#and that line is making me really emotional for some damn reason

[mxliv-oftheendless]

I would just like to point out that it’s canon that in hobbit culture they make light of more serious things—and I would also like to point out that Bilbo’s invitation to Frodo to come live with him is: “You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad, and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together.”

And in context it’s just. What if it was Bilbo recognizing Frodo felt lonely and stifled living at Brandy Hall ever since his parents died, and that he was a young hobbit in his tweens with no one to really turn to or give him the kind of attention or stability he needed. What if it was Bilbo offering Frodo that stability and understanding and companionship. What if it was Bilbo telling Frodo he knew he couldn’t replace his parents but could still give him a good home where he could feel safe and secure. And what if it was Bilbo telling Frodo he could do all of that for him through the comment about celebrating their shared birthday together, because they’re hobbits, and hobbits make light of serious things.

[waywardsalt]

Hi! I hope you’re doing good in life! So it’s spooky season so I have an ask related to that. I don’t know if you play horror video games, watch horror movies/shows, or read horror books, but if you do, I have to ask: What is the most disturbing book, or video game or show/movie that you’ve played/watched/read? In my opinion, there is two types of horror: the ones that scare you, and the ones that traumatize you. If you can think of any book, movie, or game that really kind of fucked you up, I’m curious to know if you feel like answering. I hope you have a good day and a good life.

Hey, I’m doing good and I hope you are too!

the answer ended up being really long lol

Woof, this is honestly a pretty hard question, since I can't really name any horror (or otherwise) media that actually left me kind of fucked up for a bit, at least not to the degree where it affected me for a while. I probably haven't been really fucked up by anything since I was a kid, so I'll try and recall what a few things fucked me up back then...

Off the top of my head I know that two different spongebob episodes got me bad, the first being one with that tunnel of love thing (tho tbh i havent seen it in a while so it might still spook me today) and the one where i'm pretty sure for whatever reason squidward gets locked in some small locker and has some kind of fucked up dream, whatever that was. I remember there was an eagle in that one. the eagle terrified me. (i looked them up, and the first episode is titled 'tunnel of glove' and the second is 'squidward in clarinetland'. with how badly that second one got to me, i'm surprised i ended up learning to play the clarinet at all)

other than that, i think the courage the cowardly dog episode 'the house of discontent' got me pretty bad, too, but i think everyone who saw any amount of that series as a kid has at least one episode that got them fucked up.

there's probably a handful of scooby-doo stuff that got to me when i was a kid, but i could not name any specifics (asides from charlie the robot's original episode, christ) because i think i managed to see just about every bit of available scooby media around that time.

nowadays stuff still does kinda fuck me up, but it's usually only for brief bits of time. the most recent example I can think of is cowboy bebop's 20's episode, pierrot le fou, which is honestly some great horror, especially how it uses the show's typical format and flips it on it's head, but i wouldn't necessarily say it got to me because of it being scary, more because of the way the ending disturbed me for a bit. it was the only episode that had me stop afterwards and really look into it for anything other than clarifying a character's gender, lol.

the endings of both neon genesis evangelion and end of evangelion had me shaken, the latter more so than the former, but not really due to horror aspects, though. i did have to take a walk after finishing end of evangelion. i don't really watch horror movies, i just... read the wikipedia plot descriptions of them.

honestly, i think some of the more popular youtube analogue horror series have gotten to me worse (likely due to the fact that they can get a bit more fucked up than, say, a tv show or movie), specifically the walten files (which i did watch) and the mandela catalogue (which i just watched wendigoon's vids on), and those two and mostly because facial distortion is generally just an incredibly effective form of horror imo. a lot of the time (esp with the childhood examples) the way i was 'fucked up' was that id be in be visualizing the stuff that scared me, and both the mandela catalogue and the walten files had me doing that for a bit.

now that i remember it, i was really scared of fnaf when it first came out. i first learned of it second-hand from seeing some other kids looking into it, and the bits and pieces i put together about it really scared me.

honestly, it's usually straight-up disturbing sequences or imagery that gets to me the most, and i know my limits well enough to generally identify and avoid that stuff, which is probably why i don't have too many recent examples. i've got one or two examples of non-horror movies that fucked me up as a kid, but that's mostly because they were wildly inappropriate for someone of my age (at the time) to be witnessing, so that's a different sort of topic.

i mean, i think i generally have a decent tolerance for fucked up stuff in media, anyways, i mean, i enjoy berserk and haven't really been too upset or disturbed by what happens in it (look theres some nasty shit in there im not saying its not that bad) so there's definitionally some kind of line that media needs to cross to really get to me nowadays, or it just needs to be a specific kind of fucked up. books generally don't do that for me so i don't have any book examples. no games, either, though shadow mario and the haunted house segments in super mario 3d world scared me so much that i had to make my mom do the levels for me, and i'm pretty sure scooby doo: first frights scared me a bit when i first played it on ds.

other than that, though, I just think that, in pokemon x, the story that an npc tells you during your first trip to route 14 and then the strange office building encounter with the animation-less hex maniac creeped me out pretty bad.

yeah, it's kind of hard for me to think of anything (recent) that actually really fucked me up or anything. most stuff just scared me, never really fucked me up or figuratively traumatized me in recent years.

[barnesonly]

Obsession

possessive!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You don’t even really like Bucky Barnes — he’s grumpy, kinda mean, and totally clueless about how you feel. But damn, he’s so hot it’s driving you crazy. Every time he walks in, all you can think about is what it’d be like if he just took you right there. You try to play it cool… but yeah, that’s not happening.

word count: 6021

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, masturbation, dirty talk, degrading, praising, desperation, fingering, teasing, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex and he talks through it, breeding, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), possessive behavior.

A/N: i’m horny, okay?…

You don’t have a crush on Bucky Barnes.

That would imply affection. Admiration. Maybe even a little emotional investment.

You don’t have any of that.

What you do have is a deeply inconvenient, soul-destroying case of lust. A constant, throbbing ache between your legs every time he walks past. A full-body reaction to the way he stretches, or leans on the counter, or wears those fucking grey sweatpants like a goddamn weapon.

It’s chemical. It’s hormonal. It’s not personal.

Because Bucky Barnes is grumpy. Bucky Barnes is quiet. And Bucky Barnes has absolutely no idea that he’s the reason you can’t go three days without needing to fuck yourself stupid.

Like right now.

He’s just standing there in the kitchen, back to you, broad shoulders stretching that worn black Henley like it’s a second skin. His hair’s short now, freshly trimmed at the nape, the kind of cut that shows off the sharp line of his jaw, the back of his neck.

You’re staring. Again.

You don’t mean to. But he makes a little grunt when he stretches — just a tired noise, nothing sexual — and you nearly whimper like a kicked dog. Instinct. Pavlovian response.

And he doesn’t notice. Not even a flicker of awareness as he pours his coffee and walks out, oblivious, muttering something about the mission report.

You just stand there, holding a spoon, clenched thighs and flushed cheeks like you’ve just been fucked by the idea of him.

It’s getting worse.

Like, medically worse.

You’ve gone from horny to feral to clinically unwell, and it’s all because of one man.

One grumpy, emotionally constipated, vein-poppingly hot man who can’t say a sentence without sounding mildly irritated. Who barely even looks at you unless you’re in the way. Who definitely doesn’t like you — and yet somehow owns your nervous system like a fucking landlord.

And it’s not fair.

Because he’s not even nice to you.

He’s short with you in meetings. Scoffs when you crack jokes. Gives you that look when you say something mildly reckless on a mission — like you’re exhausting. Like you’re annoying.

But then he’ll do something that ruins you completely. Like grunt your name low and gravelly when tossing you your gear. Or casually push you out of the line of fire with one big, rough hand and say, “Watch it, sweetheart,” like you’re some dainty little thing.

You pace your room that night, ranting to no one.

“I don’t even like him,” you mutter, folding laundry with violent purpose. “He’s so rude. He never smiles. Doesn’t talk to anyone unless he has to.”

Your shirt gets yanked onto a hanger too hard. You nearly snap it.

“And he doesn’t even like me. Not even a little. I’m just some girl who laughs too loud and gets in his way and—oh my god, I would let him ruin me.”

That’s probably the most honest thing you said all week. You’d let him manhandle you. Throw you over his shoulder. Rail you into the mattress like a war crime. That arm? The metal one? You’ve thought about it. God, you’ve thought about it so much it’s starting to feel like a sin.

You can’t help it.

You collapse onto your bed, still in your T-shirt and underwear, legs kicking uselessly against the sheets. Your body is hot — too hot. Your skin prickles, stomach twisting tight with the sheer need of it.

You shouldn’t do it.

But fuck it — you do.

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties like second nature, no hesitation. You’re already soaked — of course you are. One fucking grunt from Bucky in the kitchen and you’ve been like this all day, wound tight and throbbing.

Your fingers slide through the slick heat of your folds, and your hips twitch. You let out a soft, breathless whimper, biting your lip like it’ll help.

It doesn’t.

He’s all you can think about.

Bucky, with that low rasp of a voice. Bucky, sweat-slicked and panting, muscles straining above you. Bucky, staring down at you like you’re a mess he likes making.

You rub lazy circles around your clit, teasing yourself, letting it build slow. Letting the images crawl behind your eyes:

His hands gripping your thighs, spreading them open.

That cold metal arm wrapped around your throat, holding you in place while he pounds into you, relentless and filthy.

His voice in your ear, rough and possessive —“You been thinkin’ about this, sweetheart? Been touching yourself like a needy little thing?”

Your fingers move faster.

You arch into the mattress, breath stuttering, hips chasing the pressure. Your other hand slides up under your shirt, finds your breast and squeezes hard, tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck,” you whisper, squirming, already so close it’s pathetic.

You imagine his hand — that hand — between your legs. Imagine him shoving your panties to the side with those cool, precise fingers and just… watching you squirm. Watching you come undone with that unreadable expression of his, like he’s filing it away for later.

