheepish laugh, and his expression lets up a little. “It happened a couple hours ago. I, um… I rammed into the table by accident, during a performance. I wasn’t looking.”

Bucky looks at you like he’s trying to figure you, or what you said, out, eyebrows furrowing even more. His eyes narrow contemplatively. “Seriously?” When you nod shyly, he sighs, shaking his head and relaxing slightly. 

“You’re stupid,” he scolds, but it's lathered in fondness.

“I know,” you grin. “Sorry, handsome.”

“You’re sure no one hurt you?” He sounds just about ready to go punch anyone who did. You don’t think he’s realised that he’s mindlessly rubbing your knee, affection seeping even from his touch. You hope it doesn’t show on your face how it’s making you feel.

“I’m sure,” you agree softly. Bucky sighs again for good measure, exasperation almost audible.

You swear he’s trying not to smile. “Tell me you at least know where the first aid kit is.”

You bend forwards and reach under the sofa, fingers pressing the cushion to find the hidden drawer. You pull it open and take the first aid kit out before sitting back up, closing the drawer with your foot. “Here you go.”

Bucky nods in thanks, shifting so he’s kneeling more directly in front of you. You press your thighs together, suddenly self-conscious, but all he’s looking at is the bruise.

His elbows rest on the couch on either side of your thigh, one hand holding your leg in place as the other dabs antiseptic over it. His fingers press into your skin, gentle even when he’s not trying to be.

You watch quietly as Bucky disinfects the wound, muttering an apology every time you wince. His palm slides under your thigh to hold it up as he wraps the bandage around it. He feels warm, so warm, soft, and every lovely word you can think of, and he’s holding your thigh like that. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod stupidly. “Mhm, totally okay.” You don’t anyone’s ever held you with this much love since the day you were born.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?” he murmurs, looking up as he finishes securing the dressing. “Yeah?”

You think you’d like to drown in his gaze. You clear your throat, straightening up from where you’ve unconsciously been leaning closer to him. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, brain short-circuiting. 

You settle on, “Thank you.”

Bucky softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit when he smiles. A strand of his slicked back hair falls forward onto his face, and you suddenly can’t stop thinking about brushing it back into place. “It’s nothing, doll. I’m just… glad you’re okay. Glad no one hurt you.”

He gives your thigh one last friendly squeeze before pulling his hands away, and you hate how much you wish he didn’t.

You nod dumbly. “Okay, handsome.”

You’d always used it teasingly, a placeholder because calling him Bucky had somehow felt far too intimate, too much familiarity for simply a business partner. Was that even what you were now?

Bucky’s smile turns more sly, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, but he won’t do anything about it. He’s waiting for you to initiate, because he knows how you feel. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want him to.

Maybe this is all in your head, maybe you really are nothing but an informant to him. But you don’t think he’d be looking up at you like this if he didn’t like you, even the slightest bit, so you decide to take your chances.

The tension is so thick you could bite into it. You reach out, hesitating before brushing the stray strand off Bucky’s forehead. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst.

You’re about to pull away when his fingers wrap around your wrist. Gentle, yet tugging, almost like he can’t help himself. He’s gazing up at you inquiringly, kindly. “Can I kiss you?”

You still. This isn’t something you’re used to, though you know you deserve to be. You’re used to men throwing you around, used to pretending like you enjoy being touched by disgusting men with disgusting thoughts. This is different, you think. This is Bucky, the only man who’s ever acted like one, and he’s asking for consent to kiss you. You honestly wish he’d just do it already.

“Yeah,” you breathe softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

Bucky pulls you down gently by your wrist, his other hand moving up to cradle the nape of your neck. He kisses you, then, in a way that makes your knees buckle. If you weren’t already sitting, you’d be on the ground just about now. 

His lips are forgiving. Tender, like all he wants to do is take his time with you.

Bucky pulls away after a moment. His face is still achingly close to yours, and he looks almost like he’s trying to stop himself from kissing you again. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Was that okay?”

You crack a smile. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Yeah, Bucky, it was okay. It was, um…” you clear your throat, pretending to think. “I’d say it was like a 6 out of 10.”

“A 6 out of 10, huh?” he muses quietly, thumb starting to rub lines over your inner wrist. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” you agree, smile widening. 

Bucky chuckles. “Okay, then, if it was that average, I’m assuming you don’t want any more.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “A one-time thing, then.”

“Hey!” you laugh. “That’s not fair. It’s a whole lot better than all the kisses I get in this place.”

“Then you should’ve rated it higher, doll,” he teases, but he’s already moving forward to kiss you again, and so are you. “That’s on you.”

So much for strictly business.

[itsthestutterforme]

Glad You Called 2/2

Summary: Reacher kept something hidden from you for those two years. And it was right under your nose the entire time.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, here’s the part 2 you guys asked for :) @cookiemonsterboss

Any tips for writers block anyone??

Part One

**

Blowing a long, satisfied breath, you descend down the stairs pressing your locs dry with your towel. You were about to watch an episode of Supernatural when someone sitting on the couch caught your attention.

“What are you still doing up, Reacher?” You said with an annoyed sigh.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” he said, looking up from the computer he borrowed from Neagley.

“I’m going to watch my show,” you sat down and the couch across from him and took the remote into your hands.

Signing onto Netflix, you scroll down and click on Supernatural, making sure to lower the volume.

You secured your locs tightly in your bonnet you had brought with you when you catch Reacher staring.

He pretends to scroll on the laptop as if you didn’t catch him staring at you seconds before.

It took you all of five minutes of him looking at you through your peripheral for you to speak up.

“Oh my God, just say what you want to say, Reacher.” You finally say, breaking the silence.

“I.. don’t have anything to say,”

“Your eyes are telling me something different.”

“I missed looking at you,” he confessed after a moment of silence.

“Should have thought about that before you ghosted me,” you state, not even bothering to look away from the TV screen.

“It was my choice and I have to live with the consequences. But I never meant to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Bullshit,”

“It’s not bullshit. I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving-“

“No, you took the easy way out. I’ve been in enough of these situations to know. But what really burns me to the core?” You finally look away from the TV to glare at Reacher.

“Is that I told you everything about my fear of people leaving. I told you how deep rooted the pain was, and you left anyway.”

“There’s nothing I can do to fix what I broke. I know that.”

“I’m done convincing people that I’m loveable. I’m at point in my life where I prefer to be alone than to have bad company.”

“I know,”

“Then why did you come back?”

“You know why,” he says.

“I know you won’t say it,” you say, standing from your place on the couch.

You crossed over to where Reacher was, barely towering over him even when he’s sitting down.

“I hate you,” you seethe. Hurt flashed across his face and for a moment, you felt guilt nipping at you.

“I could never hate you, Y/N.” He confesses softly, his hazel green eyes searching your Y/E/C ones.

Your face grew hot the longer he stared at you and you finally realize your proximity.

Damn it, why was your heart racing? Why was your body betraying you like this?

“When this is over, I never want to see you again.”

“I respect it,”

You didn’t know how to feel about this. A part of you wanted him to fight back like he did before.

Because at least you wouldn’t feel bad for treating him this way.

Especially since he more than deserved it. The air grew thick with tension and you held his gaze when he slowly stands from the couch, standing in front of you at full height.

You catch him bringing a hand up to caress the side of your face with his thumb.

“You don’t get to come over here talking all soft and think you’re somehow forgiven,” you whisper, your heart skipping a beat when he leans in closer.

“Would you forgive me if I gave you an apology?” He leans in an inch away from your face.

“No,” you body tenses under his touch and your eyes fluttered closed.

“If you tell me to stop, I will.” His breath fans against your lips. You could feel a heart racing pattering in your chest.

Everything stood still for a moment. The show playing in background was long forgotten.

Just as your lips were about to connect, you said, “I can’t do this.”

He lets you pull away from him, watching as your legs rushed you up the stairs and into your room.

The door creaks closed and you linked your hands above your head, consequently pacing in your bedroom.

What the hell was he thinking? What the hell were you thinking?

Deciding to give Reacher a piece of your mind, you pulled the door open to find him standing before you, raising a hand to knock on your door.

Turning your walk back inside your room, Reacher took that as an invitation to come in. He closes the door behind him and starts, “I want to confess something.”

Your ears perk at his words, that was a phrase you’ve never heard him say before.

“Okay,” “I’m tired. Tired of being the leader. Tired of needing to fix things all the time. Tired of being strong for everyone else. I haven’t met anyone who really understood that besides you.”

He comes around the bed to where you were, dragging a chair over and spun it around to sit down.

“Aren’t you tired, Y/N?”

“You want to know what I’m tired of?” “I’m tired of the influence you still have on me after all these years. I hate it. But at least it taught me one thing. Never let a man get too close.” You added before he had a chance to answer.

“You think you don’t have an influence over me?” He challenges. “Obviously not, Jack. You left me. That’s as crystal clear of an answer you can get.” You state, noticing the visible wince when you call him by his given name.

He presses his lips together as he contemplates something. You lift a brow, daring him to challenge what you had just said.

He stands up from the chair and took his pocket knife from his boot. Flicking the knife open, he knelt down to and popped out a piece from the wooden leg of your vanity.

He slid his hand into the opening, your heart sank when he took out a navy blue, velvet box.He drops the box into your hand and you brushed off the dust that had collected on the top.

You spared him a glance and he merely crossed his arms, waiting for you to open it. Opening the box, a periodt pear cut diamond ring winked at you under the dim lighting.

“Reacher, don’t tell me this is-“ “I planned an entire getaway trip to New York City where I would have asked you to marry me with that ring.” He interrupts and suddenly your mouth felt dry.

This was your dream ring. This was your dream man. So where did it all go wrong?

“What made you change your mind?” You asked after a brief silence.

“I watched my father deteriorate when my Mom died. I knew that.. one day that would be a possibility. Reacher men have terrible luck,”

“So.. let me get this straight. You left me because you’re worried I might die?” “Yes. And I know how it sounds, but-“

“That’s your first mistake right there, Reacher. You were too caught up in the what ifs that you missed what was right in front of you the whole time: a home- our home.”

“I know,” his your gaze fell back down to the ring in your hands. “You should try it on,” he suggests and you find yourself taking the ring out of the box, hesitantly sliding the band on your ring finger. It even fits perfectly.

“How did you know I wouldn’t throw the vanity away?”

Without a second thought, he closed the gap between you and captured your lips in a warm kiss. His massive hands covered your face as he continued to kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you get lost in the way his lips felt against yours. He pulls away just enough for the two of you to get air, resting your forehead against his.

“Because I know you,” he says, caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

[literaila]

cuddle time

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru's mood is disrupted by some quality family time

a/n: a little fluff for you all because i've been trolling too much

last part | next part

*

year four.

you're working on a report from a mission last week when the two of them appear, simply out of thin air. 

it's early sunday morning, light shining through the windows, the world beckoning you outside--even though you know you need to be in here, working. honestly, you shouldn't have put it off for this long. 

but it's so easy in this house. with satoru lounging around, and both of the children to entertain you all of the time. honestly, if you never checked your phone again, you might forget that the rest of your world existed completely. 

it's nice. easy. 

but not this morning. this morning, just walking into the office felt like surging through a tub full of mud, disgusting and slow. 

and you feel that way now when the kids show up. 

they both peek their heads into the office, the door slightly cracked, and you don't dare look at the two of them--knowing that they'll distract you (and that you would very much like to be distracted, at the moment). 

tsumiki creeps into the room, and you can feel her smile at you from ten feet away. her general aura of benevolence and good. she radiates happiness, your secret drug. megumi follows, not as bright but still pleasant enough, accidentally bumping into the desk, but you still don't look at either of them. 

you can see them in your peripheral, though. you can't imagine what they need at the moment. 

but neither of them says a thing, they simply stare at you, standing on opposite sides of the desk, their eyes darting from the computer screen to you with an obvious frequency. 

you don't know what they want, but you've known the two of them long enough to know that it's something. 

you still don't look at them, but you can't help the smile on your face. 

“yes, children?" you ask, teasing, after a minute of this has ensued. when you just can't hold it in anymore. "am i bothering you?”  

tsumiki leans her head on your shoulder, her face amazingly warm, frowning. “gojo won’t get out of bed.” 

megumi is just standing there, still staring at you, with his arms crossed. clearly, this is a dire statement, and they all need your immediate attention. clearly, your presence is impertinent.

you check the clock. it’s only ten in the morning, and god knows with the children, that is not late. they both wake up with the sun, ready to start the day before you get the chance to blink.

you were up two hours ago, helping megumi get breakfast together, making sure that they both slept well and that no one broke into the house in the middle of the night and stole them. breakfast was a bleary-eyed, silent sort of thing. the three of you basking in each other's company, and not attention.

but you don't really mind waking up that early. because, unlike satoru, your fragile mind doesn't pause for a good night's rest. these days, you'll get a few hours at a time, at the best. a couple of minutes to yourself, at the worst. 

caffeine is a wonderful thing.

so you don't blame the man for hiding in his room all morning. besides, he is the worst when he misses out on his precious beauty sleep.

“we all agreed,” you say, knowingly, resuming your typing. “satoru can sleep in as long as he’d like on sundays.” 

“he’s not sleeping.” 

megumi nods. “yeah, he’s just moaning in bed.” 

you quirk a brow. “is he sick?” 

“no, just a baby,” megumi answers. he says this with such an obvious attitude that you almost snort. where he got the sass, you're not sure. 

(you're sure. it's your fault.) 

knowing he has no good information for you, you turn around to tsumiki. “what’d he say?” 

“that he wasn’t getting out of bed. ever.” 

you roll your eyes, familiar with this act. “just give him a couple of hours. he’s probably pms-ing.”

they both give you confused looks. you make a mental note to pick up parenting books at the library.