You imagine him making you come like this. Telling you you’re not allowed to stop. That you’re gonna do it again, and again, until you’re crying.

Your thighs start to shake.

You gasp, pressing harder, grinding down. Your toes curl, muscles tensing, pleasure tearing through you like lightning — sharp, wet, overwhelming.

You come hard, moaning into your pillow, breathless and ruined, hand still trembling between your thighs.

And then?

You lie there. Sticky. Hot. Unsatisfied.

Because no matter how many times you make yourself come, it’s never enough.

Not when it’s him you want.

Not when it’s Bucky fucking Barnes.

———

You’re minding your business. Truly. Peacefully. Drinking your stupid little smoothie, scrolling through intel reports on your tablet, trying so hard not to think about last night and the shame spiral that followed.

You’re in the common room, feet tucked under you, hair up, living a clean and quiet life.

The front door hisses open. Voices filter in—Sam laughing, Nat muttering something dry, Steve’s boots heavy on the floor.

And him.

Bucky.

You don’t look up at first. You don’t need to. You can feel him. Like some sixth sense activated just by his presence, like the air itself is different when he walks into it.

But then you do look up and you regret it immediately.

He’s just back from the field. Tactical gear still clinging to him, black shirt soaked through with sweat in that way that makes it stick to every hard line of muscle underneath. The sleeves are tight around his biceps—dangerously tight—making it look like the fabric’s seconds from giving out under the strain of his arms.

His hair’s damp, just messy enough to be criminal, a few strands sticking to his forehead. Dog tags resting against his chest. Black cargo pants slung low on his hips, clinging to his thighs like they were custom-made by someone with your exact problem.

He’s flushed from exertion, a little dirty, jaw tight like he’s still coming down from combat.

And he doesn’t notice you. He just walks past, arm flexing as he drags his glove off with his teeth.

You actually—physically—have to grip the edge of the couch.

You squeeze your thighs together so tight your eyes almost roll back. Your smoothie is sweating in your hand, condensation dripping onto your leg, and it’s the least of your problems right now.

Because that man?

That man could rail you into next week with the anger he carries in his shoulders alone. You’d let him wreck you in the debriefing room, up against the wall, still wearing that gear and not saying a word.

You’d tear those tactical pants off with your teeth.

And he just keeps walking. Oblivious. Like he’s not singlehandedly dragging you through the gates of horny hell.

“God,” you mutter under your breath, heart hammering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He pauses for half a second like he might’ve heard you. Glances over his shoulder—just once.

And then he’s gone, down the hall.

You stare at the door for a long time, smoothie forgotten, thighs still clenched like your life depends on it.

You need help. You need prayer. Exorcism. A cold shower.

Or maybe you just need him to ruin your entire existence.

You barely make it back to your room.

Your legs are shaking. Your mind’s a blur. All you can see is him—sweaty, panting, muscles strained beneath that black t-shirt. His arm flexing, the curve of his jaw, those goddamn tactical pants hugging every inch of thigh like a threat.

You lock the door behind you with trembling fingers.

You don’t even bother taking your clothes off properly—just shove your hand down your shorts as you collapse back onto your bed, legs spread, head spinning.

He looked so good.

Your fingers slide through your folds, already wet, your body acting like it’s been starving for him. Like it’s been waiting all day, all year, for a glimpse of that man so it can break down on command.

You rub your clit in tight, needy circles, moaning quietly.

Your eyes flutter shut.

You picture him over you, sweaty and still in gear, that black shirt pushed up just enough to show the cut of his stomach. You imagine his voice, low and rough, right next to your ear—“Couldn’t even wait, huh? Needed me that bad?”

Your hips buck, thighs shaking, pleasure building fast and desperate.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you gasp, breath catching.

You don’t hear the quiet footfalls in the hall.

Don’t hear the door next to yours click shut.

Don’t know he’s just gotten back to his room.

But he hears you.

Bucky stops with one boot halfway unlaced.

He frowns—still half in mission mode—until he hears it again: a faint whimper through the wall. A soft gasp. Then—his name. Muffled. Almost whispered.

His blood goes still.

He steps closer to the wall, heart suddenly pounding, every nerve pulled tight.

Another moan. Higher this time. Desperate.

He can hear the rhythm now—quiet, wet sounds, a bed creaking slightly with every movement. You’re touching yourself. Saying his name. Whimpering like it’s been torturing you.

His mouth goes dry. Something low in his stomach twists.

He shouldn’t listen.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

You don’t know he’s there—don’t know you’ve already ruined him. That he’s standing on the other side of the wall, jaw clenched, cock straining against his pants, while you moan into your pillow and come with his name on your lips.

———

The next day, you tell yourself you’re fine.

You look fine. You act fine. You sit in the common area with your laptop open and a mug in your hands like a picture of peace. The night before? Never happened. The hand between your thighs? The breathy moans into your pillow? The orgasm that left you limp and half-ashamed?

A delusion. A private, pathetic delusion.

Until he walks in.

And your entire body remembers.

Bucky enters like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. Joggers low on his hips, black T-shirt riding up in the back, hair damp from a shower and curling just slightly around his ears.

You look up instinctively.

And he looks right at you.

Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. He holds your gaze for half a second—half a second too long—then nods, casual as ever, and heads to the kitchen.

No hello. No smirk. Nothing to suggest he heard the way you moaned his name with your fingers stuffed between your thighs like you were starving for him.

He doesn’t say a word.

You try to refocus, try to look at your screen and breathe, but your eyes keep flicking back.

He’s moving around the kitchen now, calm, quiet, efficient. Forearms flexing with every movement. The joggers cling when he crouches to grab something from a low cabinet, and your mouth actually goes dry.

Your thighs squeeze together.

He knows.

He has to know.

But he’s pretending like he doesn’t, and it’s driving you fucking insane.

You don’t even want to like him. He’s grumpy and rude and dismissive. He doesn’t flirt. He barely talks. He exists like a thundercloud with muscles and you still want to cry from how badly you want him.

And now he knows.

Now you’ve moaned his name with a hand between your legs, and he’s seen you since and said nothing.

You want to crawl into the floor.

You want to jump him.

You want him to ruin you until you can’t even say your own name.

He walks past you again with a cup of coffee, eyes flicking toward you—slow, heavy, unreadable.

And this time?

You swear there’s a hint of a smirk.

He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, that black mug dwarfing in his gloved hand. The steam curls around his face, catching the light, and he’s just staring at nothing—completely unreadable.

Until he speaks. “Sleep okay last night?”

You freeze. Your heart flatlines. Then kicks into overdrive.

You glance up too fast, trying to act casual, but your grip on the mug betrays you—tight, white-knuckled.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs. Sips again. His face is all calm, cold stillness. Like he’s discussing the weather. Not like he heard you moaning his name behind the paper-thin wall like your soul was leaving your body.

“Nothing,” he says, low and even.

You swallow hard. Try to hide the heat crawling up your neck.

You stare at him. Waiting for something. A look. A smirk. A single flicker of anything.

But he gives you nothing.

Just turns back toward the hallway, casual as ever, coffee in hand, like he didn’t just dangle a loaded gun over your head and walk away.

And as he disappears down the hall, your thighs press together again.

You’re so fucked.

———

You try to sleep.

You really, really do.

You toss. You turn. You fluff your pillow. You kick the blankets off and pull them back up. You stare at the ceiling and beg your brain to stop replaying the way he looked in that shirt. The way his voice dropped when he asked about your night. The nothing he gave you like a damn grenade and walked away.

It doesn’t stop.

It won’t stop.

You squeeze your thighs together for the fifth time in twenty minutes, but it only makes it worse. Your whole body’s aching—burning. Tight with the need that’s been building for the entire day.

You glance at the door. You know you should get up and lock it.

But you don’t. Because you’re tired. And turned on. And pathetic.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, dragging your hand under the sheets. “I’ll be quiet.”

You bite your lip as your fingers slide down, already warm, already soaked. You work slow at first, trying to stay silent—just enough to relieve the pressure. Just enough to breathe again.

But then your mind starts drifting.

To him.

Always him.

Bucky in the gym, sweat-slick and scowling. Bucky walking past you post-mission like a walking sin. Bucky pressing you into your mattress with that big metal hand wrapped around your throat, voice rough in your ear—“You’re so fucking loud for me, baby.”

You gasp. Then whimper. Soft. Barely audible.

But he hears it.

He’s in his room again. Reading. Trying to pretend like he didn’t spend all day imagining the look on your face when he asked about your sleep. Trying not to picture your hand between your thighs again.

And then he hears you.

Again.

A muffled moan, breathless and aching, like it’s being pulled out of you against your will.

He stands without thinking.

Crosses the hall with quiet, deliberate steps. His pulse is steady, but something low is stirring—something primal. Something possessive. The kind of heat that doesn’t burn—it consumes.

He stops outside your door.

Closed. Not locked.

He doesn’t even knock.

The handle turns with the softest click, and then—

He steps inside. The door shuts behind him with a quiet snick.

You don’t hear it.

You’re on your back, one knee bent, your hand buried under the hem of your shorts. Your head is tipped back against the pillow, mouth open in these soft, gasping little whimpers as you chase the edge, hips twitching, breath fogging in the dim light.

You have no idea he’s there.

Not until you hear him speak.

“Didn’t I just ask if you slept okay?” The voice—his voice—cracks through the quiet like a whip.

You bolt upright.

Everything inside you lurches, heart ramming against your ribs, a violent rush of heat and panic rising through your chest like you’ve been caught in a fire. Your hand yanks back from your shorts like it’s been scorched, and you scramble to pull the blanket up, dragging it over your thighs as your breath shatters.

Your eyes fly to the source of the voice.

And there he is. Leaning against the door like he’s got all the time in the world. Arms crossed. One brow slightly raised.

His expression is unreadable—casual, maybe—but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something dark. Something hungry. Like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you in one glance.