“he’s fine, guys," you say, instead of explaining. "just dramatic.” 

tsumiki shakes her head. “something’s wrong with him.” 

“could’ve told you that,” megumi mutters, under his breath, and you attempt not to laugh. and fail. 

you grin at him, nudging tsumiki's cheek, a bit fond of her concern. her sincerity. “just let him sleep.” 

tsumiki leans on your arm, still pouting—you should’ve kicked satoru out three years ago. he’s rubbing off on her. “but he's sad." 

"sad?" 

"i think he's crying." 

megumi snorts. 

you blink at her. "are you serious?" 

she nods, sullenly. 

you sigh, looking back to the computer--where work and every terrible thing in the world (besides satoru) awaits you. you could sit here for the next four hours, doing stuff you should've done weeks ago, or you could deal with an emotional toddler. 

there's really no winning here. 

you sigh again and look back to tsumiki. her face is enough to break your composure completely. "fine," you say, "let's go see what's wrong with him." 

tsumiki smiles at you, grateful, and megumi rolls his eyes but begins to trail out of the office. you shut your laptop, knowing that you won't be back for a while. 

(or the rest of the day, if you have it your way). 

the two of them follow you to satoru's room, where you don't knock--because the door is already partially open, and because you don't care. 

the blinds are still shut, the entire room a stomping ground for candy wrappers and files that satoru definitely shouldn't leave lying around. 

but this is nothing new, so you ignore it. 

"hey, kid," you say, stepping over to the bed, leaning down to look at him. 

or, rather, an expanse of grey sheets. all you can see is a lump of covers, and a pillow thrown on the floor. satoru sleeps like someone's trying to hold him down, failing all the while.

you nudge him with a hand, sighing again. you got lucky with tsumiki and megumi, who are notoriously easy to wake up in the morning, unlike someone else in the house...

there's no response. 

fortunately, you can see a puff of breath from beneath his blanket, so at least he's not dead. 

there's a tuff of white hair peeking out from the sheets, and you pull it, albeit gently. because you actually do really love his hair. 

(it's irritatingly soft). 

"i already know you're awake," you tell him, dryly. "are you crying? tsumiki said you were crying." 

the covers are quick to move, two large hands pulling them down with surprising efficiency, and a red-eyed--though not teary--satoru glares at you. "i'm not crying." 

"oh, great, then i don't have to comfort you. i don't think i have it in me today." 

he pouts, naturally, and throws the covers back over his face. at least this is no different. 

you turn around, looking at both of the children helplessly. see, you want to say to them, he's fine. but tsumiki waves you forward and megumi's got a little quirk in his lip, which is answer enough.

you nudge satoru again. 

"c'mon, you're scaring the kids." 

"they weren't scared when they poked me awake and tried to steal my socks." 

you turn back with raised eyebrows. tsumiki looks away guilty, and megumi's smile widens. but your eyes gleam, because satoru deserves at least that. and because all of them are terribly amusing. 

you roll your eyes when you turn around and there's a single blue eye looking into yours. "well, you're scaring them now. and obviously," you answer. "socks are criminal in bed." 

satoru tries to pinch you from under the covers, and you smack his hand away. "leave me to die," he says. 

"they're quivering, satoru," you say, trying not to laugh. "do you want them to cry? because they will. it's probably the bedhead. or maybe the morning breath. seriously, do you make out with your pillows when you sleep?" 

the covers move once again, and satoru's glare is vicious. "i do not have bedhead. or morning breath." 

"yeah, yeah, you're perfect." you pull the covers back down, even when he tries to initiate a brutal tug-of-war match, which you win, obviously. "grandpa, come on, it's almost ten-thirty." 

"i thought we made a rule that none of you can wake me up in the morning." 

"the rule was that we let you sleep in on sundays. and you're already awake. the kids want breakfast." 

"i know they already ate," satoru's eyes are blinding, "tsumiki told me." 

"well, i want to eat. get up." 

"go cook." 

"get up." 

"can't you see that i need to rest?" he gestures to his face, which looks typical and annoyed. "don't i look sick?" 

you pinch his arm. "i recall someone saying that they were impenetrable, and trivial illnesses wouldn't affect them." 

"i was wrong." 

"as usual," you give him a sweet smile. 

tsumiki and megumi have both crept up on the two of you, watching as you poke his cheek, trying to get a rise out of him. 

it's really not your fault that he looks cute with his hair smushed against his face, slightly sweaty. 

you always have preferred a disheveled satoru. when he's forgotten to put all of the pieces together. 

actually, grumpy, just-awake satoru might be your favorite. your teenage self certainly had a fondness for him. 

though you choose to believe that your tastes in men have since improved (they haven't, nor have they changed). 

"i just wanna sleep," he whines. "please?" 

"no. get up, because i don't want to hear your moaning while i'm trying to work." 

"you can't hear it from the office," satoru hisses, "and it's sunday. go take a nap." 

"i'll be sure to do that, right after i shove a toothbrush in your mouth." 

"go away," he moans, childishly, and turns on his side. "i feel like someone cut me in half. am i bleeding through the sheets? i don't think my organs are intact." 

you make a face. "that's disgusting. please don't talk about your organs in public. i thought this was a safe space." 

satoru huffs, but doesn't say anything back. 

"aww," you coo, while tsumiki climbs up the other side of the bed, putting her face right next to his. megumi lingers at your side. "is our baby sick?" 

"yes." 

"what does a sick baby need, guys? i don't remember." 

"a lobotomy," megumi whispers. 

you turn to him, eyes wide. "who taught you--actually. i already know," you look pointedly back to satoru, who's frowning. 

"i shared those thoughts with you in confidence," satoru hisses to megumi, and covers his face with a pillow this time. 

"cuddles, right? that's what you do when we're sick." 

you smile at tsumiki. "what a wonderful idea, miki. cuddles are exactly what baby needs." 

and so, with the grace of a thousand kangaroos, you jump on satoru, your body molding to his as you come face to face with the man, legs over his side, arm wrapping around his neck. 

satoru is very close, close enough that you almost can't tell that he's glaring at you. 

he's pretty like this, with gleaming skin and dull eyes. 

"was that supposed to hurt? because it didn't." 

it doesn't escape your notice that you can finger his cheekbones while he says this, no space between the two of you, and neither does the slight twitch of his lips. oh, yeah, you know satoru like this. with his attitudes and his lies. 

and you know, really, that this is exactly what he wants. attention, as per usual.  

"oh, good." you tug at his hair a bit with your other hand. "we've still got room. come on, children, we have to help our baby." 

tsumiki giggles, and she joins you, her face on your back as she lays on top of the two of you, barely a leaf in the pile. you can feel her smile against your muscles and you sigh out. "i think it's working." 

you tilt your head to look at megumi, who's staring at the three of you with a look of distaste on his face. "c'mon, megs. we need you." 

he gives you a 'really?' look, to which you respond with a nose scrunch, but eventually, he sighs. and then he promptly sits on satoru's feet, setting a hand on your legs so you know that he's there. 

"how are you feeling now, baby?" 

"smushed." 

"good. exactly how we like you." you nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in. he actually smells quite nice--and not that you'll admit it, but he doesn't have morning breath, the bastard. 

"are you sad?" tsumiki asks, softly, still concerned, but brighter now. she likes this almost as much as satoru. 

"yes," he huffs, again. 

but you all know he's lying, and when you dig your finger into his side, tickling him, the kids are quick to follow. 

work will have to wait. this is much more important. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[reddesires]

A Soldier's Recovery

(II) A Helping Hand

Winter Soldier x Reader

Synopsis: As you fall into a routine of caring for the former brainwashed assassin, you can see the seams that are barely holding him together. It's only a matter of him trusting you enough to give him that helping hand he so desperate wants and needs.

Word Count: 3211

Tags: Winter Soldier!Bucky, mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, trauma and slight recovery, mentions of torture, mentions of canon-typical violence, angst, self-destructive behavior, ill mental health, depiction of injury

A/N: I couldn't even tell you where I pulled this from, I've been getting my ass kicked by lack of motivation recently, so pls, forgive me if it's lacking some zest or it's absolute trash lol I tried my best so here's some Soldier content.

Your life became starkly different compared to before your Soldier's appearance. Your old life consisted of long hours of collecting, cleaning and analyzing data in the poor excuse of a corner where you keep your computer setup, the routine almost driving you up a wall as you desperately tried to hold on to your sanity staring at the blue screen.

Your outside life inconsequential where it really counted, you trudged on without much substance to your life, every day life unusually bland and repetitious. Work day in and day out without so much as a companion to keep you company.

However since he's came along and you've gotten used to his quiet presence to the point you no longer tiptoed around him in fear you'd spook him back into a corner, he just may have been the reason you haven't gone mad from the unvarying tasks of your day job, his nearness making up for his lack of speech.

He's in his own way gravitated towards you- Almost as if he was resource guarding you, close with the desire to safeguard the only soul providing for him but faltering as if getting too close would scald his skin, fear clinging to him so tightly he's closed within himself.

Fearfulness shrouds him, a collar that inches into his skin if he so much as turns his neck in an attempt to breathe. Fear shown in the way he became deathly still when there was an unknown sound outside the apartment, his body tensing as if he was prepared for a fight that was bound to happen, it showed in those moments when he was silent but followed you, as if he imprinted on you and he'd somehow lose sight of you if he didn't linger.

He was diligent, his oceanic eyes sharp with an unreadable depth and what you could only describe as trepidation, awaiting the moment you bared your teeth and your hand struck down with resentment against him.

But you'd never.

It's like a gentle ebb, his presence, the weight of his stare profound though not uncomfortable. It's intimate in a way, you do not hide from his gaze as it traces over you, open with full transparency for his sake and peace of mind with hopes that he'll further trust his well being in your capable hands, his recovery taking precedence the more time passes.

He's in no way recovered enough for you to consider him self-sufficient, but he's made progress. Such progress that you can't help the small praises, the words of encouragement falling from your lips subconsciously and despite his lack of a response, the quick flicker of his eyes is enough for you to keep doing so.

And like just like every other day he watches your every move, observing your day-to-day tasks with a close eye as if he's trying to compute it all, almost like he's compartmentalized in his head for later, and you let him, softly speaking to him as you show him what you're doing.

"I think you should eat some fruit, Soldier. Some vitamin C would do you good," you murmur as you cut the fruit with nimble fingers, his body close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves. You become a little distracted as you look up for a second as you notice him closer than expected from your peripheral, causing your hand to slip and the knife to nick your finger.

You hiss from the sharp pain, the stinging immediate from the oranges acidic juice seeping into the cut, your thought process is immediately cut short as you feel him urgently pull your hand closer to him and you can't help but feel a prick of guilt needling your heart at the way his brows are harshly furrowed and his lips downturns into a frown.

"вы ранены." His voice is rough and low, speaking quietly as if he weren't allowed to speak at all and you revel in it, his voice causing a smile to pull at your lips in habit but it soon falters "Soldier, I don't understand.." his grip only slightly tightens on your hand, his head lowered to inspect the weeping cut with a keen eye before the word tumbles from his mouth, an accent heavy on his tongue as he sweeps his finger over the cut inspecting your blood coating over his calloused finger.

"Hurt.. you are hurt." He clarified, a shadow casted over his eyes as he met your curious gaze and it sent a shiver down your spine seeing the icy depths of his stormy blues, how much he can express with just those cerulean eyes with no need of words.

But to hear him utter those words was beyond relieving, so far he's only spoken to you in russian and you lacked the proper vocabulary to properly communicate with him, only understanding 'yes' or 'no' and you've come to learn that he addresses you as 'Сиделка' which you were promptly enlightened that it meant 'Carer', a name that you don't mind him calling you as it did feel most fitting considering this whole situation.

You lightly hold onto his wrist, slowly moving over to the sink and turning on the faucet and bringing both of your hands under the running water. "It's just a small cut, Hun. I'm okay," you attempt to soothe him as he watches as the blood swirls down the drain, his grip not loosening as the water runs over his fingers washing away your life essence and his breathing quickens and his grip tightens and in turn, you tighten your hold on his wrist "it's stopped bleeding. No need to worry," You whisper, holding your hand between your bodies allowing him to scan over the wound with his trembling hands and with your free-hand you swiftly open your junk drawer grabbing a bandaid from your stashed box incase of kitchen incidents, placing the bandage over your cut with a kind smile as you softly say "nothing a band aid won't fix, like nothing happened."

There's no remark as he stares at your hand, you swear there's a tension like he wants to say something in return but he seems perplexed as the turbulent thoughts in his head rage on so you decide to bring his attention elsewhere. "Come, why don't you try the oranges? It's healthy for you."

Leading him over with a gentle hand, you'd have to be careful around him, blood is emphatically a trigger for his fragile mind and you'd rather not have him spiral and hinder all the progress you've made so far if it can be helped.

-

You noticed the hesitantance as he stood near your bathroom door, his hand gripping the sill with a force that you've grown to understand more and more the longer you observe him. You can see the anxiety growing in him, his chest slightly heaving with deep breaths and his shoulders square with tension. It was a heartbreaking sight, the simplest of tasks were always met with a daunting uncertainty and a faraway look to his eyes like haunted memories were forcing their way in the forefront of his mind, a glazed over sheen, a barely concealed entryway for all the aching torment and blood stained testaments.

Though he towered over you, you feared he just may crumble into pieces right before your very feet, his edges so serrated it just may pierce into you demanding, raging, begging to be heard and seen and felt.

He tended to avoid the bathroom as much as possible, only using it when he absolutely needed to, and you only assume it's because he feels most vulnerable in there.