You can’t move. Can’t think.

Your heart’s thudding like a drumline, and your cheeks go hot, burning as your stomach flips over itself in full-blown horror.

You can still feel your arousal—sticky, heat pressed between your thighs, your pulse fluttering in places he’s not even touched.

“Bucky—” you croak, throat tight. “I—what are you doing—how—”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he says flatly.

Matter-of-fact. Like that explains everything.

And it kind of does.

You just sit there, still clutching the blanket to your chest like it can undo what he saw. As if it can erase the sound of you moaning into your pillow while your fingers worked yourself over to the thought of him.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t leer.

He just watches.

Like he’s curious. Patient. Like he’s giving you a chance to dig your own grave or shut up and let him lower you into it.

You look at him and it hits you how big he is. Broad and solid, filling the doorway like a wall. The black t-shirt is stretched across his shoulders, tucked into his pants just enough to show the lines of his waist, and that goddamn metal hand is flexing at his side like it’s already made its decision.

And still… he doesn’t leave.

Your voice breaks trying to fill the silence. “I didn’t mean— I thought I was quiet— I didn’t know—”

“I heard everything.”

That shuts you up.

His voice is calm. But it’s not soft. Not gentle. It sinks into your gut like a stone, and your thighs squeeze together before you can stop yourself—before your body betrays you again.

You look away. You can’t look at him. Not when you’re like this—hair messy, skin flushed, caught in the act like a filthy little secret with your want written all over your sheets.

He moves. Not quickly. Not harshly. Just decisively. Like this is inevitable. Like he knew the moment he opened that door that he wasn’t going to leave until you were ruined.

He crosses the room in two slow steps. Sits on the edge of your bed, right next to you. His thigh brushes yours, warm and solid, and your breath hitches—your entire body tensing as his presence crowds the air.

Then his hand—the metal one—reaches out.

He takes your wrist. Your fingers are still damp. Still twitching from where they were buried between your thighs. He stares at them for a second, then meets your eyes.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink. “What—”

“I said touch yourself,” he repeats, a little lower this time. “Show me.”

Your heart slams. His grip stays locked around your wrist, not forcing—but not letting go either. He doesn’t need to threaten. Doesn’t need to beg.

He’s already heard you fall apart for him.

Now he wants the show.

And fuck—your body obeys before your brain can stop it.

You shift beneath the covers, breath shaking, eyes wide as your hand slides back down, slipping under the waistband of your shorts.

Your skin’s hot. Everything throbs and you’re soaked.

Shame prickles in your chest, but it’s drowned by the way he watches—focused and still, his hand still gripping yours like he owns it.

You let your fingers find that spot again, slick and swollen, and you shudder.

“Fuck,” you whisper, breath catching.

His voice cuts through it. Soft. Direct. “You’ve been touching yourself thinking about me?”

You nod, cheeks burning.

“And now you can’t stop, can you?” he murmurs. “Poor thing. You want me this much, baby?”

You let out a tiny, broken sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—and press harder.

His metal thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist, slow and thoughtful, like he’s testing your pulse. You’re so wet your fingers glide without resistance, your hips moving on their own.

“Messy little thing,” he mutters. “God, you’re desperate. Didn’t even lock the door.”

His flesh hand moves too now—reaching up to push your hair from your face, tilting your chin toward him.

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you—back arching, thighs tensing, rhythm faltering as your orgasm creeps up again, fast, tighter than before.

He sees it. Feels it. And he knows.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers. “Right here, baby? With my hand around yours and your pussy soaking your sheets?”

You sob his name and he finally leans in—breath warm against your cheek.

“Good girl.”

Your fingers slip again—rhythm stuttering, body caught in that maddening edge.

He watches you falter. Watches your mouth fall open, brows pull together, your thighs start to shake with the pressure of holding yourself there. So close. Too close.

And that’s when he moves. His grip on your wrist tightens just enough to make you freeze.

“Let go,” he says.

You whimper. “But—”

“I said let go.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

You obey. Your hand slips from your shorts, fingers slick and trembling, and your chest rises in short, desperate breaths as he shifts closer.

“Bucky—” you gasp.

But he’s already there. His fingers slide between your folds—just one, at first, cool and unreal, brushing over your clit in a slow, torturous circle. Your hips jerk like you’ve been shocked.

“God,” you moan, clinging to the sheets, “fuck—”

“So sensitive,” he murmurs.

His eyes are locked on your face, hungry, focused—like he’s memorizing the way your mouth falls open for him, the way your lashes flutter when he presses a little harder.

You can’t stop the sounds you make.

You’re already too close—too much—your body wired tight from teasing yourself for nights and thinking of him, only him.

One metal finger dips lower—in now, slick and slow—and your breath punches from your chest.

Your hips grind into it, chasing it like you’re starving.

He fucks you with it slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Watching you unravel inch by inch.

“You’ve been dreaming about this?” he says, voice like gravel. “Getting off to the thought of my hands on you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers clenching around the sheets.

Another finger slides in.

Your body wails for it—so full, so good, the metal stretching you just right—and your thighs tremble, back arching as your orgasm builds so fast it almost hurts.

“Then come for me,” he growls. “Right now. I want to feel how tight you get when you finish.”

You choke on a cry.

And then you fall apart.

Hard.

Your walls clamp down around his fingers, body convulsing as the wave hits you—sharp and electric—shaking through your entire frame with a loud, wrecked moan that echoes in your room.

His hand doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it—slower now, drawing it out, holding your body steady with his free hand while you tremble and sob and drip around him.

You don’t know how long it lasts. You just know you’ve never come like that before.

Not in your life.

Not until him.

You’re still gasping, thighs twitching, brain static from how hard you just came—but he’s not done with you. Not even close.

His fingers slip from you slow, drenched, and he brings them up to his mouth, sucking them clean without taking his eyes off you.

Then?

He smirks.

That low, dangerous smirk you’ve only ever imagined. Dreamed about. Touched yourself to. And now it’s real.

“You’ve been thinking about me so much,” he says, voice thick with heat, “I bet you want to feel my cock, huh?”

You don’t even answer. Can’t. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out but a broken moan.

He laughs. Dark. Rough. “You fucking slut.”

He stands. Hands go to the waistband of his pants.

Your breath catches, watching.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to.

The black tactical pants slide down slow over those solid thighs, revealing the outline of what’s beneath—thick, heavy, hard. You feel your whole body clench at the sight.

He steps out of them, shirt already discarded somewhere between your moans, and he’s standing there now in nothing but black briefs—soaked at the tip.

And holy fuck, he’s big.

Your lips part, staring. You want to drool.

He notices.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Look at what you’ve been aching for every night.”

He pulls the briefs down—slow, shameless.

His cock springs free, thick and hard and flushed at the tip, veins running along the length like something out of a wet dream. You whimper, thighs pressing together reflexively.

“You wanted this inside you so bad you couldn’t keep quiet,” he says, climbing onto the bed again, crawling over you until his weight cages you in. “Moaning my name with the fucking door unlocked.”

Your body arches up to meet him.

“Please,” you whisper.

He fists his cock once, dragging his head through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance.

You’re still sensitive. Still pulsing.

“Is this what you want?” he growls, notching the tip right against you. “Want me to stretch you open and fuck the brains outta that filthy little head of yours?”

You nod, desperate.

His cock sits heavy in his hand, the flushed tip glistening as he slides it through your slick folds again. Over and over—up and down—until you’re squirming beneath him, hips chasing every motion like you can’t stand another second of not being filled.

But he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

He drags the thick head over your entrance, slow and deliberate, just barely nudging inside before pulling back again.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you whimper, body arching.

“You’re soaked again,” he growls, almost to himself. “You got this wet just thinking about my cock?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. Not for him. He taps your clit once—sharp and teasing—and your whole body jerks.

“Say it.”

Your breath catches. “I—I thought about it every night,” you gasp. “I wanted it so bad. I still want it. Please, Bucky—”

He groans, low and ragged. The tip of his cock presses at your entrance again. Just a little. Just enough to make you feel the burn of it—how thick he is, how your body tries to pull him in even as he holds himself back.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, circling your hole with maddening precision. “How much your pussy needs me?”

You moan, desperate. Hands clawing at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can hold onto.

He grins. “Needy little thing.”

Then he pushes. Just the tip—slow and thick, stretching you inch by inch.

Your mouth falls open. Breathless. Wide-eyed.

“Oh my—fuck,” you cry.

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Patience,” he mutters, teasing your entrance again. “Wanna feel you beg for it.”

“I’m begging,” you gasp. “Please, Bucky—please, I need it, I need you to fuck me—”

His mouth crashes over yours, swallowing your cry as he thrusts in deep—all the way—filling you to the hilt in one thick, devastating stroke.

Your back arches. Your vision whites out.

“So fucking tight,” he growls against your mouth, rolling his hips, grinding in deeper. “Fuck—you were made for this, weren’t you?”

He stays there for a moment—buried inside you—his cock stretching you open so wide it burns in the best way, hips pressed flush to yours. You can barely breathe, your body trembling with the shock of just how full you feel.

Then he moves. A slow pull out—just a few inches—before slamming right back in.

You scream. Not from pain. From everything. The pressure, the friction, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body pinning you down like he owns you.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re fucking dripping around me.”

Your nails dig into his back.

He starts thrusting—hard and fast, hips snapping against yours with brutal rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over every sensitive spot inside you like he knows exactly where to hit.

And all the while, he talks.

“Been thinking about this tight little cunt every night since I got here. Didn’t know it was mine to take.”

You moan—choked and desperate.

“You wanted it so bad, didn’t you? Wanted me to catch you with your legs spread and fuck you like the filthy little cock-drunk slut you are.”

“Y-Yes—please—” you’re a mess beneath him, eyes wet, mouth open.

He grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Don’t you dare look away while I fuck your pussy.”

You blink up at him, dazed. And fuck—he looks insane. Hair a mess, sweat dripping down his temples, that metal hand gripping your thigh so hard you might bruise.

And still—he doesn’t stop. He fucks you like it’s punishment. Relentless. Ruthless.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, your body jerking with the force of it. The bed creaks beneath you, headboard slamming against the wall, your moans echoing like you’re meant to be heard.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You gonna soak my cock just like you soaked your fingers last night?”

“Bucky—Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing fast circles over your clit as he keeps fucking you open with brutal thrusts.

“You’re gonna come with me inside you, sweetheart. You’re gonna come on my cock like a good little toy.”

And it snaps.

You cry out—loud and broken—as your orgasm slams into you hard enough to steal your breath, your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, grinding deep into you as you come, riding you through it. “That’s it. So fucking tight—so good for me—”

He’s close now too. You can feel it—his thrusts stuttering, muscles tensing.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “You want that, baby? Want me to come inside this perfect little pussy?”

You’re still shaking, but you nod. Whimpering. Needy.

“Please—inside—want it so bad—”

He buries himself deep and groans loud—raw and wrecked—as he spills inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as you feel every hot pulse of it.

You’re ruined.

His weight sinks down on top of you, breath ragged in your ear, and for a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting.

The room’s heavy with heat and sweat, skin sticking where it meets, your body still twitching with the aftershocks of how hard he fucked you.

Then he lifts his head. Eyes drag down your flushed face. Your parted lips. Your chest rising and falling fast. Still dazed. Still ruined.

He shifts back onto his knees between your thighs, hands gripping your hips, keeping you spread open wide beneath him.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Then he pulls out—slow and thick, his cock dragging against your fluttering walls before slipping free with a wet sound that makes you whimper.

And fuck.

You feel it immediately. The warm spill of him leaking out of you—thick and hot and so much—trickling down your folds and onto the sheets in sticky, glistening streams.

Bucky groans under his breath, his eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You took it all. So fucking good for me.”

You try to close your legs on instinct, flushed and wrecked and so overstimulated—but he stops you with a firm grip, holding you open with his metal hand.

“Uh-uh. Keep ’em open. I wanna see it.”

His thumb slides down, spreads you further, letting him watch as more of his cum drips from your aching hole.

“Look at that mess,” he murmurs, gaze heavy-lidded, voice thick with pride and hunger. “You’re leaking all over the place, baby.”

You shiver under him.

He swipes his thumb through the slick, then presses it back in—just a little—pushing some of it inside again while your body jerks from the sensitivity.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You were made to be filled like this.”

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot and uneven.

“You’re gonna clean me up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick with command. “Gonna taste every drop.”

Your pulse spikes. You barely have the strength to move, still reeling from the wreck he’s made of you—but you obey, because you need it, because he told you to.

He shifts forward, settling between your thighs again. His metal hand spreads you open, keeping you wide for him, raw and messy. His other hand trails down, steadying his cock where it rests—still hard, still slick with both of you.

He throbs against your skin, flushed and glistening.

You lean forward without hesitation, tongue flicking out to catch the first salty bead that clings to the head. He lets out a quiet groan above you.

His eyes burn as you take your time, licking slowly around the tip—teasing, deliberate—before your lips part wider and you sink down, wrapping him in heat.

Your cheeks hollow as you draw him in deeper, your mouth soft and eager.

“Fuck,” Bucky grits, his hand sliding into your hair, curling tight. “You’re good at this.”

You moan around him, letting the praise sink in as you begin to move—slow, controlled bobs of your head. Your tongue swirls, tasting the mix of him and yourself, and it only makes you hungrier.

You’re not just cleaning him up. You’re savoring him and he knows it.

He pulls you up by your hair, not rough—controlled. Intentional. His mouth crashes onto yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and claiming, like he’s branding you from the inside out. His metal hand clamps around your waist, anchoring you, holding you still as he devours you like he owns you.

And fuck, maybe he does.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his breath ghosts over your lips, low and ragged.

“That’s enough,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and satisfied. “You did so well. That’s my good girl.”

Your stomach twists, body still trembling, as you melt into him — breathless and soaked, the taste of him still slick on your tongue.

He doesn’t move for a while, just lets his weight settle into you, chest rising and falling against yours, heart still pounding beneath sweat-damp skin. His breath is warm where it fans over your cheek, his metal hand still possessively wrapped around your waist.

Then, gently, he shifts. His fingers slide up, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. He kisses your forehead—soft, slow—like he’s claiming you all over again, but quieter this time.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, the words husky but reverent now. “You were perfect.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the sound, overwhelmed, wrecked in the best way. His flesh hand strokes your cheek, soothing the heat from it, while the metal one trails lazy circles over your spine.

“Did so good for me,” he whispers again, like a secret meant only for your bones.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nuzzle closer, tucking yourself into his chest.

Fuck, he did ruin you.

⋆⁺₊✧ MASTERLIST

tags: @iamthatonefangirl

[prlssprfctn]

I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to you overworking yourself (hyung line) !

pairings: hyung line x reader (find maknae ver. here)

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 1.6k

cw: light cursing, overworking, fatigue, fainting

a/n: i had to cut this in half since it was getting too long and i wanted to make sure i posted today! i have NO idea why i made seungcheol's so long lmao. hope you enjoy kings ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ also, i will be closing my requests so i can catch up on them over the weekend, i'll try to get them done by monday! thank you for all the support, it means so much to me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

seungcheol - seungcheol is livid. you're still at your second part-time job when seungcheol calls you, "send me your location, y/n." you didn't tell seungcheol you had taken on a second job. you've never been comfortable with money, always having to work multiple jobs to stay afloat. that was until you met seungcheol, and since then he's always taken care of your expenses, even offering to pay for part of your tuition, and you decided it was enough. you didn't want for your (millionaire) boyfriend to think you were using him, so you told him you took on some evening classes.

today, you're covering someone else's shift. originally, you weren't going to, but after their promise of sending you a little extra money for it, you accepted.

"cheol, i told you i'm-"

"at class still? don't bullshit me, y/n. you didn't take on any new classes, you left your paper schedule on the counter."

your stomach drops. ah hell, you must be stupid. "y/n, what are you really doing?" he asks, almost pleading. there's absolutely no fighting it at that point, "i'm... at work. shift just ended, i'll send you my location." in defeat, you sit on a barstool at the restaurant and wait for seungcheol.

when he walks in, his eyes are immediately on you, walking over and grabbing your hand. "let's go," is all he says. the car ride is silent with tension; he only asks about it once you two are both home. "why? y/n there's no reason for you to be working another job. i'm right here; if you needed financial help, i could've helped you." he says gently, trying to maintain his frustration, but his brows are furrowed, exposing his true emotions.

"that's just the thing seungcheol, you're always here to help me. i don't want to use you because i can't support myself." you reason, but seungcheol obviously isn't buying it. "y/n, you're not using me, even if you did i wouldn't care. i don't want to watch you struggle when i know i can help." he takes your hand into his own. "don't do this to yourself, please. i love you too much to let this keep going." looks like you're quitting that job.

jeonghan - you and jeonghan are walking home from your date night. it's supposed to be romantic, you two walking hand in hand, but you're feeling the weight of the all nighters you've been pulling all week to finish your project, walking wobbily on the side walk.

"did you drink or something? you're walking a little funny babe." jeonghan teases before giving you a genuine look of concern. you try to laugh it off, "hah, maybe." but then your eyes start to droop ever so slowly. jeonghan notices, "have you been sleeping?" damn. did your concealer wear off or something? you're about to respond, but your legs give out and jeonghan catches you before everything goes dark.

you wake up on the couch, tucked in with a blanket with jeonghan caressing your forehead lovingly. "so i'm guessing the answer to my question is no," jeonghan murmurs, giggiling. "but seriously y/n- don't scare me like that," he adds. "i know i know, sorry-" you say, trying to sit up, but jeonghan interupts. "i don't think so, you need to rest baby," he gently pushes you back down before joining you on the couch. "we'll talk about this seriously later, let's just sleep for now." wrapping his arms around you, leaving you no choice but to comply.

joshua - joshua wants to trust you, knowing that you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, but he can't help but worry when he looks over at you. you've been sitting at your desk for hours now, trying to finish all your assignments before the end of the grading period.

he walks over, putting his hands on your shoulders and massaging them. "you've been working for a bit, love. how about a break?" he suggests. you turn around, giving him a small smile, "i really would shua, but i've got like 2 hours till this is due. just let me finish this and i'll take a break." he frowns, "you promise?" "i promise," he hums in response, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before retreating to whatever he was doing.

2 hours later, joshua is back at your desk, only to find you slumped over your papers. he sighs, shaking his head before taking a look at your laptop. "hm, looks like you made the deadline," he says softly, gently shaking you awake.

"you did it, love. i'm proud of you, but i don't want you doing this often- it makes me worried." he murmurs, "come on, you need to take your well deserved break in a more comfortable space," taking your hand and guiding you to your room.

jun - honestly he gets it, between his singing and acting career, he knows what it's like to always feel like you're on the clock. he still doesn't approve of this though.

you just got home from working over time, it's 11:35- you both should be asleep, but he's waiting for you on the couch. looking at you, his heart breaks, noticing the eyebags, the bad posture, the way you're barely holding onto your bag, all of it. he makes his way over to you.

"oh, y/n," you don't process what's happening, about 30 seconds from fall asleep as he holds you. taking your bag from your hand, he then ushers you toward the couch. he helps you take off your jacket and shoes.

"do you want something to eat? water?" he asks while laying you down. you shake your head, but he still hands you a waterbottle anyway. "i'm always scared when you're like this bǎo bèi," he comments softly. "please take care of yourself, but if you can't, i'll be here." he gives you a kiss before laying your head down, falling asleep almost immediately.

hoshi - hoshi is nothing short of assertive, literally showing up to your job. "soonyoung, what are you-" "do you know what time it is? i'm taking you home." he leaves no room for argument as he drags you out of your work place. you're going to need to explain this to your manager.