"It's okay, it's safe. I'm here." You assure him, your footsteps light as you come to a stop close behind him, his body shivers involuntarily and he clenches his fists to his sides as you step next to him, you swear you can hear the tight clench of his jaw as his teeth grounded together in a poorly hidden strain. You want to reach out to him and soothe your fingers along the side of his face to unclench his tight jaw but you think better of it, he's hanging by a thread resisting whatever destructive thoughts running through his mind.

This was always the hardest part, trying to safely navigate these tumultuous situations not only for him but yourself, words can only get you so far and it brings back that dreaded uneasiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. 'What ifs' ran through your mind, but the croak of his voice pulled you from it, the sting of your teeth biting into your bottom finally registering in "Сиделка..help."

he refuses to meet your stunned gaze, his chin tilted down and his spine erect with tautness, your silence not one of disgust as he automatically assumed but rather in pure disbelief as he has not asked for help out rightly but you soon school your emotions as you nod with an awkwardness that almost causes you to groan in unadulterated humiliation. This poor man is finally asking for the aid he's never asked before, and you freeze, not only embarrassing but more than likely unsettling for him.

"Okay, whatever you need.." You calmly articulate, thanking the stars that your voice didn't give out on you as you step into the bathroom standing to the side with your hands nervously thumbing the hem of your shirt.

Soldier's body doesn't ease as he mechanically follows in after you, the whirring of the plates in his metal arm the second loudest sound aside from his deep breathing. His eyes are glued to the bathtub that seemed so dangerously imposing to him, the sting settling in from his unblinking stare, his bare feet digging into the plush bath rug that adorned your bathroom floor. This isn't where he wanted to be, the impending doom that settled over him at the thought of that bathtub being filled and being forced into the unforgiving freezing temperature of the liquid, the burn of his lungs as merciless hands forcibly pushed his head under.

The walls are closing in around him, and his ears ring loudly as he feels himself slipping away. Your presence is doing little to pull him back from the void that's taking hold on him.

"Soldier." A lifeline. Your voice leading him back into the moment, the softness and lack of thunderous authority attention grabbing, not at all brash and tyrannical. You step within his line of sight, your eyes compelling him to meet your gaze. "Would you like a shower or bath?" Questions, again. What seems to be the bane of his existence, your insistence on asking him questions, of giving him an option. Each and every time, it feels like a trap, a lure to tempt him with the idea that he's permitted to make a choice.

No. You're his Carer, his handler. He had no say in this matter. So why do you insist on this meaningless charade? It's frustrating, and it grates on his mind each and every time.

You nod to yourself, taking his silence as an answer itself. You'd have to make the choice yourself so you settle for the safer option, a shower.

you pull the shower curtain fully back and turn the knob of the shower on, the shower head sputters to life, the water cascading down filling the room with the sound reminiscent to the rainy night you found him. One hand under the shower down, evening out the temperature for a comfortable warmth for him, finally satisfied as it leveled out enough.

You turn toward Soldier immediately, catching the way his throat anxiously contracts and his arms stiffened at the sight of the shower, his intense gaze locked on the raining shower head.

"It's warm. You can see for yourself if you want." He makes no move towards the shower, only a slight nod in acknowledgement before his eyes glaze over, his hands automatically shedding off the clothes adorning him and a small gasp is startled from you as you immediately cover your eyes in attempt of respecting his privacy that he seemed to have no regard for. As the sounds of his shuffling cease you're confused as slightly peek through your fingers, he makes no attempt to climb into the tub, if you didn't know any better it seemed like something was preventing him from stepping over that threshold. The look in his eyes pained and absolutely impotent and you can feel your heart mourn, your breath hitching as you frantically try to put a thought together for your next move.

Not even a moment later, you are stepping into the tub fully clothed under the raining shower head, your hand still shielding over your eyes as you sit down, allowing yourself to be fully saturated.

All is silent as you feel your clothes stick to your skin heavily and you almost begin to wonder if he'll join you in your pathetic attempt of reassuring him it's safe, that you'll endure this shower with him if you have to, your sodden clothes no consequence to that.

All of those thoughts are put to a close and you feel him settle on the other side of the tub, it's a tight fit but the two of you settle in slight fetal position, your knees pulled your chest and though his legs are covering majority of his body now, you still hide your eyes behind your palm.

The warm water settles all around you, enshrouding you in a miniature makeshift waterfall and you can feel the liquid running over your palm and down into your lap, this moment feels surreal and overwhelmingly intimate in a way you don't fully understand.

Though you are fully clothed, you feel exposed and torn about this particular situation. You are sitting in a bathtub with the world's deadliest assassin, who's not completely free from the shackles of his oppressive past, the very same assassin who is sitting nude 2 inches from you.

It's all too bizarre.

His despondency and forlorn presence compels a side of you that you've haven't had much opportunities to meet yourself, a side that forces you to observe more closely, forces you to be selfless in all the ways that count, could it be considered maternal? Or did it run on the fumes of natural human empathy? His pain and suffering inhabited the space like a living breathing existence. It lingered over him, and it stuck to your lungs like a pesky smog that refused to let you breathe in too deeply.

Empathy was a strange thing. Such a humanly emotion that weighed down on you more and more each day as you witnessed the greater extent of just how deep his wounds ran. It sat before you like a state of constant agony. The blood ran, never at a stalemate, remnants of ghosts seeping from the lesions, infected with promises of more to come.

Oh, the torment of being touched with only martyrdom.

Though the grasp on your wrist was nothing of such, firm but docile as he lowered your hand from your eyes, his movement unhurried, but his hand trembled. Unquiet is the best word described for him as he allowed you to look at him, his hand clinging to your wrist as a means to ground the quiver in his nervy fingers. His legs pulled to his chest tightly, his flesh arm wound around the front of his knees redolent of a scared child, his long wet hair sticking to his face as the water sprayed overhead.

The metal ran warm around your wrist, you thought as your eyes ran up the length of his forearm to his bicep, finally landing on the marring of his shoulder. The skin riddled with traces of the touch of his tormentors spread into their metallic creation that took up the place that once made him whole.

That red star is a brand, symbolic in the way that matters to them, a mark to signify that he was theirs. Their soldier, their prized asset.

It made your stomach turn.

"Help. Please." The water blurred your vision as the droplets ran over your lashes, your mouth falling open slightly before you nodded with a small gulp.

He released a breath, his hand falling from your wrist as he pressed his cheek to the top of his knee, his saturated hair falling over his eyes. There it was, that quiet trust, a plea to be cared for sitting right before you and your hands trembled.

you pushed his hair from his eyes, your fingers slicked it back, his arms tightened around his legs, and his cheek pressed closer to knee.

He didn't make a sound as your fingers messaged the shampoo through his knotted tresses, his eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of your ultra careful movements, mindful to not pull or scratch too deep as you worked to wash and relieve his entangled strands.

'All is fine..I'm okay, he's okay. We're okay..'

His blue eyes met yours as he slowly lifted his head without so much of a word, his hand lifted, his thumb soothing out the crease between your brows with a touch that made your heart stutter and your breath to completely come to a stop. There's a haze to his eyes, glossy as if mentally he was in a far-off place.

Your hand consciously grabs the body cloth from your shower rack, generously pouring body wash, making sure to thoroughly rub it until suds produced from the movement. You place it on top of his knee with a shaky smile. Surely he wouldn't want you to wash him yourself..

His gaze strayed from the cloth back to you with a blank stare, and it seemed almost expectant like he truly thought you would take it upon yourself to start the violating process of scrubbing his skin raw, to rid him of all the grime as if it was his sins were inked into him and with enough force they could be cleaned away, just so new ones could replace them.

You simply shake your head, a reserved smile taking over your lips. "I'd need your permission, Soldier. I can't otherwise." You say resolutely. Without his verbal consent, you can't bring yourself to touch him. It felt like a transgression to not just him but yourself to do such a task without his say so.

It feels like he's at a crossroads, stuck between choice and compliance.

His conditioning rages within him, spitting out threats of retribution, the repercussions hanging over his head like a noose awaiting the moment it tightens around his supple neck, the rope biting into his skin with a cruel penance.

But once again, you present him with a choice. One he feels is a trap, a simple word of consent feeling like a death sentence.

The soaked cloth is gentle against the skin of his hand when he lifts it, the soap suds slathering his inner palm as he extends it out towards you, his gaze cautious as you grab the linen from him, his low voice filling the space between you.

"I want your help."

Taglist:

@singularattitudeofasafetypin

@killerwendigo

[ghost-proofbaby]

AND I REMEMBER THINKING, ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET?

summary: you and eddie are given a choice.

warnings: strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite (still), the sort of fake dating plot has officially entered the chat, sugar (reader) is specifically an idiot, minors dni

wc: 5.4k+

a/n: dedicating this chapter as a blatant birthday gift to @fracturedarkness. i am so grateful to have you in my life and absolutely adore you to the stars and back <3 thank you for supporting this story so much, and for always just generally being such an absolutely lovely person. we are so undeserving of your presence and light. ily so much my dear friend <3

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.”

The lobby is cold as Matt’s words echo within the confines of your mind. 

It’s cold enough that the front receptionist dons a cardigan as she types away at the computer, and the security guard wears a jacket worthy of a Chicago winter to identify himself. Cold enough to send a shiver up your spine as you trail behind Matt to the elevators.

Cold enough that innocent bystanders don’t notice the severely chilly shoulder you offer to Eddie the entire time.

You haven’t looked at him more than the one time when you approached the front door of the building, only offering him a fleeting glance before the two of you followed the path of his agent. It’s clear that Eddie should know his way as well as Matt does, but it doesn’t stop him from purposefully trailing behind you. 

In an elevator full of mirrors, even when you should have no choice but to look at the man who has opened up a chasm within your chest, you keep strict eye contact with your own reflection. You can see Eddie in your peripherals, and you can see the look Matt offers him over your shoulder as well. 

For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you.

Eddie had kept you a secret. 

Especially now that I know the truth.

Or spun you into a blatant lie. You don’t know which one is worse. 

“You know,” Matt mutters as he fiddles with a key ring, unlocking the door to what is clearly his office. The plaque on the door says his name. “Normally, when your agent is calling you repeatedly in the dead of night, it means answer him.” 

It’s clear he’s speaking to Eddie, so you let him answer as you slide in past Matt as he holds open the door, “I did answer.”

“And then hung up.”

“I was busy.”

“Clearly.”

The office is surprisingly large, probably a deliberate illusion aided by the panoramic windows that occupy an entire wall across from the door. There’s shelves of awards and photos, cleanly lined up in pristine condition, a few even appearing to be copies of ones you’d spotted in Eddie’s apartment. Plated plaques engraved with achievements, photos of moments of the utmost importance framed by sleek black wood. Photos of Eddie, photos of Corroded Coffin, photos of unfamiliar faces. There’s a few empty spots that reveal the need for dusting, but there’s nothing that makes you particularly ache.

Except for one photo. A photo taken the day that Eddie had clearly signed Matt on as his agent; a photo of him shaking Matt’s hand, the smile on his face never having been more superficial. It couldn’t have been more than a month after the tour that you’d left him during. 

“I don’t understand why the front cover of some stupid ass magazine is so important,” Eddie grumbles as he follows you now, both of you deciding to stand and not yet sit in the empty chairs on the closest side of what must be Matt’s massive desk, “The tabloids run rumors about my dating life all the time-”

“Exactly.”

The door slams shut behind Matt, and he doesn’t bother to lock it. You’re sure whatever is about to transpire, Matt has informed the entire building to leave the three of you alone as you talk. 

“The tabloids are constantly running headlines about you and your mysterious affairs,” Matt continues as he rounds the desk, heading straight for a fairly comfortable looking office chair, “You’re always adding more fuel to the fire. And the label is getting sick of it, Eds.” 

There’s an edge to his tone that has you taking a seat the moment he waves for the two of you to do so. Eddie to your left, and a shelf of all that he is now to your right. A life he’s built without you. A life he drafted the blueprints for with you. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call him Eds in years,” you whisper under your breath, staring at the grey carpet below the soles of your feet. 

Neither man pays you any mind for the time being. 

“I can’t control the press, Matt.”

“You could. You just don’t want to.” 

“To-may-toe, to-maw-toe,” Eddie waves off into the air, slumping into the stagnant chair he now occupies, “My job is to make music, not make some perfect image.” 

“No, my job is to keep your image digestible, at the very least,” Matt is scowling so deeply, you’re convinced you’re watching new wrinkles imprint into his skin in real time, “You and I both know that these days, it’s about more than the music. People need to like you so you can sell records. And all you’ve done is an exceptional job at pissing the people off.” 

You finally, finally spare a glance to Eddie, and his glare matches Matt’s, “It’s never been an issue before.”

Matt lets out a scoff, making your head whip to him, “Oh, no. It certainly has been. The only time it wasn’t an issue was before you signed me as your agent.” 

“That’s why I hired you,” Eddie smiles, but there’s not an ounce of joy behind the curl of his lips, “Right?” 

Matt nods for a few beats, before he turns his head at a leisurely place to level you with a stare. The glare melts microscopically, some form of pity behind his older eyes. 

“You did, and that’s the issue.” 

When Matt’s hands come up to rest on his desk, you notice him immediately toying with the corner of the shortest stack of papers on his desk. Only a few pages, and you don’t miss the several blank spaces left deliberately throughout the top page.

A contract. 

“I’ve done the best that I could with what you’ve given me to work with, but…” Matt trails off, eyes darting to Eddie only momentarily before focusing on you once more, “You haven’t been submitting nearly as many songs as your contract outlined. You’ve been busier making headlines than you have been making albums. I- They’re pissed off, Eddie. The label is pissed off now, and they’re up my ass.” “Sounds like a you problem.” Now, it’s you glaring at Eddie. 

All his hackles are raised, the portrait of who he’s been trying to convince everyone that he has become over the last two years painting over all the lines of the man you’d been digging after these last few weeks. Overshadowing the promise of a good man by a simple, jagged tone of voice. 

“No, it’s a you problem,” you snap, making both men finally have no choice but to acknowledge you, “You’re the one who wants to be a rockstar, not Matt. If you’d pull your head out of your ass long enough to actually listen to him, maybe he could actually help you.” 

It’s crueler than necessary. A slap to Eddie’s awe-stricken face. “I-” he starts, but your glare sharpens, eyes narrowing at him as he tries to ready a counter-argument, and it’s clear the fight dies on his tongue as he sighs, “Fine – fine. What do we do about it, Matt?” 

When the unspoken battle fizzles out, reluctantly on your part and eagerly on Eddie’s, Matt is simply onlooking with the faintest of smiles. 

“What?” Eddie questions immediately, clearly just as confused by you in his sudden change in demeanor, “Why are you smiling?” 

“Her.” 

He nods curtly in your direction, grin growing a bit wider. It does little to answer the question. 

“Me?” you ask, lifting a ginger finger to rest against your chest.

“You,” Matt repeats, and nods a bit more eagerly for a few seconds before he rifles those papers in front of him again, “Just now. You watched the way we were going back and forth. I can’t get through to Eddie-” a short pause in which Eddie almost speaks up, but one lift of your hand to signal him to stay quiet is effective, “-but you clearly can. He went from argumentative to agreeable in seconds. He became digestible, all because of you.” 

Your stomach sinks. You can see where this is going, even if Eddie can’t, as you croak out, “It could have been a one-off. Sheer luck.” 

The contracts. The headlines. The meeting with both of you. 

“I don’t think it was.” 

You’ve read about this somewhere, in some awful and painfully predictable romance book. You’ve seen a movie about this before, in some rundown and eerily empty theater as the cheesy rom-com occupies the big screen. “I can’t control Ed-” you start, but Matt is quick to cut you off.

“You’ve gotten more out of him in the last three weeks than I have in the last year,” Matt points out, leaning forward on his desk, palms making the wood creak, “He’s in the studio, making more music than I can even keep track of. He’s willing to get involved in the band's decisions, not even sleeping through the meetings with the suits these days.” 

Eddie scoffs as he shifts uncomfortably, “Maybe I’m just inspired.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Matt readily agrees, “By her.” 

The fucking contracts. You’ve already had to sign on to be involved in Eddie’s life for a full three months, smoke and mirrors about closure and just surviving these months having filtered through your lungs since the moment you stepped foot in that conference room. 

For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you.

This was about to become about far more than just arranging a party for a single release. This was about to become about far more than just getting closure. 

“Just get it over with,” you whisper, staring blankly at papers you can practically read already, even upside down. You’re not an idiot – you realize now what Matt, what the label wants. “Say it.”

Eddie’s still in the dark as he glances at you, “Say what?” 

Matt shares a knowing look with you. Almost sad, almost remorseful. As if he isn’t about to ruin your life. As if he isn’t about to ask you to burn down every single thing you had built up with your own bare hands. 

Just over a month ago, you had been convinced you’d finally closed the chapter on this part of your life. You had let the ink dry, you had let the fresh pages cool, and you had damned the entire novel of you and Eddie to the attic of your past. To gather dust, to be eaten away by the moths, to be forgotten as you moved along with life – you swore it was finally over.

And now this. Now, you were contracted to help him with the damn release party for a song certainly about you. Now, Matt was about to ask you to sign away the last of your sanity, all for the sake of the man you thought you’d finally slammed the door on. 

“You think I can control Eddie, that I could be good for his image,” you say flatly, not sparing a glance at the problem child beside you, “You think I can fix the mess he’s made, because you can’t. You’re assuming, and assuming, and assuming,” you take a deep breath, moments away from breaking apart, not letting it show as you lean back in the chair, “Assuming is bad for business, Matt.” 

To your surprise, Matt nods in agreement, “It is. So don’t let me make an ass of myself – prove the assumptions right,” Finally, he grabs a pen, bringing it to lay atop of the contracts. “I’ve already pitched the idea to the big shots upstairs. They’ve already approved it.” 

Eddie lurches forward, “What idea?” 

Matt ignores Eddie’s question, the conversation spiraling into tunnel vision between you two, “Again, I am sorry.” 

He slides the contracts in a circle, finally making them legible to you and Eddie. 

PUBLIC RELATIONS (PR) AGREEMENT.

Eddie takes the time to read the sentences, littered with blank spaces perfectly sized to fit your legal names. Spots for dates, empty boxes for initials. 

A neatly wrapped up present – a professional PR stunt in a contract. 

“Matt, what is this?” Eddie’s voice is shaking as he gets about halfway through the page, “What the fuck does this mean?” 

“PR stunts are common in the industry,” Common with problem rockstars, he means, “Sometimes they’re simple agreements to benefit both parties, and sometimes they’re last ditch attempts at saving someone’s image. It’s the latter, for you.” 

Eddie isn’t piecing it together fast enough. Or maybe he has, and he’s just in denial. 

“Say it fucking plainly, or I’ll leave this office and-”

“It’s time to kill your bachelor image,” Matt grabs a second pen, working mechanically as though he’s gone into autopilot, “Tame the bad boy image, as I put it to the suits.”

“You want me to agree to be Eddie’s fake girlfriend,” you take over the explaining, since Matt won’t just say it, “You want us to sign a contract, and promise to play nice in public. Act so in love the entire public forgets that Eddie ever trashed a hotel room or stuck his tongue down some random’s throat-” 

“I haven’t done that publicly in months,” he snaps, now looking harshly at you, clearly infuriated the more he reads. 

“No, but the rumors still circulate,” you recall your Google search that night before Eddie came properly barrelling back into your life, “The only thing people love to gossip about more than someone’s downfall, is their love life.” 

“Exactly.” Matt clicks one pen, and puts it closer to Eddie. “So help me out, and give them something good to talk about for once.” 

You need a moment; you need to consider it all, you need to weigh out the pros and cons. The room is suffocating, all that dust you’d previously noticed now itching your throat and the fabric of the chair stabbing far too uncomfortably against your skin through your clothes. The large windows can’t stop the walls from closing in.

“No,” Eddie barks out, throwing himself back from the paper as though it might burn him, “No.”

“Eddie, please trust me when I say-” 

“I’m not doing this – I’m not doing this to her.” 

“You’ve already done it to me,” you laugh bitterly, leaning forward and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until you see stars. Until the space behind your eyes aches. “The headline went viral online, right?”

“Yeah,” guilt seeps into Matt’s words, “It did.” 

“Have they figured out who I am?” 

The they in question being the fans – the they in question being the tabloids. If just one person recognizes you and cracks the code, you’ll be the talk of the town for at least a month, regardless if you sign the contract or not. 

You’re the first girl to ever be taken back to the infamous Rockstar’s apartment. The first to ever make it past the threshold of the bars, the clubs, the afterparties. 

It’s already a big deal. 

“Not from what I’ve seen,” When Matt slides a pen over to you, he makes a point to not click it. A choice is very clearly being given. Eddie is expected to sign, no longer being given a choice, but you? You don’t have to do this, “There've been a few D list model’s names thrown out, and a few people thought it might even be a B lister in a wig, but… they don’t know it’s you, yet.” 

Yet. But they will, eventually. The general public is capable of astonishing things when they set their minds to it. No doubt, there would be a way for them to resurface old photos of you and Eddie prior to the band skyrocketing to success, or someone who knows you will recognize your blurry side profile in the paparazzi’s pictures.

Eddie doesn’t budge on his stance, arms crossed and eyes blazing, “What’s the alternative?” 

“Excuse me?” Matt raises a brow.

“The alternative,” one of Eddie’s ringed hands flourishes through the air, “What can we do instead of this?” 

You already know what Matt is about to say before he opens his mouth. You already know the ultimatum about to be presented to the two of you. 

“You only have two options,” he sighs, a pregnant pause before he continues, “Either you sign this contract, we arrange the fake dates and press, so on and so forth. Or you cut off all communications. The two of you are never even seen in the same city again, if possible. You,” he pauses to nod towards you, “Will sign an NDA before disappearing from Eddie’s circle entirely. And you,” he then nods to Eddie, a bit more stern as he looks to his client, “will have to go through the process of signing some other sort of damage control scheme. Likely either an arrangement with someone else of the label’s choosing, or a contract of celibacy for the next year or so. Put it into writing that you’ll be the angel child of the label for an indefinite amount of time.”

You’re still reeling a bit from the threat of having to vanish from Eddie’s life once more, for good this time, when you catch onto that last part, “If I don’t agree to this, you’ll just replace me with someone else?” 

The image coming to mind through the fog makes you sick, and not for the expected reasons. It’s not the image of Eddie with his hands on someone else that makes your skin crawl. It’s not the picture of Eddie singing songs on a stage every night, songs written about you, and claiming they’re about some other lover in the crowd. 

It’s the look on his face. 

The fall of every muscle, the spark of fear behind umber eyes. The immediate fiddling of rings that exposes all the anxiety building up beneath his skin. 

The thought of being in his shoes, and being forced to pretend to love a stranger, all because of a few mistakes.

And - okay, well, a few mistakes is an understatement. Eddie did this to himself. He had dug this grave, shovelful by shovelful, all by his own doing. He had made his bed; he should have to sleep in it. 

But you can’t. You can’t let him when you see the shakes in his breath and the sincere regret, when you recall every single moment from the night before with such striking clarity. Even after all that the two of you have been through, you can’t resist that inherent urge to protect him. 

You can’t quiet the voice that whispers that you still care for him, and you still want to be there for him, even at your own destruction. 

He opens his mouth, surely about to seal his fate and agree to the one thing you know he doesn’t want to do but will for your sake, when you beat him to the punch line. 

“I’ll do it.” 

You don’t want to vanish again. You want to stay. You want to fight. 

“What?” Eddie looks up to you, and he looks close to tears, “What, no. You’re not doing this-” 

You ignore him, swallowing hard as you nearly jump out of the chair to retrieve the pen and glance over the paper until you find a random spot to begin signing at. The click of the pen drowns out his protest, and the angry scribbling across the paper shuts him up entirely. 

The signature is messier than the one you’d scanned into the computer for all your emails, but it will do. 

“Why would you do that?” Eddie asks, eyes wild as he reaches out to take the pen from you. But it doesn’t matter – the damage is done, “Why the fuck would you sign that?” 

“You heard him,” you try to keep a steady tone, you really do, but you fail miserably. You refuse to look in Eddie’s eyes, instead choosing to channel all your glaring and all your anger towards Matt, “It was this or I leave again. It was the easiest option for everyone involved.” 

Matt is riddled with disbelief – he clearly hadn’t thought you’d do it. He had thought he’d lost the battle. 

“I…” he glances down at the paper, avoiding looking at Eddie’s hands that still hovers to snatch away the pen, instead choosing to point at another blank line towards the top of the page before he clears his throat to assume a professional voice, “Please print your name here.”

Eddie’s hand falls away, and as you carve out the letters on the parchment, you swear it’s your blood staining the page rather than the ink. 

—

“Are you fucking insane?” 

Once the two of you had finished filling out all the dreadful paperwork, Matt had offered to call a car to take you both back to the studio. 

“I’m not the one screaming in the street right now.” 

You were starting to regret not requesting a separate car from Eddie.

“Why the fuck would you sign that contract?” he continues his tirade, hands flailing as he stands before you on the sidewalk. “We had options, Sugar! Fucking options-” 

“Shitty options,” you finally snap, leaning around his figure, glancing down the busy street for any sign of the black SUV that would be picking you up, “We had shitty options, and I chose the lesser of the two evils.” 

“Lesser of two evils?” he laughs bitterly, hand shoving down into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes, “I was ready to tell him to just get one of those D list models on the phone. I had one rule, one fucking rule, and we’ve managed to break it with one flick of a pen.” 

As he pulls out a cigarette, lighter appearing in his other hand as he cups the stick between his teeth, you decide to humor him, “And what would that one rule be? Hm?” 

He takes his time. Lights the cigarette, takes a long drag, holds it in his lungs as he shoves the lighter back deep within his pocket. His eyes find yours carefully just as the first wisps of smoke slip free from between his lips, breeze ruffling his curls across his forehead. 

“Keep you out of it.”

Your mouth snaps shut just as another strong breeze whips around the two of you.

What the fuck can you say to that?

“Keep me out of it?” you repeat his words in dubiety, creases forming between your brows, “What do you mean keep me out of it?”

You’re going in circles today, continuously returning to asking questions you already know the answers to. It doesn’t take a genius to decipher what Eddie means by his rule. 

The notebook of songs that have yet to see the light of day. The way his past was seemingly erased the moment the band shot into stardom. The lack of your name and memory having ever been so much as uttered in an interview. The fact that even Matt hadn’t known the truth about you two. 

You had originally been hurt at the erasure of you from the history of Eddie Munson, but there’s something breaking behind his eyes currently that offers explanation. 

“Out of this entire shit show,” his breaths are hard and heavy as he flicks the ash off the cigarette, making no move to take a second drag, “Out of all the rumors, out of all the fucking headlines. I just- I just didn’t want them to ruin you, too.” 

And yet, here you were. 

“What’s done is done,” you mutter, an SUV turning onto the street that you have a hunch is heading your way, “Not like we can unsign the contracts.” 

The car is, in fact, yours. Eddie opens the door after stomping out his cigarette. He holds it open long enough for you to climb in first, following quickly after and slamming the vehicle shut. Cutting off all the noise of the outside world and immediately leaving the two of you to be alone, properly alone, once more. 