"i'm not letting you do this to yourself, y/n. it's late. why are you still trying to work at this hour?" he asks, frustrated. "soonyoung, you know why. i don't have a roommate anymore; i can't pay rent with one income." he sighs, "i know, but you just look so- i don't know- tired now. i can help y/n, just let me."

there's no talking your way out of this, you just let him drag you all the way back to your apartment while rambling about how bad working late could be for your health: what if someone kidnaps you on the way home? what if you faint while you're walking up the stairs because you're so tired? what if you're so sleepy you don't notice someone walking by and you run into them and fall into a storm drain?

wonwoo - he doesn't scold you, but he'll get all nerdy and tell you terrible facts about not taking care of yourself.

you're bent over your laptop, trying to finish a whole group project on your own since you got assigned terrible partners. he sits down besides you, whispering in your ear, "keep sitting like that, and you won't be able to walk properly at 40," you scoff, but adjust your posture anyway, you don't want to test this guy. smiling in victory, he kisses you before walking away, reminding you to take a break.

you don't listen to him though, getting carried away in your work. wonwoo comes back every so often to tell you that your brain will start eating itself because you haven't eaten, you'll get terrible wrinkles because you're dehydrated, all that stuff.

once you're finally done and in bed, he scolds you, of course. "i know you think i'm joking, but i'm not y/n. this isn't good for you, next time you do this, i'm forcing you to stop, okay?" he strokes your hair and gives you a kiss. "i love you a lot, so take good care of yourself, can't have you dying on me."

woozi - out of all the members, he's definitely the one who relates to you the most. he knows you'll drown out the sound of people telling you to take breaks, so he takes things into his own hands.

you're working at your desk when woozi turns your chair around and grabs your hand, dragging you to the couch. you try to argue, you really need to finish this so your group doesn't fall behind on the project, but he doesn't take no for an answer.

"shush y/n, just let me talk." he starts, "i know what it's like, i really do. you feel like everyone is depending on you, and maybe they are, but you don't have to do it all alone," when you try to dismiss him and get back to work, he's actually pinning you to the couch. in any other circumstance, you'd be turned the hell on... but he's serious about this. "listen, stop trying to shut me out y/n. i'm someone you can rely on, and i want you to. don't do this to yourself, i won't let you."

you nod in agreement. "good, now let's just stay here for a second," he lays on top of you, trapping you under him so there's nothing you can do but rest.

[wendichester]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ home is where you are,

summary. you make sam want to settle down.

pairing. sam winchester x reader genre. pure fluff

wordcount. 588

notes / warnings. forehead kisses, tender confessions, and a man realizing he doesn't want to fight monsters anymore

It happens on a Tuesday. The kind of Tuesday where rain patters against the windows and time feels syrupy, like the world’s moving just a little slower so you can catch your breath.

You’re in the kitchen, humming to some old song on the radio, barefoot in one of Sam’s flannel shirts—because, let’s be honest, you’ve slowly kidnapped half his wardrobe. You’re stirring something in a pot that smells like childhood and comfort and “please stay a little longer.”

And behind you, Sam just watches.

He’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, hair still damp from the shower, wearing sweatpants and one of those rare, easy smiles that aren’t shadowed by blood or loss or guilt. There’s something soft in his eyes—so soft it almost scares you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, without turning, but your grin gives you away.

He walks over slowly, wraps his arms around your waist from behind, and presses a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Just thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “It is. Thinking about something pretty reckless, actually.”

You pause, still holding the wooden spoon, feeling the weight of his body melt into yours. “Reckless how?”

His fingers trace lazy circles on your hips, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter—like a secret he’s scared to say too loud. “Thinking about... quitting.”

You blink. “Quitting what?”

“The life.” His breath fans warm against your skin. “Hunting. Running. Living out of motel rooms and praying we don’t die tomorrow.”

Your heart stutters. You turn slowly in his arms, and his face is wide open, no armor, no shields. Just Sam, and a kind of raw hope you’ve never seen on him before.

“You serious?” you whisper.

He nods. “I didn’t think I was. Not at first. But being here with you, waking up without a gun under my pillow, eating food that isn’t wrapped in greasy paper... It makes me wonder if maybe—maybe—I could want something more.”

You reach up and cup his face, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. “You could have that, Sam. You deserve that.”

His throat works, like the words get stuck on the way out. “I didn’t think I did. For a long time, I thought this was all I was ever going to be. Just one more body in the fight. But then you showed up and... you make it quiet.”

Your chest aches, full in a way that feels almost unbearable.

“You think I wouldn’t want that with you?” you say, eyes misty. “I’ve wanted that since the second you fixed my busted heater and then looked offended when I offered to pay you in lasagna.”

He chuckles, rubbing at his eyes like the emotion is too much. “That lasagna was really good.”

“Then let me keep making it.” You press your forehead to his. “Let me be the reason you stop running.”

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you, standing there in the hum of the kitchen—his arms around your waist, your hands on his chest, the smell of dinner and rain, and the future hanging in the air like a promise.

“You ever think about it?” he asks softly. “A house. With a porch. Maybe a garden. A dog.”

You smile. “Yeah. And you in it. Sitting with me on the porch after dinner, your hand in mine, not a damn demon in sight.”

He kisses you like that future’s already started.

Like maybe, finally, it has.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[xo2dee]

hey babes!! i looove your writing a lot and i was SO happy to see a fellow netflix dmc hater. i quite literally reread any one of your works every night before bed, it’s kind crack to me hehehe <3

is it cool if i request a dante x dense reader? one where he flirts with them but they just assume he’s just initiating some freaky friendly banter, and he’s lowk tweaking over how oblivious his crush his. feel free to be as creative or silly as you want with it, whatever you write will be awesome <3

PAIRING: Dante/Reader. WARNINGS: Dense!Reader. WORD COUNT: 1,887.

A/N: thank you for the request! aahsiodnfg the stray... but i had so much fun writing this and im glad you like my fics! i hope you enjoy this as well!

DMC MASTERLIST

If he was going to be completely honest with himself (and just himself… he was never going to tell you it), trying to get your attention to let you know that he saw you in a romantic sense and wanted to pursue a further relationship with you… was one of hardest things he’d ever done.

And it wasn’t even because he was coming up short in the flirting and the hinting, it was because you just didn’t get it.

Dante had never been one to actively pursue for a relationship, let alone chase after anyone to the point he was tripping on their heels each and every time an attempt failed. It wasn’t really in the job description or his nature to be looking for anyone to be with given there was a horrifying chance it would end badly and then he’d just be adding another person to the list of people he failed to keep safe, and that was not something he was looking to do. However, he’d been the one to treasure his humanity the most and latch to it as much as he could, and in consequence he’d become more emotional to the point he had to practically hide anything before it was shown on his expression – and for some reason that felt extremely pathetic but, damn, he just couldn’t help it when he saw you. He was Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter, had so many demons crushed underneath his boots, had lived on his own and survived for so long with nothing but a sword strapped to his back and two guns in his hands, and he was suffering from a crush…

A crush on you (well, it wasn’t a crush at the point he had to be honest), and you had the thickest skull of anyone he’d ever met.

(And Dante was sure Vergil was somewhere laughing at him and his shit luck.)

Dante wasn’t some blushing virgin either, and he knew his way around sweettalking regardless if he meant it or not, and yet even when he meant it with you… it just never seemed to stick to your brain just what he was getting at. From going out of his way to do things for you, complimenting you, and even letting you drink some of his tomato juice and put a strawberry sundae on his tab for you, it still seemed like you really didn’t get it. And it had gotten so bad he’d resorted to cheesy and terrible pick-up lines hoping you would understand then, something he hadn’t pulled out in a long while and something he was going to be sure would work that time around given how upfront they were.

The results… well, they spoke well enough for themselves.

The first time you had been posed on the sofa of Devil May Cry, deeply into some book you’d picked up from the library Trish had mentioned you would like, and he saw the opportunity presented before him. He waited until you stretched after reading too long, placing the book down onto your lap and sighing as your attention was elsewhere for the moment and it was his time to shine. Dante only cleared his throat from behind his desk (and no, he wasn’t preening to make sure his hair looked good either), making sure your eyes glanced towards him for better effect, then he let the words roll off his tongue as smooth as butter on toast.

“I don't have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out?”

A beat and you paused, looking at him for a long moment that nearly made him sweat before your eyes widened and he thought finally – finally you understood what he was getting at. And then, you jumped up way too enthusiastically for hearing some cheesy pick-up line and practically jogged in place before grabbing the book from the floor in a haste. “Oh my God, wait…” you started, then you were rushing towards the front door of the shop, “I just remembered one book is due today – thanks for the reminder, Dante!”

The door slammed on your way out, and Dante could only sit there in silence and wonder if there was some type of curse that had been cast on him on the past that made his words not make sense… Or if you really just were dense as they came. Regardless, he wasn’t going to give up so easily.

The second time he threw another one-liner at you was when you both were on a job together, and you’d been good at sniping and swiping kills from him (and he’d be lying to say that he didn’t ease up some so that you get a few in and he could sit back and watch you) to the point once it was done he couldn’t help but say something to you. He waited until some adrenaline wore off, taking pride in how messy you looked with blood smeared on your cheek while taking a rag to clean the excess muck off your gun, then he tried once more with a bolder approach.

“Stop, drop, and roll now, cause babe, you're on fire.”

Instantaneously you reacted, and Dante could only sigh in exhaustion at how you began to turn in place looking for the ‘fire’ that was on your ass. “Where?! Help me then!”

Dante could feel his eye twitch as you hopped in place, his words once again lost on you as he felt his chances with you significantly reduce. But he was not a quitter – never was, and never would be.