Save for, of course, the driver.

But the man doesn’t even so much as glance back at the two of you in the backseat before he’s slowly setting the car into motion once more, already beginning to navigate the roads back to the studio. 

Until suddenly, Eddie is piping up, an irritable voice capable of echoing about the inside of the SUV.

“Take us back to my apartment,” he demands, but when you glare at him from the side, he clears his throat and adds on a measly, “Please.”

It’s a start. There’s a long road ahead, but it’s a start. 

You expected the entire ride to be filled with arguments. Under the assumption that Eddie would be too riled up to care about the driver’s presence, you sit tensely and wait for him to throw the first punch once more. Make a comment about what you’d last said before getting in the car, once again scrutinize the decision you had made. He’d never been silent in his anger; he was always loud, always made it known. He’d always claimed, back in Hawkins, he’d rather you know he’s angry so the two of you could fix it. 

But he doesn’t say a word. His jaw twitches with irritations, his eyes stay focused on the passing sidewalk out his window rather than you, and his entire body remains an impenetrable distance from your own. Even on the roughest of turns, he never allows his knee to so much as bump yours.

He’s not making it known. He’s not offering the option to fix it.

You fall into old habits immediately, youth insecurities as you simmer in the silence and the boil of a fight that has to happen eventually – right? The fight is unavoidable. The fight had already technically begun outside of Matt’s office. He has to make it known at some point; he has to say what needs to be said so the two of you can just fix it. 

But then a hoarse voice in the back of your mind whispers, what if he doesn’t see this as something worth fixing? 

Had you even seen it as something worth fixing? 

You had been the one to leave originally. You had been the one to not make it known to him all those years ago, never using your words to tell him how you had felt and leave the door for redemption wide open. You had been the one that had evaluated the situation, and for some strange reason, deemed your relationship with someone you had truly believed you’d spend the rest of your life with as something to just run from. 

By the time the car has arrived outside of Eddie’s building, you’re a mess. Metaphorically, physically, mentally. A tragic mess. 

He still holds open the door for you, still nods at your squeak of thanks as you shuffle past him. He still mutters a pitiful goodbye to his driver. And he still won’t look at you, won’t speak to you. 

Something inside of you burns. Had he even intended for you to follow him into the apartment? Or had he hoped you would have given your address to the driver as he slid out of the seat, set your eyes on your own home and away from him? 

It’s funny, the way one quick signature and you’re back to square one of your youth. Insecure and unsure, second guessing every choice. The entire persona you had built up over two long years has officially crumbled, and you don’t even have to look into a mirror to absolutely hate the girl staring back now. 

At least before, the catch of your reflection in the shining walls of an elevator wouldn’t make you sick to your stomach. At least in those two long years, you could stand the sound of your own breathing. 

Each step down the hall and towards Eddie’s front door after the quiet elevator ride is haunted. More self-doubt, more anger at yourself. The pad of the soles of your shoes against carpeting is a drumming heartbeat building up to something. 

That something snaps when Eddie unlocks the door. 

He motions for you to enter first, but you stand your ground. Staring him down, silently urging him to just fucking look at you. 

“After you,” he mumbles when you make no move to walk past him, waving his hand a second time as he continues to stare at the ground. 

You were both different people. Personas don’t just crumble because you sign a contract. You were still someone head-strong, someone capable, someone who could be sure of herself. You weren’t some naive child, lost in the thrills of your first grandiose love. And Eddie was no longer the boy you’d spent long days and longer nights with at Lover’s Lake, and at local record shops every Sunday. He was no longer the person you’d kiss dizzy as the incense burned on the shelf. He was someone new, someone different, someone unfamiliar. 

And yet, even in knowing all of this, attempting to redrill it all into your head once more, you also know that some things will never have to change. Some things between the two of you will always stay the same.

You want one of those things to be making the anger known. 

“Look at me,” the demand comes out soft, a bit more feeble than you’d wanted, but it still comes out all the same. The words fall from your lips, and you swear you see Eddie flinch.

He doesn’t look up. 

“Eddie,” you say, a bit more urgently, a tad bit more desperate, “I know you’re pissed so-”

“I don’t wanna do this. Not here.” 

You take a sharp breath, and bite back the urge to spit out tough luck, “Well, I do.” 

“Do you?” When his head finally snaps up and his eyes finally meet yours, it’s as if ice shards have replaced all your blood, chilling your system to its core, “Do you really? You wanna finish that fight we started back in the studio, right here – right outside of my apartment?” 

There it is: the anger. It strains every syllable of every word of his. But there’s still hope, all because of one little word.

The fight we started. 

We. Not just you, not just him. We.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, something in you eager at him finally just acknowledging it once again. His silence had been cruel, his brooding had been torture, and it’s easier to hear the venom he directs to you than nothing at all. “I do. I want to fight.” 

Did something just soften in his eyes, or are you just delusional? Are you that desperate to crave and imagine him feeling all the same things you were feeling? You want him to want this; you want him to want the fight, because then, it means there’s still something to fix. 

“Can we at least do it inside the apartment?” he flatly requests, lips a fine line as he levels you with that same dead stare. Dead, with glimmers of something buried alive beneath the surface. 

Something. Anything. 

He was never a stain. He isn’t an old maroon, seeped into the cotton of your existence, rusting over your past. He’s something here, something tangible, in this very moment. He’s fresh wine rushing down your chest, he’s vibrant scarlet sticking to your skin. The potential of a stain, but for now, the wound is still wet. Still fresh. Still something you can wipe away, if you play your cards right. 

You walk through his door, shoulder brushing his chest, and you almost wonder if you’re even willing to play your cards right. This time, you almost consider if what you want, what you’ve always wanted, is for Eddie to leave a stain on you that could never be cleaned away. 

After all, what is a stain if not a reminder of something loved, something worth keeping, fixed or not?

The door shuts softly behind Eddie as he trails in behind you, and with a final sigh and click of the lock, he turns to you.

“Alright. Let’s fight.”

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[tubatwo]

once more to see you - huening kai

summary: where meeting TXT Bank’s new intern makes y/n come up with any excuse to see him

pairing: gn reader x huening kai

genre: fluff; 2.1k words

a/n: I don’t even know what this bank thing is for yet I just saw this pic and immediately had to write. also this is literally not how bank visits go but LMAO. aren’t silly stories just perfect!!! nothing makes sense!!!

working in food service in one of the busiest cities meant that each night would end in tips galore. thankfully, your regular checks were enough to pay the bills, so you usually stuck with depositing cash tips at least once a month.

this was a regular routine that worked for you. walk into TXT Bank, talk to the strict bankteller whose name was apparently taehyun, show your ID, hand money over, boom. done.

but one day, this routine ended up falling apart. you walked in, and instead of taehyun, you were met with the face of the adorable new intern.

kai was deeply focused on the computer in front of him, desperately trying to figure out the client case taehyun showed him earlier. his cat-like manager’s instructions kinda went in one ear and out of the other, so it was crucial to figure things out as soon as possible if he wanted to secure his full-time position. that is, until he noticed your figure approaching with his peripheral vision.

the two of you locked eyes, eyes sparkling as if you each had just spotted an adorable puppy. kai’s cheeks grew red and your ears started to feel hot as you walked closer to him.

“hi, excuse me? i’m here to deposit cash to one of my accounts.” you look down and start to play with the zipper of the bag holding your tips, the eye contact from before making you overwhelmed as your brain practically malfunctions. where the hell is taehyun? and did he have to leave someone so cute in charge?

kai clears his throat before putting on his best customer service voice, “of course! i’d be more than happy to help you, ma’am.”

you look up and see his name tag: ‘KAI HUENING - INTERN’ the word ‘intern’ snapping you out of your temporary trance from before.

“oh um, is this the right desk? i noticed your tag says intern…” the furrow of your brows and confusion all over your face makes it near impossible for kai to hold back his smile as he responds. “no worries! i’m in the midst of receiving a full-time position here. i may be an intern, but i can assure you that i’m approved to work on deposits. we’re just a bit short-staffed at the moment.”

kai’s warm, gentle gaze washes over you, so much that even if he was straight up lying, you wouldn’t even blink an eye. his brown eyes were slightly hidden by the strands of hair falling over his face, which also happened to be decorated with soft moles all around. his mullet-like haircut also complimented his button-up, making him look like the lead singer of an old pop-rock band.

“ma’am?” kai’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, making you flinch a little. “oh, i’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

you wave your hands and apologize, “i’m sorry! i suppose i started drifting off a bit. here is everything you need.” you pull your ID and the cash out of your pouch, handing it to the intern and trying to calm your heart after your fingers brush against each other. after everything is finalized, kai hands your ID back to you. “alright, everything is set!”

you look at his nametag once again, “thank you um… kai?, i really appreciate it.” kai’s cheeks grow red again at your voice saying his name so sweetly. he chuckles nervously and scratches his head. “yep, that’s me! well, did you need anything else?”

you try to rack your brain for any possible thing that could extend your stay, but nothing comes to mind. “no, that’s all! thank you again.” you say, slightly disappointed. kai smiles. “it was my pleasure, make sure to visit us again!”

and you did. many times. like waaaay too many times.

after meeting kai, you couldn’t help but want to see him more. your usual monthly trips to the bank turned into weekly, and then almost daily. every time you collected your tips for the night, you made sure to visit the bank again in the morning.

as you visit more frequently, you and kai’s interactions start to become playful, and you become a bit more closer. you both still get shy as you lock eyes, but jokes are often thrown in here and there. kai found himself taking extra time to count your money when you came in, desperate trying to hold onto every second of your presence.

“hey!” you try to hold in your laugh, “as the intern, shouldn’t you be learning to count faster not slower?” you joke. kai’s hearty laugh fills the room before he pretends to look offended. “excuse me? it’s only natural that I get a little distracted when a pretty person enters the room”. his words make your entire body grow warm, and you can’t help but try to shift the focus away from you. “o-oh? I don’t think that line was part of your training.” you giggle.

kai giggles with you before thinking of a rebuttal, “you’re right actually. our handbook specifically says to not flirt with customers... buuut i’ve never been great with remembering the rules.”

“well, if you’re gonna be a bankteller then you should probably start studying before you end up in jail for fraud or something.”

the two of you burst out laughing, failing miserably when it comes to keeping quiet. you let out a few giggles again before you’re left in a comfortable silence. “I guess you got me there, but seriously y/n, i’m happy I can always help you.”

after a few months of visiting kai (and seeing the bank more than your own family), you wake up one day to head over before realizing that you don’t have any tips to deposit. “shit.” you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes in frustration. you had the day off yesterday and don’t go back to work until tomorrow. you were left with a completely free day to do whatever you wanted.

any normal person would have taken the chance to relax, maybe get some chores done, even some shopping? but the only thing you cared about was hearing kai’s laugh again. there had to be more reasons to visit the bank, right? yeah! you could come up with something…

after cleaning yourself up and getting ready, you felt slightly embarrassed at how much effort you put into your appearance. were you trying too hard? would kai get the wrong idea and think you were meeting with someone? by the time you had answered your own questions, you were already at the front door of the building. you took a deep breath and headed inside, expecting brown eyes to meet yours again.

well, they did. but they weren’t the ones you were looking for.

“how can I help you?” kang taehyun asks after seeing you walk in. his eyes go back to his computer, and he begins typing something up. you’re so caught off guard that you can’t even come up with a response. you already didn’t know what to come here for, and now that taehyun is in front of you, you feel stupid for even showing up.

“I want to… um…” you trail off, causing taehyun to pause his work and stare at you, waiting for an answer. you look around nervously before quicking spewing out, “open a bank account! yes! I um, want to open a new account.”

taehyun goes back to type some things into his computer. “ID?”

“huh?”

“ID. I need your ID to confirm your identity, ma’am.”

you suddenly realize what you’re doing and awkwardly feel around in your purse, looking for your wallet.

well shit.

“s-sorry, it’s uh… it’s gotta be in here somewhere.” you stall. as taehyun pinches the bridge of his eyebrows, a familiar figure exits from one of the staff rooms.

“hey taehyu-” kai notices you in front of him, a worried look etched across your face as you dig through your bag. taehyun motions kai over, “come watch, kai. you can see how we deal with customers who clearly show up unprepared.”

kai’s voice and the mention of his name immediately make your head shoot up. you look at him embarrassed, desperately wishing you could go back in time to when you were still in your bed. you feel frozen as the two men stare at you, waiting for you to do something.

“hey,” kai reaches out to lightly touch your arm, “are you okay? do you need help?”

you brush him off, not wanting to worry him. “no, i’m okay hyuka, i’m sorry.”

before kai could react to you apologizing to him (for what seemed like no reason), taehyun eyes the two of you suspiciously. “do you two know each other?” he asks. kai looks over and nods before speaking, “yeah, we’re uh… friends…?” he looks over at you with a mix of hope and hesitation in his eyes, not sure if you felt the same way.

“oh!” your eyes widen, “yes! we’re friends. i’m sorry, i’m just so used to running into him here now.”

kai feels relieved hearing you agree, and his heart beats faster at the thought of being somewhat of a constant in your life, even if it’s just to deposit cash into a bank account. he quickly brushes off his thoughts before coming to your defense. “see? everything’s okay. they’re just a regular customer, that’s all. you don’t have to scare them to death.” he jokes.

“no! it’s my fault,” you admit, “I don’t need to do anything actually… I even forgot my ID on the way here, i’m really sorry for bothering you guys.”

kai looks at you confused. he doesn’t know why you keep apologizing, and he really doesn’t know why you showed up if you didn’t have any requests to make. taehyun, however, is able to read between the lines. “i’ll leave the two of you alone.”

kai doesn’t even glance at taehyun as he walks off. his only focus is you and making sure that you’re okay in this moment. “you’re never bothering us, but is something wrong? what’s the matter?”

you let out a deep breath and decide to be brave. you can do it. just tell him. if nothing works out, you can always just deposit in the future through an ATM or something…or maybe get a new bank.

“okay well, this is super embarrassing but I didn’t have a reason to visit today, kai,” you pause, looking him in the eyes, “I just really wanted to see you...” you trail off, feeling even more embarrassed than you did before.

kai laughs softly at this while you continue to ramble, “which technically is a reason! y’know?”, he takes your hands in his, causing your brain to malfunction like the first time you ever saw him.

“did you really come all the way for me? even without needing a deposit?”

you laugh to yourself and how lame the two of you sound, probably something straight out of a nerd fantasy book. “yeah, even without the deposit.” you smile, squeezing his hands lightly. kai blushes and smiles to himself, trying to come up with a joke to mask his sudden shyness. “are you sure it was worth it? i mean, taehyun’s pretty scary.”

you smile and nod your head, “you’re here in front of me, right? i’d say it was pretty worth it.” you and kai both look around the building only to find that there’s no one else here. just the two of you.

you look back at each other, eyes drifting down to each other’s lips as you gravitate closer. before your lips meet, kai whispers.

“can I kiss you?”

you nod and press your lips against his. one of his hands come up to hold your cheek as if it were made of glass, and you allow your arms to wrap around his waist. as the kiss continues, you chuckle, making him pull away, wanting to see your smile once more.

“can I take you on a date? after I get off of work?” he asks, lips suddenly feeling cold after pulling away. “I would love that, kai.” you smile as you hug him. “it’s a date then! I promise i’ll finish work as fast as I can.”

“oh, no you won’t, I need you to focus instead of rushing.” a certain voice interrupts the two of you.

you look over to see taehyun smirking with his arms folded, almost as if he was silently taking credit for getting the two of you together. kai rolls his eyes playfully at taehyun, “yeah, yeah, I didn’t mean it literally!”

taehyun looks over at you with an apologetic look in his eyes. “i’m sorry for my bluntness earlier. it gets pretty stressful around here, but i shouldn’t have taken it out on a regular customer. I don’t know how kai keeps his composure sometimes.”

“I get to see y/n almost every day, how could I not love every second of it?

[multiversefanfics]

Sims 4 Addict

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Warning: Mentions of sex, (Wicked Whims, iykyk), cussing, mention of breeding kink Summary: You went on a supply run with Sam and left your laptop open Word Count: 711 A/N: pictures from pinterest.

You sat at the table, hunched over your computer, watching your mini you cook a grilled cheese. You giggled when the kitchen caught fire, you hurried and had your sim put it out. You looked up when you saw something move out of your peripheral, your eyes met both Sam and Dean.

"Hey, wanna run with me to get some supplies?" Sam beamed at you.

"Of course, there are some things I wanna get." You paused your game, minimized the window, and put your coat on.

Dean walked around the bunker aimlessly after the two of you walked out. He was always so bored when you left, Dean decided to brush up on some lore, just to have the information.

Dean sat down at your computer. He was about to click on the web browser when he noticed an icon he had never seen before. His hand moved faster than his brain, and he clicked on it. The window shot up, showing a person like character standing still.

He pressed the play button and watched the character walk around. His brows furrowed when another character. A man. Showed up on the screen.

"What the hell is this?" He said out loud

The mouse hovered over the man, and the name "Dean Winchester" popped up. His eyes widened when he did the same to the female character, and it said your name. Dean smiled when he realized he could make them interact.

He clicked on his character and made it kiss your character. He giggled like a schoolgirl when they kissed, he found it so intriguing how he could control it, and it seemed he was finding out a lot of things about these characters.

He looked at his phone when it vibrated. You asked him if he needed or wanted anything. He smiled at his phone and texted back, asking you to get some beer and pretzels. He turned his attention back to the screen, eyes wide when he saw the two sims having sex.

He leaned in, focusing on the way 'Dean' thrusted inside 'your' sim. He felt like a perv, but he also thought maybe he could learn a few things from his mini him.

You and Sam were on your way back, you couldn't help but be excited to get to the bunker, eat your goldfish, and play sims. You got a little nervous because you don't remember if you paused the game, but it's okay, your sim was self-sufficient. Right?

You and Sam pulled up to the bunker, grabbed the groceries, and ran inside. You stopped in your tracks when you saw Dean intently looking at your computer. He found it.

"Uh, babe?" You stepped closer. "Whatcha doing?" His gaze met yours

"Just playing a little game, look our characters are fucking." He let out a chuckle and pointed to the screen.

You honestly thought he was going to make fun of you for it, but he seemed to enjoy himself. You went over and sat next to him looking at the two sims having sex, you giggled and watched Dean laugh as they switched positions.

"I wanna do that one." He pointed looking over at you.

Your cheeks got hot, it looked like a complicated position, but you were sure you could achieve it. The two of you sat there for hours, making them do random things, your sim ended up pregnant and that awakened something in Dean

"Fuck, I wanna get you pregnant so bad." He leaned his head back, closing his eyes tightly.

You leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Wanna go practice?" You nibbled slightly at his earlobe

Dean didn't hesitate, he grabbed you by your hips and threw you over his shoulder. He marched to your shared room and threw you on the bed. You giggled and watched him strip himself of his clothes, his hands quickly finding your body, basically ripping your clothes off.

"I'm going to get you nice and pregnant, baby." He growled lowly, sucking harshly on your skin.

Who knew Dean finding your Sims would lead to the two of you having sex? You weren't complaining, it was just shocking that Dean was so turned on by it. Maybe you should have told him about it sooner.

A/N: I hope you guys like this if you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

Main Masterlist - Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist: @iwudbutnah @littlesoulshine @miss-marmalade @bettystonewell @cherryresidence

[jen-with-a-pen]

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 1/2

summary: Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 1.3k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blood mention, knife mention, beer mention, Wade's fuckin horny and thirsty y'all, pining, cursing, claws, Wade is looking ✨respectively✨, crude humor and language, slight Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, no smut (yet, sorry)

a/n: AUGH DONT LOOK AT ME (actually please do I cannot hold this in any longer.) currently part one of two parts. posting the first one now as I am currently traveling for work and won't be back until beginning of September and then part two will be out when i either A. Get home or B. Finish it and format it in between running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Please be patient with me! I will not tolerate "whEreS PaRt Two?¿??" when I literally just told you. Hope y'all enjoy one of the many products of my brain rot. More to come in due time ✨

Not beta'd. Written on my phone and edited via gdocs. Post formatted on mobile because I don't wanna use my work computer lmao

Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

The abs are great. More than great, actually. In fact, they're all Wade thinks, dreams, and fantasizes about. All day, everyday, non-fucking-stop. The moment replays over and over in his fucked up noodle brain like a scratched record. He knows muscle memory is a thing, but what about salivatory memory?

Christ. He's gotta get a grip instead of getting hard.

But what about when Logan isn't flexing hard enough to rip his goddamn suit off?

Wade notices Logan becoming more relaxed around the apartment as the days pass. Adjusting to his new life, coming out of the bedroom earlier than he has to on days when he gets a turn to sleep on a real bed. It's Sofa City most of the time– which he really doesn't mind, he almost prefers it most of the time (since it's in clear sight of the front door) but Wade more often than not likes to insist they share his 'much-too-big-for-lil-old-me' twin XL mattress that's seen more stains than sex in the last year alone.

Logan's compromise is he'll take the bed and Wade the couch half the time. Alone. They're still working on the negotiations of said compromise, but the jury– Blind Al– is still out on recess.

Once he's more settled in, Logan learns that it's okay to kick off his boots and put his feet up. It's not often, but enough that Wade silently wishes he'd rest those big meaty calves on his lap instead. He's been needing a new weighted blanket and Adamantium-coated tibias and hairy legs are so in right now.

Logan doesn't know it, but Wade secretly plays 'ohmygodhetotallylookedatme' whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of Wade oggling at him in his peripherals. Wade can't help it when Broody and the Beast's ribbed white muscle shirt pulls taut against those deliciously plump pecs that he silently prays it'll burst off again. Or he'll rip it off. Or Logan will rip it off. For him.

A boy can dream.

It's especially hard to win at 'OMGHTLAM' when Logan accessorizes– AKA throwing on whatever flannel is in rotation out of the several he finds at the thrift store a few blocks over. Wade feels his throat tighten like his jeans do when Logan wears the forest green one. Really brings out his eyes.

And smile. And lips. And–

It's still summer, so on the hotter days, when sweat glistens on his brow and Wade desperately wishes to be the back of Logan's hand, the tank top comes off. All Logan's sweaty, gloriously muscular body has on is a wonderfully worn-in pair of jeans with the hem of black briefs poking out behind the denim waist.

Do they have AC? Yes. Because Wade would have to plan a funeral for Al if they didn't.

But when she's out and about, he likes to turn it off and let the New York heat wave run its course. Sure, it leaves him sticky and gross, but he'd rather be sticky and gross and hard when he can help it.

Luckily, Blind Al is gone for the whole weekend. Some girls trip or a drug mule job. Same difference.

Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

With the push of a button and a sprinkle of patience, Logan is splayed out on the couch in a matter of hours with a lukewarm beer in hand while fighting his eyelids from dozing off to some random war documentary. Sweat beads on his temples and there's a slight sheen to his skin from his biceps to the lower V pointing down to between his thighs. He chuckles every so often, mumbling things to himself between swigs of beer and shaking his head when the narrator gets something 'wrong.'

Wade busies himself in the kitchen but his eyes are permanently glued to his roommate. He doesn’t miss the way Logan's stomach rises and falls gently, the rock-hard six pack softening into rolling hills of muscle with a layer of dark hair covering as much surface area as immortal-like hormones will allow. Grown out beard, chops, and messy hair really throw the whole look together; very 2000s, if you ask Wade. His pecs look just as soft as a pair of titties, if not softer, and Wade knows it. He'd do anything to lay his perfect little head on Logan's chest. Maybe lick it too, if he's a good boy. 

Logan perks up suddenly from the couch.

Oh God did he say that out loud?

"Wade?"

Wade doesn't hear him. Can't hear him. Half-refuses to hear him, honestly. Daydreaming takes up a whole lotta brain power and this show isn't running itself. Economy, budget cuts, unprecedented times. You know the shtick. 

"Wade."

Nothing but a bead of drool comes out of Wade's mouth. 

Suddenly, there's a crash right behind Wade's head and now he's awake. He whips around to the ale-spattered wall behind him and back to Logan, who's now standing with claws drawn and chest heaving.

Wade swears he's blushing. 

Eyes wide and brow standing up straight like his good little soldier, Wade looks down at the counter before him to find a bloodbath of a scene: one hand's on a knife while the other spews blood all over the yellowed counter tops; there's remnants of a carrot that was finished five minutes ago, followed directly by remnants of fingers cut down to the last fucking knuckle and slice marks beginning down the back of his hand.

Wade holds up his spurting stump, gashed artery doing a spot-on impression of Ol' fucking Faithful.

"Oh. Huh. Thought I smelled something," he says, staring at his now-tingling hand. Baby fingers for the rest of the night were so worth the staring contest with Logan's beautiful body.

"Fuckin' idiot," Logan mutters, sheathing his claws and striding over to the hall closet to grab a towel. Wade's already stopped bleeding, but just because they might be immune to bloodborne pathogens doesn't mean Al is.

"Gah– get back, damn mutt." Logan shoos Dogpool out of the kitchen to prevent her from lapping up her papa's bodily fluids. He throws the towel in Wade's face and goes to grab the bleach out of the cupboard under the sink. Logan learned very quickly where to find it the first time this happened a month or two ago.

"Sorry baby, Mommy's got a boo-boo and Daddy's just trying to help," Wade coos at Dogpool. "You're too good to me, peanut. Someone oughta wife ya up before I do."

Logan responds with a scowl as he tosses the carrots out and tries to keep the counter from staining. "Why th'fuck did you do that?"

"It was time for a new hand. Old one was so last season."

Wade mops up the blood from his arm and wraps the towel onto his head like he's just gotten out of the shower. Holding up his regenerating stump, he poses like a cover model for Vogue.

"Whatcha think, peanut?" He strikes another pose. "Is this doing anything for ya, big boy?"

Logan grunts as he tosses a wad of paper towels into the trash can. He turns to leave the kitchen, eyes flicking to Wade. It's the quickest once over ever, but Wade sees it. Commits it to memory while he pulls a Flashdance in a chair from the kitchen table and follows Logan's denim-clad ass as it sways off to the bathroom. 

"'M gonna go shower. Don't wait up,” Logan calls before shutting the door and locking it. 

Sighing, Wade looks down at his crotch, pants tent pitched higher and tighter than a first-timer on Everest.

Good thing he's ambidextrous.

[svnscape]

11 - is she coming to a game with assignments ??

you were speed running the the campus’ gymnasium, lab papers stacked in your arms, courtesy of fucking Dr. Park for still wanting to continue using paper for lab work instead of just switching to computers like the rest of the other courses.

it was very windy and cold and you were obviously underdressed for this weather but thought it won’t matter since you’d be inside surrounded by sweaty frat boys and screeching girls.

you could hear from outside, the announcement that the game would be starting soon which made you walk even faster, cursing the wind and holding onto your papers for dear life.

but the universe had other plans for as you tripped on literal fucking air and landed face first on the grass, surrounded by your papers or what remained of them, as they scattered away with the wind.