The third time around had been his last attempt at pick-up lines, and it was even worse because you were in public that time eating together (which was basically a date, but you were so scatterbrained it didn’t necessarily strike a chord in you… though him and you alone eating together – hello, that was a date). Dante had finished his food by that point and was content just to sit and wait for you, watching you pick around your salad before the thought came to him looking at a lone cucumber you had pushed to the side. Cheesy he knew, but it was another attempt he wasn’t going to pass up with you two alone and so close to each other, and he waited until you finished chewing and swallowed before he tried for the last time.

“If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

You stopped moving the same time his heart did, a beat of silence passing in-between you two as you looked up at him for a few moments. Dante could practically feel his palms sweat as you stared at him, thinking he was finally beginning to see the gears in your head work together and he braced himself for the inevitable rejection (or acceptance… he still had hope) the second you blinked at him and tilted your head inquisitively. However, what left your lips second later with a smile made Dante want to throw himself onto oncoming traffic.

“Oh, are you still hungry? You can have some if you want.”

If he could’ve shoved his head through the wall he would’ve, or even dented the table with how hard he slammed his forehead into it. How were you so intelligent when it came to everyday things but the moment it came to someone hitting on you, you just had zero clue to what was going on? And it had gotten so bad the damn point Trish and Lady were giggling at his failures, but at least Trish took some pity and tried to spell it out for you one night at Devil May Cry.

She grinned as she leaned her head onto your shoulder, curling her arms around your own as she snickered in your ear and knocked her foot into yours, “Y’know, I think Dante adores you.”

Thanks, Trish. Way to be real subtle.

However, that didn’t matter, because you didn’t understand what she meant. At all. Again.

You tilted your head to where he sat at his desk (and he remained nonchalant as possible reading a magazine upside down), and smiled at him so big he thought he finally had his chance. But alas, misfortune was his middle name apparently. “Thank you, Dante. I really appreciate it.”

What did you have against him? Please.

Dante was sure he was going insane, the longer he battled the emotions magnifying the more time he spent around you, and the more you seemed to just not understand what he was getting at. And it had gotten so bad he accidentally paid the pizza delivery guy with his mind all muddled with thoughts of you instead of the slamming the door in his face and putting it on his tab. That was when he knew he had to swallow some pride and just take you by the shoulders and tell you what he was feeling for you, male ego be damned. He loved you and needed to you know before he started stabbing himself to get your attention and some sappy romance scene played out.

So, that was what he did, waited until you two were alone in the shop and grabbed you by shoulders and just… confessed.

“Listen… I’m in love with you. I have feelings for you. That means, I want you romantically, so please get that through your thick skull.” Okay, Dante would admit the last part wasn’t that necessary, but his frustrations were literally making his hair turn whiter – if that was even possible.

And thankfully – thankfully, you understood that time, and he got the satisfaction and relief at watching gape at his words before you began to look bashful. And to his heart’s content, you reached up and covered his hands with yours with a soft squeeze and an even softer smile on your lips, “You love me too? I didn’t think I was being noticeable either...”

Dante blinked, and he practically hear his jukebox stutter somewhere in the back of his mind as he kicked too hard one too many times. One word made his eye twitch again, and then he was feeling as dense as you were. “’Too..?’”

A laugh escaped you, “Yeah, I was kinda worried you could tell, but it looks like you saw straight through me –”

The jukebox stutter in Dante’s mind abruptly turned to an old Internet dial-up tone, and he had no wards before he completely tuned your words out and shook his head. He couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, just… kiss me before I lose my damn mind.”

You giggled and did as he asked, and Dante was sure his leg might’ve lifted a little at the feeling of your sweet lips on his he’d dreamt about so many times before. He might as well been practically floating too, breaking away from you as you hummed and leaned into his chest for an embrace, basking in the silence of an embarrassing confession together as you both seemed to get what you finally wanted. Discreetly he inhaled the scent of you, and yeah, he could easily get used to a relationship with you… especially with the hard part over.

Then, breaking the serene silence and Dante’s brain, you spoke –

“So how long have you liked me?”

[verstappenverse]

Just Another Valentine

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Every year you and Lando spend Valentine’s Day together as part of an unspoken tradition, but this year something feels different, something that is impossible for you to ignore.

1.8k words / Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always had a way of making you feel like a spectator in your own life.

The smell of chocolate and overpriced roses was thick in the air, reminding you of the one day of the year you could always count on to make you feel at least a little pathetic.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It was cute in theory, love, grand gestures, all of that. But when you were single, the whole thing felt a bit like a slap in the face. And unfortunately, this year was no different.

But at least you had one constant.

Lando had a habit of making sure neither of you ever spent this day alone. Every year, if you were both single (which, more often than not, you were), he’d take you out, making sure the day didn’t pass unnoticed. It started as a joke years ago and then, it happened again. And again. Until it was an unspoken tradition.

So when your phone lit up that morning with a text from him saying, Pick you up at seven. Wear something nice 😉 you knew exactly what it meant.

And for some reason, you spent the whole day trying not to overthink it.

By the time 7:00 p.m. rolled around you had already changed twice, first into something dressy, then into something a little more casual, only to second-guess yourself and switch again. Which was ridiculous because it was just Lando.

The same Lando who raided your fridge without asking, who stole your blankets during movie nights without a hint of remorse, who had seen you half-asleep and drooling on the couch more times than you cared to admit. The Lando who teased you endlessly, who could read your mood with a single glance. Lando who had seen you at your absolute worst, stressed over exams, hungover from nights you barely remembered, all the times when you’d just been a mess of emotions and he never once flinched.

So why were your hands shaking a little when you opened the door?

Lando leaned against the frame, dressed in something a little nicer than his usual hoodie and joggers, a fitted black sweater and dark tailored trousers, smelling like something expensive. His signature grin was in place, dimples and all, as his gaze ran over you slowly, eyes darkening slightly, though he covered it with a smirk.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “You really listened to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You said ‘wear something nice.’ I figured you’d complain if I showed up in pyjamas.”

He put a hand over his heart in mock offence “I would never complain about anything you wore,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your coat. “Yeah, yeah. You want a gold star or something?”

“I’ll take a kiss on the cheek.”

You snorted. “In your dreams Norris.”

“You have no idea.”

You lightly smacked his arm as he led you out. The cool February air nipped at your skin as you got into his car, but it was warm inside, the radio playing quietly.

“So,” you said, glancing over. “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see.”

Ten minutes later you were standing in front of a cosy restaurant you’d never been to before. Intimate, dimly lit, tucked away in a quiet part of town. Fairy lights lined the outdoor seating area, and through the windows, you could see tables set with candles, couples leaning in close over their meals.

The hostess led you to a table by the window, and Lando pulled out your chair, waiting until you sat before taking his own seat across from you. You raised an eyebrow at his oddly formal behaviour, but he just smiled, picking up the menu like this was all completely normal.

“You really planned this?” you asked.

Lando leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You eyed him, tapping the menu. “I don’t know. It’s suspicious.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me how you’re single again?”

You exhaled a laugh, running a finger along the edge of your glass. “Probably the same reason you are.”

HIs expression flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he leaned back, exhaling through his nose with a laugh.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you asked, “that we’ve spent more Valentine’s Days with each other than with people we’ve actually dated?”

Lando looked up. “Huh. Now that you mention it… yeah.”

You shook your head with a laugh. “Kinda sad isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Or maybe we just have shit taste in partners.”

You hummed, swirling the wine in your glass. “Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it just means we have good taste.”

“In each other?”

“Obviously.” He grinned. “C’mon, like I need an excuse to spend time with you.”

You paused for a second, something warm settling in your stomach.

The two of you had always been like this, flirting without thinking, teasing each other like it was second nature. But tonight, something felt different. The way his eyes lingered longer on you when you spoke. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed you a drink. The way your knees touched under the table, neither of you moving away.

Then as the waiter cleared the table Lando reached under his seat and pulled out an elegantly wrapped box, sliding it across to you.

You blinked at it. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Inside was a Lego Bouquet set, a build-your-own floral arrangement, colourful and intricate.

You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head. “You got me Lego flowers?”

“They won’t die,” he said, “and we could you know… build them together, it could be fun,” he finished, almost sheepish.

You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your chest. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said, softer this time. “But I wanted to.”

You ran your fingers over the box, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve been.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure. “Is it weird?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s… really sweet.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t know why your voice was so quiet.

You let yourself relax as the evening passed, enjoying the food, the conversation, the way Lando somehow always knew how to make you laugh, and by the time dinner was over, the restaurant was starting to empty.

Lando leaned back in his chair, watching you. “So, did I do a good job?”

You smirked. “It was okay.”

He gasped dramatically. “Just okay?”

“Always fishing,” you laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “Fine. It was perfect. Thanks for making today a little less depressing.”

He scoffed with a laugh. “Wow. That’s the gratitude I get?”

You rolled your eyes but softened. “Alright, alright. You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

Lando tilted his head. “Yeah, I did.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your breath catch for a second. But before you could process it, he was standing up and paying the bill.

“C’mon,” he said, holding out a hand. “One more stop.”

You recognised where you were the second he parked up.

“The beach?”

He shrugged, killing the engine. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “In February? You hate the cold.”

He shot you a sideways glance, “I also hate traffic, but that has never stopped me from picking you up.”

It was quiet this time of night, the sound of the waves filling the space between you as you walked along the sand. The air was cool, but Lando had given you his jacket somewhere along the way, and you pulled it tighter around yourself.

After a while he stopped, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked out at the water.

You stood next to him, stealing a glance at his profile. The soft glow of the city lights reflecting from the water caught the edges of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow.

After a moment, he sighed. “You okay?”

You blinked, glancing over. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

You shrugged, toeing at the sand. “Just thinking.”

Lando hummed. “About?”

And then, without thinking, you said it. “I can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

Lando turned to you, eyes searching yours.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then—

“Guess I’m not as subtle as as I thought.”

You swallowed. “Lando—”

“I know,” he cut in, running a hand through his hair. “Bad timing, right? But I just… I don’t know how to keep pretending that I only do things like this because we’re friends.”