“fuck fuck fuck” you tried standing up, clumsily catching the papers closest to you

“damn princess are you okay ?”

you turn your head towards the familiar aggravating voice that you’ve been hearing more than you’d wished you’d be, giving him a deadpanned look

“what does it look like ?”

he just snorts and bends down helping you pick up the papers that were out of reach from you

“who brings lab work to a friday game?”

“someone who has a shitty lab partner”

he scoffs “i already did the practical work so you do the report for it” he hands you the papers.

“yeah yeah fuck you” you mutter under your breath, stacking the papers on your lap

“speak up princess”

“stop calling me that!” you spit back a bit too harshly, clearly overstimulated by this whole situation

“okay okay chill, i’ll help you. there’s a bench right there, we can do it together”

“no thanks i’ll do it myself, you can leave”

haechan just shrugs and stays put for a minute.

you looked like a mess right now, it almost made him feel bad.

after contemplating for a while, you see from your peripheral vision, his hand extended to you

“at least let me help you up”

you hated this and you hated him and his behavior but you couldn’t deny the fact that you needed help getting up or these papers are gonna fly away from you once again and it’ll make you sob right here, right now, in front of him

so you reluctantly take his hand with a huff and walk in front him straight to the gymnasium.

haechan just shakes his head with a smirk on his face, as he follows behind and parts ways with you in a corridor to head where jaemin and jisung were sitting

jaemin was casually sipping on a drink whereas jisung was too focused on the game, head glued to the score board.

jaemin notices haechan as he sits down next to him with a loud sigh

“quickie ?” jaemin smirks

“babysitting”

“who ?”

haechan just gestures to you with his head, as you sat a few rows in front of him, those goddamn lab papers still glued to your torso

“you guys close now ?” jaemin raises an eyebrow

“nah just sharing a class as you know, she’s just constantly stressed and she literally fell five minutes ago i couldn’t just let her be”

jaemin just nods skeptically and goes back to watching the game.

the game ended around 8:30 pm with NCTU eagles winning and chenle spending the rest of the walk back to the frat bragging about how good he was at scoring and how sure he was of getting recruited by the end of this year.

haechan just went straight back to his room as soon as they reached the frat and opened up his laptop to work on some assignments.

yes, he is actually a nerd and proudly.

he ended up working for hours not noticing the time passing by until he unlocked his phone and saw what time it was : 11:25pm

with a cheeky small smile on his face, he opens the message app.

prev — m.list — next

taglist: @bbykaixx @alwayswonbinning @weepingsweep @dudekiss3r

a/n: i did say it was messy. don’t know if this will ease some of yalls curiosity whoops

[lemonsprite]

A request, if that's ok? Halsin catches you in a moment of weakness? Maybe tucked away crying after a rough fight? Bear daddy comfort. ❤️

AAAAAA ty for requesting 🤗 I love this idea so much omgggg

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 || 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: Halsin finds you hurt Word count: Warnings: description of injury (?), self deprecation A/N: sorry this took forever lol holiday season is kicking my ass

As a bard, your appearance helped a lot with day to day tasks. From charming your way out of perilous situations, to using them as a way to advance your entertaining, they were useful.

Maybe even one day you’re above average looks would aid you in finally winning Halsin’s heart. (Though you’ve been to shy to even attempt courtship so far)

That was all a faraway dream now.

You let out a shaky breath, your face streaked with tears as you lifted a hand to your eye, tracing the fresh wound with a wince.

During a scuffle with a small pack of gnolls, one got you good in the eye, leaving a deep gory laceration from you temple to your jaw.

It was ugly, and you knew it. There was no denying the way your skin curled, the flesh raw and pink from the fight. You were even partially blind now, and there was no telling how the wound would look later down the road.

“It will heal.” Came Halsin’s gentle voice from behind you, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts. Great. He’d found your hiding place.

You glanced at him briefly from your peripheral. You couldn’t read the expression on his face which caused your stomach to sink lower, gods he probably thought you were hideous.

Ignoring Halsin’s attempt at comfort, you look towards the setting sun, hoping that if you ignored him hard enough Halsin might just disappear.

You could hear rustling as the Druid crouched to sit next to you. A silence falling over you both.

“What is wrong my friend?” He asked, leaning slightly closer to you.

You shook your head rapidly, trying in vain to hide your face from Halsin as he continued to persist.

“It’s nothing big, just a scratch.” You lied.

“Let me see.” And before you could protest, his large and gruff hands were cradling your face, forcing your eyes to meet his.

His calloused thumbs ran over the skin of your jaw, silently taking in the view of your wound as his eyes narrowed.

“That must’ve hurt.” Halsin tsked, stating the obvious.

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away as you turned from the Druid once more.

“I’m hideous.” You muttered, eyes burning a hole into the ground as you stared. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes once more.

Halsin was silent for what seemed the fiftieth time, the grass rustling as he shifted his body weight.

“You’re beautiful.” He said softly, one of his hands moving to lay on top of yours in the soft grass.

Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting to hear those words as you glanced sideways at Halsin.

“How… how can you say that…?” You ask, running an hand along the edge of you slashed skin.

“Because it’s the truth.” The archdruid said with a simple shrug as if he was reciting fact. “I look into your eyes and I see the entire world, just as the oakfather intended.”

You glance towards the ground, suddenly too shy to look Halsin in the eye.

“Really…?” You ask abashedly, wiping a few half-formed tears from your eyes.

“Would I ever lie to you my heart?” Halsin asks, squeezing your hand with a soft smile. "now come back to camp, it's getting cold and my tent has enough space for two."

I’m so so sorry for the long wait!! My computer deleted this file from my docs but after some finagling I was able to recover it :] I hope this cute Drabble is to your liking!!

[meetingthestarcatchers]

Crimson Lace (Part 4)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x fem!reader

Summary: You have trouble placing a finger on where you know him from, until he invites you in

Warnings: NSFW (18+ MDNI), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mutual masterbation, praise (LOTS OF IT)

A/n: I'm aware it's taken me agesss to write this so I apologise profusely and hope enough people are still interested in it!

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

You both worked solidly with small conversations in-between to talk about either the work or anything on either of your minds. Once you heard Jake's deep groan, you tore your eyes away from your screen to look at him, his head tilted towards the ceiling and his eyes closed. The sky outside the window had started to darken, allowing the light from his computer to illuminate his face; the way his long hair framed his face, and how his lips were parted slightly made your stomach flutter slightly. While you were absorbed in noticing the small details, you noticed his parted lips had curved upwards into a smile.

"I can feel you staring y'know" he said still smiling, and you flicked your eyes back to your screen as you felt a heat rise up to your cheeks. In your peripheral vision you saw him turn to look at you and then he noticed the time.

"You fancy anything for dinner?" he asked standing up and turning on the light before closing the blinds. You set your laptop on the floor next to the beanbag you were settled on.

"I don't mind at all, whatever you want" you said giving him a warm smile. He held out his hand and you took it, letting him pull you up. This caused you to be chest to chest with him, feeling his hands rest on your waist. Your breath hitched as his hands moved gracefully around your waist and down to grab slightly at your behind. You forced your face to remain neutral while looking into his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at your attempt to ignore his actions.

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

"So good for me..." He muttered, his voice low and seductive. His hand moved in a mesmerizing way, maintaining a slow rhythm as your eyes were stuck admiring him. He moaned softly, his body arching slightly under his own touch, his eyes glanced at you intently as he indulged in the pleasure of your presence and your watch of him.

You thought back to your plan and smirked to yourself. It seemed like a good time to take action with it. As carefully and quietly as you could, you felt for the hem of your shirt and slowly lifted it up over your head, revealing a lace black bra underneath. When you looked back up at Jake, his gaze was fixed on you through hooded eyes. You quietly placed your shirt on the floor next to you and slowly worked on unclasping your bra, letting it fall off into your lap. Next came your trousers, proving the hardest to take off quietly.

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

You were left sitting in the chair in just your panties and you took the opportunity to look at Jake, who's eyes were still stuck on the sight of you sat there with your legs spread ever so slightly. You could see Jake’s cheeks turn a crimson red at the sight of your bare chest and he bit his lip. Your hands roamed round your chest before squeezing your left breast softly and your other hand travelled excruciatingly slowly down your torso and into the matching black panties, making your mouth fall open as your circled your clit. Jake took the chance to run the tip of his thumb over the slit of his dick, making him moan quietly and his abdomen tense up. This gave you the perfect view of his subtle abs.

“That’s it gorgeous, open those legs for me and show me how good I make you feel” Jake muttered, his voice raspy and deep. His eyes remained locked on you, the sight of you relaxed in his chair, the way your hair fell behind your shoulders as your head leaned back, but most importantly, the way your fingers were circling your clit. His hand sped up ever so slightly which made his mouth fall open and he looked at you with challenging eyes, daring you to match his pace. Your lips spread into a small smirk and obliged with his request, the thoughts of him filling you with your legs over his shoulders made your stomach coil in pleasure. Jake turned his head towards the screen and read a few comments that were flooding through before moaning quietly.

“You feel so fucking good…so tight for me” he said, and you almost moaned loudly at the praise, but quickly stopped yourself. Despite Jake facing the camera, you knew the words he spoke ever so gently were meant for you and it made your heart swell in proud happiness. You allowed your middle finger to slowly glide down to your desperate hole, hovering over it and teasing it for a few seconds before giving in and pushing it inside you. Jake caught the movement and moaned, his eyes drifting over to you once again and staring at the sight of your pussy on show, now stretched around your finger.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anybody else, you understand? No one gets to fuck this pretty pussy except me” he demands and you nod silently, his dominant tone sending shocks to your core. Your eyes drifted down and watched his fist move up and down around his cock at a moderate pace and you pushed your index finger inside you as well, stretching you open even more. Your thoughts were plagued with the image of Jake’s fingers inside you, curling slightly and you sped up subconsciously. He caught wind of this and picked up his pace as well, drawing out a long groan from his chest, the coil inside his stomach beginning to stretch and tighten.

“Speed up for me gorgeous, want you to cum with me” his words ignited a fire in your core and you felt yourself get closer to the finish line. Jake’s hand started going at a quick speed, and you thought it only right to copy him, forcing yourself to hold back from finishing until he told you to.

“Atta girl, hold it for me…I’m so fucking close” he moaned and threw his head back in pleasure, biting his lip harshly. Like yours, his head was filled with explicit images until the image of you underneath him, eyes rolled back in your head, screaming his name was suddenly brought to the front of his mind, causing him to cum without warning. He drew out the pleasure for as long as possible, his stomach now covered in the white, sticky substance. Without speaking, Jake quickly ended the stream and turned towards you and looked at you with a straight face.

“You thought that was funny hm? Torturing me, knowing that I couldn’t do anything?” He asked you, and you nodded before he grabbed your wrist and forced you to stop. You felt the coil disappear and your lips turned downwards with an unhappy expression, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What’d you do that for?” You asked, pouting and he smirked and raised his eyebrows.

“Get on the bed. Now.” He told you with a serious expression. As you made your way onto the comfy sheets, he took the chance to wipe off the cum that had now dried a little with a few tissues and threw them into the bin after he was finished. He turned towards you and the corner of his lips lifted at the sight of you lying down comfortably on his bed.

“Luckily for you, I’m in a good mood and I’m gonna save the punishment for another day understood?” He said and you nodded. He made his way onto the bed and held himself above you, your faces several inches apart.

“What are you gonna do then?” You asked curiously and he smiled at you, and lifted his hand up to caress your cheek softly.

“I’m going to show you how good you make me feel, that alright with you?” He asked, wanting your consent and you nodded in response.

“That’s more than okay” you muttered and he smiled before leaning down and meeting your lips with a passionate kiss which you quickly responded to. Through the kiss, you felt a feather-like touch travel down your body and stop just before your clit, making you whine quietly into Jake’s mouth and he smiled and pulled away.

“Actually, you’re already stretched out enough…” he muttered and you nodded desperately, the need to have him inside you becoming more than you could bear. A small ‘please’ escaped your lips and he smiled and gave you a small kiss. He positioned himself at your entrance, lifting your legs and placing them both on his shoulders.

“Such a good girl using your manners” he praised and you let out a small moan at his words before you felt him push inside you, both yours and Jake’s moans filling the quiet air. A few curse words escaped his mouth and his hooded eyes met yours, looking for a silent confirmation to continue, in which you nodded and he smirked and began to move painstakingly slow.

“You feel so much better than I imagined. I’ve spent so many nights thinking about you and this tight fucking pussy stretching around me” Jake told you, starting to speed up, and you bit your lip, trying to quieten your moans but he quickly pulled your lip back out of your mouth and shook his head.

“Don’t you even dare, want to hear how good you feel” he said and you allowed yourself to moan loudly at the quickened speed. The room filled with the smell of sex and words of praise from Jake and you felt yourself relax and you never wanted to leave.

“I’m not gonna last long” you warned him and he shook his head and moaned before speaking.

“Neither am I, you feel too fucking good” he said. He began to speed up again even faster until he was pounding inside you, your body almost bent in half as he leant over you with your legs still on his shoulders. His hair fell around his face elegantly as you watched sweat start to form on his forehead, both of your moans getting louder as you both felt the coil build up and tighten. You clenched around him and he groaned into your ear before kissing your cheek softly, the action almost making you laugh from the contrast.

“I can feel you getting so close, I want you to cum around me…please” he begged, the dominant tone that he had adopted fading away and turning into a soft one instead. You nodded and focused on the pleasure that he was bringing you, you looked up and looked into his eyes, the feeling of him watching you, pushing you over the edge finally, forcing your mouth to fall open and your hands quickly found his back, scratching it. He groaned at the sight and forced himself to hold back from finishing inside you. He slowed down the speed once he felt yourself relax and come back around before pulling out and wrapping a hand around his dick and quickly finishing over your stomach.