Your heart was hammering. “So, all of this—”

“Was me trying to tell you without actually telling you.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost shy.

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling over you.

And then, suddenly, it all made sense.

The way he always put you first. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he showed up, year after year, on this day of all days. The way you never questioned it, because, well, deep down, you had always wanted it.

You took a step closer. “Lando.”

His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “You really didn’t need all this effort.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you—”

You kissed him before he could finish.

For a second, he froze. Then, his hands found your waist, pulling you in as he kissed you back.

You pulled back. “Say it.”

Lando swallowed, his jaw tightening. “What?”

“Say it,” you repeated, voice softer this time.

His fingers twitched around your waist.

Then, low and rough, “I want you.”

Your stomach flipped.

When you finally pulled back you were both breathing hard, the air between you charged. Lando's hands lingered on your waist, his thumb tracing absent circles against your hip, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He let out a shaky laugh, exhaling slowly. “Fuck.”

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah.”

His eyes flickered between yours, searching, like he was making sure he hadn’t just imagined it. Then, his lips curved into a smirk, soft, almost disbelieving.

“So… that wasn’t just a ‘thanks for dinner’ kind of kiss was it?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, Lando. It wasn’t.”

His smirk deepened. “Good. Cause I was really gonna struggle pretending otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

He nudged your chin up with a knuckle. “You’re sure about this?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, the way his eyes held yours, the way his grip on you hadn’t loosened, the way this had always been inevitable.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m sure.”

Lando grinned, eyes bright with something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“Finally,” he muttered, pulling you in again.

[overwhelmed-alien]

Jake “Hangman” Seresin: Passenger Princess

The general consensus in his class is that Jake must think he’s up there with royalty, and therefore deserves to be driven around. That’s where the whole “princess” thing came from, originally. Jake of course rolls with it, plays up the prim “driving is beneath someone like me”, chuckles at the good-natured eye-rolls, and hops into someone’s -anyone’s- front seat and immediately fiddles with the radio just to be a brat.

The true reason, one he will never utter out loud, is that driving terrifies him. He grew up in rural Texas with hundreds of miles of straight, flat roads from horizon to horizon. Roads that frequently were completely empty, maybe you’d meet a tractor once in a while. So 12 lanes of bottlenecked California traffic, horns honking, engines revving, cars swerving in and out of lanes, the bright sun making it hard to see, unnerves Jake more than anything. Up in the sky he’s fearless, but the planes, he reasons, aren’t crowding around you not caring if you live or die as long as they get to brunch with the girls on time.

Bradley clocked it first, naturally. They’d lived together for years, back when they were “Bradley and Jake”. How Jake would never ask to drive, never grab the keys on the way out, would always sweetly beg -“honey come grocery shopping with me, it’ll be fun!” - Bradley to accompany him anywhere he went. Bradley could never deny him anything, so off they would go, either in Bradley’s Bronco or Jake’s truck, him driving, Jake in the passenger seat. He always thought it was adorable, Jake hopping up beside him grinning like a loon when he got his way, grin wider when Bradley inevitably calls him Princess. But he started noticing subtle things that he wouldn’t have noticed years ago. How Jake closed his eyes and gripped the handle when someone swerved in front of them. How he fiddled and played with dials or his phone or the strings of a hoodie to avoid looking out the window. The film of sweat on his face that, thanks to the blaring AC, had nothing to do with the Cali heat. The knee that bounced until they arrived at their destination.

He’d tried bringing it up once or twice, Jake had always laughed and played it up, “baby I’m too cute to drive, we’ve established this.” So he drops it. But if he’s more engaging in animated conversations with Jake to distract him, if he sings just a little louder and dances in the drivers seat a little sillier to draw nervous green eyes his way and not the speeding line of traffic beside him, if he smiles a little sweeter and the “Princess” comes out a little more heated so Jake forgets the entire world around him for a time, well, he’d do anything for the boy in his passenger seat. When they break up -why did they break up again? He can’t even remember - he always worries about Jake, so much his heart hurts. Is he having to drive himself?

At the Hard Deck, with some secret mission looming over their heads, and Jake looking so damn good, so damn pissed off, so damn hurt -he’d really screwed up, hadn’t he? Jake had wanted to go home early - something about beauty sleep, Javy, please! - and Bradley, stopping his piano serenading immediately, without even thinking: “I got you, princess. I’ll take you home.”

And Bradley swears he can see every single emotion, from rage to relief, regret to guarded happiness, and so much fondness in those nervous green eyes he still loves so damn much.

(I won’t make Jake say “show me the way home, honey” because I guess it’s cliche by now, but I’ll still heavily imply he does with my whole chest)

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s July ficrec Jam.

Hi everyone, one week to go until they're back at it with filming! But still a while before we'll have the fam back on our screens. Luckily there's lots of fic to tide us over, and the kink meme's been keeping everyone busy, so I'm back with another round of fic that I've read and loved over the last month. Happy horny heatwave summer?

As always you can find previous rec lists here.

15 July 2025

dirty computer by @themisally when your henren kinkmeme prompt gets filled this brilliantly, what's a girl to do?! *fans self* a fic in which Karen sees the promises on a fucking machine advert as a personal challenge to put her robotics skills to good use and do even better. Taking Hen on quite the experience. So hot and competent and I loved it. Thank you thank you themisally, this was everything!

find another one 'cause he belongs to me by @littlespoonevan I had an absolute blast with this one 'in which Ravi finally agrees with Buck that Eddie is the coolest person alive and the trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley gets a 98th act.' This was such a delightful edition to Ravi thirdwheeling fic oeuvre, and particularly Buck losing his damn mind over it. So funny and ridiculous and sweet.

we're at the starting line, i did my time by @notspecialbabe it's been about five weeks since Eddie first kissed Buck, and now he's happily indulging in checking Buck out and getting his hands on him. Oh, the romantic heat and passion of this fic. Eddie is revelling and the banter is on fire. Loved it so much!

Don't Forget to Update Your Mailing Address by @the-hwaelweg 'in which Eddie buys himself a present, forgets to update his autofilled mailing address, and learns how to say what he wants. Out loud. To another human. AKA the lingerie wrong address fic.' ahhhhh one of my very very favourite tropes, and this was such a brilliant take on it. Eddie's internal rationalisations meeting Buck's unabashed desire. Just gorgeous.

I've crossed the borderline of weightless by @lacerta26 'Buck discovers Eddie is strong enough to take his weight and then proceeds to be really normal about that fact, repeatedly.' God I love it when they're both so totally knowing about what's going on, but flirting on the line of plausible deniability. This was so much fun. What are buddie if not flirtation via a series of ever more evolving trust exercises.

then help me with the crossword in the mornings by @thirdwheelravi in which post-S8, Eddie finds reasons to make Buck stay exactly where he is, and Buck slowly loses his mind over it. Ahhh the emotional hoops and frantic hope is just so good, as they fall even deeper for each other despite best efforts to be total dumbasses...I literally want to roll around in this fic forever.

Clay Sharks & Lemon Loaves by @cal-daisies-and-briars 'When Eddie and Buck start dating, Eddie is horrified to learn that four year-old Jee-Yun has a major grudge against him.' the tags 'the mortifying ordeal of being despised by a four year-old' and 'Jee-Yun is slightly menacing but she's got her reasons' made me laugh out loud, and the entire fic was just as hilarious and heartwarming. Eddie trying so hard to win Jee-Yun over and everyone being amused by it is just an absolute blast to read. I literally couldn't stop smiling reading this one.

Hands in the Dirt by @livesbetweenpages ahhh short but oh so sweet, this is perfect heatwave husbandism, with Eddie planting Buck flowers as a surprise. Just warm and lovely and a joy.

Juices Like Wine by @glorious-spoon from sweet and lovely to some good ol' fashioned monsterfucking!! This is all teeth and claws, Eddie werewolf fic, and Buck absolutely revelling in it. When trapped together during the full moon, Buck and Eddie improvise. All bite and danger, but so much trust. This one will make you awoooo.

private eyes (are watching you) by @buckedupbuttercup more freak4freak shenanigans...'What if at the end of 8x08 Buck finds porn on the iPad… of himself. Because Eddie planted a nanny cam in his loft. OR: Buck and Eddie play a game of voyeurism/exhibitionism gay masturbation chicken.' Truly beyond just fully watching Eddie in full on freak mode, my favourite thing is how much fun they have together once they both start playing games.

After the Night Before by @semperama from first kiss freak outs to sleepy sweaty heatwave first time waking up to each other morning sex, with Buck and Eddie delighting in their presence. Just full on butterflies!! (But if you DO want some more freaky behaviour then don't miss the season 8 bts ryliver fic Horseshoes and Hand Grenades to keep you going what is WRONG with you both...affectionate/derogatory, you decide lmao).

flux and flow by @penofpisces ahhh the hyperspermia Buck sex pollen fic! In which Buck gets blasted in the face by a mysterious plant, and Eddie lends him a hand to keep those symptoms managed. Don your wet weather jackets, folks. And then head on over to pull it to the side and get all up in it for Eddie revelling and feeling himself in a lingerie set, to keep his marriage to Buck spontaneous.

now you're really living by @happydiaz 'There’s a lot to consider, an entire world of sex play he hasn’t dipped his toes into, and yet Eddie’s stuck on the fingering. The pegging. Whatever—something in his ass.' After a tipsy conversation out at drinks with the firefam, Eddie's curiosity is awakened, and he sets out to experiment...only for Buck to walk in at an inopportune moment...Or is it an opportunity? So indulgent and satisfying.