The room was suddenly filled with quiet panting as Jake fell down and laid next to you, eyes closing in pleasure. After a couple moments had gone by, he turned his head to face you and you did the same, smiling at each other contented. He brought a hand up to gently stroke your cheek and your eyes fluttered shut at the touch. He soon got up and went to grab a couple tissues and a warm, wet flannel to clean you up. The sensation of the flannel on your sensitive clit caused you to shiver and he brushed his thumb over the inside of your thigh.

“Just a few more seconds angel…” he spoke quietly, reassuring you. Once he was finished, you heard the tissues being thrown in the bin and the flannel was dropped on the floor, a job to be dealt with in the morning. The bed dipped beside you and you opened your eyes to be met with the sight of Jake’s open arms, inviting you closer towards him. You cuddled up to him, the heat from his body warming you immediately and felt a soft kiss on the crown of your head. No more wards were spoken except quiet ‘goodnights’ muttered into the darkness. You smiled and allowed your body to relax and your eyes to close as you felt yourself drift off into a peaceful slumber in the arms of Jake.

—————————————————————————————

taglist: @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @takenbythemadness @godly-sinsx @ignite-my-fire @gretasfallingsky @sanguinebats @literal-dead-leaf @jakeygvf21 @freefallthoughts @threadofstars @samssymmetricalstache @mackalah @fleets-world @gvfpal @klarxtr @welllauragvf @stardustjake @i-love-gvf @spark-my-nature @itsafullmoon @hellowgoodbye @gvfmarge @dannys-dream @edgingthedarkness @wetkleenex-gvf @interstellar-shores @heckingfrick @torniturntomyarrow @peaceloveunitygvf @jaketsguitar @lyndz2names @mama-likes72 @musicislove3389

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[jjsmaybank20]

What She Wants

Tierna Davidson x GN!Reader

Summary: 3 times Tierna tries to get you to kiss her hand + 1 time you think you figure out what she's trying to get you to do (you’re wrong, but in the best way)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: So sorry its been so long, guys. heres a little self-indulgent thing that I got a bit of inspiration for. heres the link the video i'm talking about.

navigation  woso masterlist

---

When Maitane had offered Tierna her hand as a part of a video she was doing with the team, Tierna hadn’t known what to do right away. As the blonde stood there, waiting for her to do something with her hand extended, it occurred to the center-back that she wanted her to kiss it. Tierna did so with a laugh, before running off to her car. 

On her drive home, Tierna couldn’t stop thinking about the trend, and how you would react if she did it to you. It was a known fact among your friends and family that you were pretty oblivious, especially when it came to trends as well as your romantic life. 

---

When you had first seen your now-girlfriend in a coffee shop that you frequented, you had struck up a conversation easily. That was the thing. You were great with people, yet you could never tell if it got anywhere romantic. The two of you exchanged numbers, and Tierna was thrilled when you accepted her invitation to dinner with her. After the two of you had eaten, Tierna had said, “That was great. This has been a wonderful date. Probably one of the best I’ve ever been on.” 

You had grinned at her, blinked, and asked, “This is a date?”

Tierna had looked at you confused, before backtracking because she thought you didn’t want it to be a date. You had quickly interrupted her, assuring that you would love to call it a date. You told her that your friends always told you that romantic signals went over your head, and that you were really interested in taking her out for a second date if she wanted. She accepted, and the rest is history.

---

1.

As Tierna pulls into the driveway of your shared house, she decides that she is going to test the trend on you. She's interested in seeing how long it takes you to realize what she wants. She exits her car, fishing for her keys from her bag. She unlocks the front door, slipping inside and smiling at the smell of whatever you made her for dinner wafts through the house. 

When she walks further into the house, she finds you seated at the dining table with a plate of pasta and your computer open to some project for work. You turn around when you hear her footsteps, and your face lights up when you catch sight of her. “Hey! I made you some pasta, but I didn’t want it to get cold so it’s still in the dish on the stove. I have to finish this up, but when I’m done, we should watch a movie or something, and you should tell me about your day. Whatever you want to do.”

Tierna grins, loving how considerate you are. She makes herself a plate before joining you back at the table. She watches you as you focus on your work, smiling softly as you push your glasses up when they slide down your nose. As Tierna affectionately stares at you, she almost forgets what she was going to try. 

Out of your peripheral vision, you see your girlfriend extend her hand. Without looking up from your project, and almost without thinking, you grab her hand and lace your fingers together. You continue to work, now with just one hand, but you don’t mind as long as you are holding onto Tierna. 

The center-back scoffs to herself, but she can’t help but smile at you as you continue to attempt to type with just one hand. You may not have understood this time, but she can’t be disappointed with you for a second as you squeeze her hand comfortingly. 

---

2.

The second time Tierna tries the trend, the two of you are snuggled up on the couch together. It’s been a couple days since her last attempt, waiting for the right moment to try again. She suddenly untangles herself from your arms and stands in front of you with her hand extended. You stare up at her, confused at the sudden movements. Instead of noticing her hand, you look up at her face while you mindlessly smack at her palm softly. 

“What’s up, baby? Do you need something? I can grab it for you, you can sit down and get comfortable again,” You ask. Tierna silently shakes her head, fending off the smile trying to capture her lips. You give her a lost look, and she gives up for the moment with a huffed laugh. 

She hadn’t realized just how hard it would be to get you to do what she wanted, especially when it was such a simple thing. Maybe she just needed to make it more obvious.

---

3.

You were seated on the floor in the living room, folding laundry on the carpet. Tierna walks up to and holds her hand out, palm down, just like all the times before. You look at what you have in your hands, seeing that it is one of her training tops. You hand it to her, but she gives it back to you with a shake of the head. She keeps her hand out, confusing you even further. You grab her hand and hold it, but she shakes herself loose with an exasperated but amused huff. 

She emphatically extends it a third time, and you just stare up at her, lost. “Babe, love, honey, light of my life. I genuinely don’t know what you want me to do with this.” Tierna just angles her hand down a little further, hoping you’ll get the hint. 

She watches as your face lights up in what looks like understanding, and she smiles, thinking that you finally got it. Instead of just leaning forward and kissing her hand, though, you jump to your feet and run towards your shared bedroom, calling, “I’ll be right back!” over your shoulder. 

She watches you when you return, holding something behind her back. She doesn’t even realize that she still has her hand out until you grab her hand again. “I didn’t know you knew I bought it, but honestly, this was going to happen soon anyway. Why not just do it now?” 

+1.

Tierna’s eyes widen as you get down on one knee, still gripping her hand. “Tierna Davidson. My love. I love you more than words can express. I think that you are the prettiest, funniest, most intelligent person I know. I also respect the hell out of you, and I want you to know that I will always be in your corner for the rest of our lives, if you’ll let me. I’m rambling here, I’m a little nervous. What I’m trying to say is… will you marry me?” You finally let go of her hand, just so you can open the black velvet box you were holding in your other hand. Inside is a beautiful diamond ring, in the exact style that Tierna had told you she would want. 

The center-back covers her mouth with her hands, completely shocked. The two of you had discussed marriage, to the point where you and Tierna were ready to get engaged. It was a matter of when, not if. She hadn’t known you had already bought the ring, though. The brunette lets out a happy sob as tears escape her, and she quickly exclaims, Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

You grin up at her, your own happy tears sliding down your face. You push the ring onto her finger and stand up to pull her into an elated hug. As you hold her tightly, Tierna begins to laugh. You fix her with a loving, yet slightly confused look, and she finally decides to tell you what she was trying to do. 

“I didn’t know you had bought the ring. I just wanted you to kiss the back of my hand.” She breaks off into another fit of giggles at the amused and embarrassed look on your face. The center-back pulls you down into a kiss, mumbling reassurances that she absolutely wanted you to propose as well, it just wasn’t what she was angling at. 

You lift her up suddenly, making her squeal. She wraps her arms around your neck as you carry her bridal style into your bedroom, getting excited as you murmur, “We need to celebrate our engagement, and I need to take care of all the kisses I have been lacking on.” She presses a loving kiss to your cheek, relishing in the care and love she feels from you. 

---

Tierna_davidson: she finally did it! (still hasn’t kissed my hand though) tagged @/y/n_15

> lynnwilliams9: literally couple goals! Congrats!

>kelleyohara: baby T all grown up! 

>maiitane9: who knew kissing my hand would lead to this 😘

>lavellerose: Yayyy!

>emilysonnett: 👍 (congrats you two)

---

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[msschemmenti]

fun police - 5

The next week came, but as soon as Emily arrived, someone in her office was waiting to meet with her. Then that meeting ran into another meeting somewhere else in the building. And another meeting turned into another– so many meetings that she hadn’t even been in her office for more than 10 minutes. So when Y/n found the sticky note pressed against her office door asking to reschedule for later that evening she was pleasantly surprised. It seemed their last session may have had a more positive influence than she had anticipated. Not only was the older woman taking the initiative to reschedule but she was also willing to meet outside of the typical office job hours. Now if Emily was finally coming around, this was going to make her job a lot easier.

So when evening struck Y/n found herself knocking at Emily’s open doorway with a smile. “Boy, you’re one hard woman to catch.” she teased as she came to a stop in front of Emily’s desk. The older woman ran a hand through her hair and leveled Y/n with an unamused glare. “Oof, tough crowd.” Y/n winced as she watched the older woman carefully.

Emily rolled her eyes and moved to shut down her computer with a sigh, “Thank you for agreeing to meet later, I know it’s not the most convenient but I appreciate it.”

“Of course, I’m just glad you still wanted to meet today. I figured you’d take the opportunity to skip and run with it.” Y/n shrugged. “But either way with the way I imagine your day going, it might be good to have someone help you unwind before heading home for the night.”

Emily scoffs and looks at the case files piled in her inbox, “That’s if I make it home,” she mumbled before looking back to the younger woman wistfully. “But, yes. Yes, that would be very helpful.”

Y/n tsked almost instantly at Emily’s words and circled the desk. “Well that just won’t do.” Emily watched as the woman confidently reached around her body to sift through the files on her desk. “All of these can definitely wait till tomorrow. It’s not like the budget for the next five years is going to implode if you don’t finish it tonight.”

Emily swatted at the younger woman’s hands as she tried to pull the file closer to herself, “That’s confidential.” The older woman pushed the files further up her desk and turned her chair to face Y/n directly. The proximity of their bodies dawned on Emily a little too late. And as quickly as she registered it, it’s all she could think about. Still sitting in her desk chair, her eyes were level with the wellness counselor’s hips and she fought hard to move her eyes to a more appropriate place. But the further her eyes rose, the more distracted she became. Her mouth dried and the heat seemed to kick in and her hands subconsciously pulled her collar away from her neck. Y/n’s hands came down in Emily’s peripheral and settled on her hips. And if Emily was looking at her face, she’s positive she could see the attitude working it’s way across her forehead. After three sessions, observing the younger woman around the office, and all she’d heard from the team– she knew a witty quip was coming her way. With that in mind, she finally settled her eyes on Y/n’s face. Furrowed eyebrows and quirked lips. She kissed her teeth and rolled her eyes and gazed down at Emily.

“Bold of you to assume that would have any effect on me. So what if I see a bunch of nonsensical numbers, what would I even do with that?”

“Well it should,” Emily grumbled. “This is the FBI after all.”

“It’s not like you’d turn me in.” Y/n challenged bending at the waist to bring her eyes level with Emily’s. “You won’t admit it, but you like me far too much to do that.”

“Well that’s absurd. And bold of you to believe.”

“Well, yes. Bold and correct.”

Emily glared and moved to respond but her desk phone ringing had her clamping her mouth shut. She held a finger up and answered the call and she could see Y/n heading to sit on the couch with her arms crossed. As soon as the receiver was back on the hook Y/n was reprimanding.

“See this is your problem— why are you answering your phone after hours? Who could possibly want something from you right now?”

Emily’s cheeks blazed under the scrutiny but she rolled her shoulders back and tried to speak confidently, “That was Gary from the lobby. I figured the least I could do after holding you hostage tonight would be to buy you dinner.”

“Huh,” Y/n sounded, resting on her knees thoughtfully.“How kind of you Agent Prentiss.” The younger woman replied fighting down the urge to giggle nervously as her cheeks reddened.

-

“Well thank you for dinner, that was very sweet of you.” Y/n smiled at Emily as they walked through the parking garage. Emily nodded and rubbed at the nape of her neck self-consciously. This session had definitely been different from her others and as they came to a halt in front of a car Emily couldn’t ignore how romantic the night was feeling.

“Of course, it’s the least I could do after keeping you here well past your typical hours.”

“Well I appreciate it,” Y/n said, sweeping her eyes over the older woman to assess her. “And despite the bickering in the beginning, I feel like this session was a successful one for us.”

Emily scoffed, “And how’d you get that?”

“Well I got you out of the door for the night, didn’t I? Keep this up and you might even get to move to bi-weekly meetings or maybe even monthly!” y/n smirked triumphantly.

“Yeah yeah yeah, you got lucky.” Emily rebuffed with a roll of her eyes. She fought the frown that started to take form at the mention of less sessions. Had she really changed enough that Y/n thought she didn’t need the weekly session?

“Well maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket then,” Y/n teased Emily, frowning all the same. She leaned closer, placing her hand on the outside of Emily’s arm. She squeezed at her bicep softly and let her hand trail her arm before stepping toward her car. “Alright, I’ll leave you be. Thank you again and Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Emily watched as the younger woman disappeared behind the wheel of her car and then turned to climb into her own vehicle. Her arm was tingling beneath her coat and her eyes were trained on the car across the lot. And as the car left she still sat. And suddenly the urge to be bad at wellness seemed oddly appealing.