My Satellite by @thekristen999 “I’m not saying he hasn’t always had ‘extremely competent menace with a heart of gold’ energy,” Buck said. “But this is next level. And then I remembered,” he said, snapping his fingers. “During that warehouse call two weeks ago, those barrels tipped over? He got completely doused in some weird chemical.” Something happens to Eddie on a call, and suddenly Buck's finding himself romanced by ever increasing kind gestures grand and small. This one was just so lovely, and really kept me guessing!!

aching now (to let you in) by oneofthesirens Eddie starts hearing Buck's thoughts...and he thinks about Eddie a lot. From domestic considerations, to admiration, to a hundred little kindnesses, sooner or later he's going to stumble on the one thing Buck doesn't want him to hear. The way this develops had me chin in hands at them both!

That's all for this month folks, but don't forget to check out my daily ficrec tag, where there's even more goodness from this talented fandom updated as I find it!

[siilent-wanderer]

The Lines We Cross

Pairing: actress!aespa x actress!reader

aespa as classic k-drama tropes

masterlist | ive version

Jimin

Defending her from her ex

you and Jimin are best friends in the drama

but her character’s ex keeps trying to win her back (it’s annoying)

the script only called for you to step in and pull her away

but the moment the ex gets pushy, you blurt out the first thing in your mind

“She’s with me now.”

"Seriously? You're choosing her over me? Come on, babe."

"Don't call her that. You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Jimin freezes

this wasn’t in the script

her eyes widen as she glances at you, lips slightly parted in shock

the director doesn’t yell cut, so obviously you keep going

you slip your arm around her waist, pulling her closer

“She doesn’t need to deal with someone who didn’t appreciate her when they had the chance"

Jimin’s cheeks are turning pink

the cameras aren’t even focused on her anymore

BUT she’s still looking at you like you just flipped her entire world upside down

after the director yells "cut", she’s still staring

“You— uh, that was… unexpected.”

“Didn’t like it?”

she huffs, crossing her arms but failing to hide her flustered smile

“I didn’t say that. You actually looked so hot back there. Almost made me believe you were actually jealous.”

you roll your eyes, “Maybe I was. Who knows?”

"Hmm, I wouldn't mind if you were."

Aeri

Falling asleep on her shoulder

you just finished filming at a set away from the city, so it was a long ride back to the hotel

you’re exhausted, eyelids drooping despite your best efforts

Aeri is scrolling through her phone when she suddenly feels a weight on her shoulder

she glances down and finds you fast asleep against her

she stifles a chuckle, adjusting her posture slightly so you’re more comfortable

the van hits a small bump, and you instinctively nuzzle closer

EVEN murmuring her name in your sleep ???

Aeri freezes

her heart does this stupid little flip and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling too much

the other cast members notice and start teasing her, making little kissy noises

“Shut up”

but she doesn’t move away

she rests her head lightly against yours, letting herself enjoy the moment

when the van finally stops, you slowly wake up, finding yourself nestled against Aeri

“I'm sorry, did I-”

“Yeah. For a while. Drooled on my shoulder, too,” Aeri smirks

your eyes widen, “I did not—”

she laughs at your horrified expression, then leans in slightly

“Kidding. But since you used me as your personal pillow, I think you owe me something.”

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

Aeri grins, her voice dropping to a teasing murmur

“Dinner. You know, as compensation.”

you scoff, but there’s a small smile playing on your lips

“Fine. My treat.”

“Actually… I think I deserve dessert, too.”

“Push your luck, and you’ll be paying."

“Worth it.”

Minjeong

Confession in the rain

your characters have been dancing around their feelings for so long

and for some stupid reason, you decide to confront them in the middle of a damn storm

rain is pouring, soaking both of you

Minjeong is glaring at you, breathless from arguing

she never screamed at you before. well, not until now

“Why do you care so much?” she yells over the downpour, eyes searching yours

you step forward, grabbing her wrist before she can turn away

“Because it’s you!” you confess, voice raw and filled with emotion. “It’s always been you!”

Minjeong’s expression softens for half a second

AND THEN she grabs your collar and pulls you in for a desperate kiss

the rain blurs everything, but all you can focus on is her — her warmth, her hands gripping you like she’s afraid to let go

"CUT!"

you expect her to pull away immediately, but she doesn’t

she lingers, her forehead resting against yours

“That was… really good acting,” she mutters, though her breathless voice betrays her

“Yeah? Want to practice some more?”

she shoves you playfully, but you catch the small, shy smile she’s trying to hide

"But you know kissing me wasn't in the script, right?"

her eyes widen, "Huh? What do you mean?"

you just smirk and walk away, leaving her confused and flustered

Yizhuo

Carrying her home drunk

Yizhuo's character gets drunk after a breakup

and unfortunately for you, as her closest friend, have no choice but to carry her home

“You’re heavy,” you groan, adjusting her on your back

Yizhuo giggles, arms lazily draped over your shoulders

“I’m not heavy. You’re just weak.”

“I should just leave you here,” you tease, pretending to drop her

she tightens her hold around your neck immediately

“Yah! You wouldn’t dare!”

you laugh, feeling the warmth of her cheek against your shoulder

in the script, it said you have to gently set her down once you reach her apartment

but Yizhuo, still in playful character mode, doesn’t let go

“You’re always so nice to me… Why can’t everyone be like you?”**

your stupid heart stutters

“Because they’d all be too annoying to handle.”

she's looking at you like she doesn't even care that you just teased her

she's smiling like she's about to laugh BUT HER EYES

they're looking at you lovingly

which flusters you, so you stop talking

"CUT!"

she doesn’t move right away. she's STILL clinging to you, smirking

“I like being carried. Might have to get drunk more often.”

you roll your eyes, “Or you could just ask next time.”

she hums in amusement. “Where’s the fun in that?”

A/N: hello, I'm back from the dead

[cherry-pop-elf]

Birthday Boys

It’s Fred and George’s birthday, and you wanted to give them something very special. It’s hard to give them something like that, but you are married to them for a reason. As if they would ever settle for someone boring, now would they?

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration (A and V), teasing, breeding, overstimulation, dirty talk, birthday suits ((hehe)) lipstick kink(?) and of course Fred Lives. Because I said so ((George still missing an ear tho! Bleh-!))

“Well what’s this?” George would blink, as a paper airplane would land itself on his desk. Fred would raise a brow, as he set down the ink he had grabbed for his younger twin. It’s April First. The ever busiest day of the year, and their birthday as well. That meant they were swamped with work, and just trying to finish the day. The shop may be closed, now, but damn they were still drowning.

“Don’t just stare at it, open it up-!” Fred would bonk the younger twin, with his wand, making him fix at his hair. He would give a grumble, as he unfolded the neat little parchment. By the hand writing alone, he knew it was from you. What was written made him a bit flushed in the cheeks. Always was the more emotional of the two, so Fred was quick to look over his shoulder. Reading along.

To my special Birthday Boys. You two have been working so hard all day. Such a wonderful occasion deserves a present, doesn’t it? I better expect you to leave paper work for later, and hurry up to our bedroom. It gets rather chilly being all alone. I don’t want your present to get cold either. Not when I worked so hard to wrap it all up so nicely in purples and oranges. If you don’t want it, I’ll be more than happy to make use of it all myself. Sincerely yours~!

Never had they side alone aparated so fast in their life. Gave you quite the startle, to suddenly see them. You should have figured they wouldn’t waste time, but boy they move fast. Even after all these years together, it catches you by surprise. Though, this time they were the ones with wide eyes this time around.

There you were, in the middle of the bed, dressed to the nines. A array of orange, and purple, fabric against your skin. Stockings of lace. Done up so pretty to mimic that of a fire work, with little dots all around. The fingerless arm length gloves had to be, as to help bring focus to how bare the rest of you were. Nothing else to your skin, but your own birthday suit. Besides so heavy makeup, because you knew they loved it when it got all ruined. What really sold it was the bows all over you. Around your thighs, wrists, neck, just for the comical effect of a birthday present. Hey, it’s April Fools. Gotta get silly.

“H-“ Before you could get a single syllable out, they were on you. Like starving dogs. Clothes were flying, and your body was quick to be sandwiched between the two men. Your neck attacked in kisses, and their ever rough hands trailing your skin. Tracing all the invisible lines they had tracked on you.

“Guess you like the surprise-?” You joked, as you were leaning yourself against Fred. While George was enjoying your front. Sucking plenty of hickies on your skin, while Fred was enjoying playing with your nipples. Had you squeak, and flush, as he was enjoying the happily given toy.

“Taking that as a yes-“ You sighed, as you were just a meal for the wolves. Wolves that always had your flavor of flesh in mind. It just felt so good to be so desired. To be wanted so badly, it could hurt. Especially after such an exhausting day, they needed to get that pent up steam out.

“Been thinking about you all day long-“ George would sigh, as he stole your lips into his own. Happily allowing your lipstick to stain his own, while your hips rubbed onto the building hard on in Fred’s lap. Just a tangle of wild limbs, and you couldn’t have loved anything more.

“Come on, save some for me. Give em here-“ And you would be stolen by Fred next. Making sure he got his lips stained all the same. George didn’t complain, as he would let the lipstick residue trail over your exposured chest. Designing you, as Fred let his tongue do any talking he had left.

You enjoyed the sensual, and slow, pace. Made you fall into the mood far easier. But, you knew why they were being so gentle. Gentle starts always ended with you drooling and utterly delirious. They were going to destroy you, to your core, and that had you so hopeful.

“Just look at you.” They breathed, in unison, as you were just a doll in their hands. Your body leaning into Fred’s, with his legs spread to make sure you were comfortable. Meanwhile George was above you, on his knees, and taking in the sight. Just starving for you, while Fred was busy with the bedside table. Making sure to grab some lube, as you realized what you signed up for.

“Don’t say I never treat you.” That had them laugh, at your comment. Sweet little feathery kisses were given to your face, and neck, while the line was passed to each other. Slicking themselves up, before using the residue to make sure you were nice and comfortable. A thank you, for such a wonderful present.

“Wrapped up in such a pretty bow.” Fred sighed, as he stuck two fingers inside of you. That had you bite your lip, before the mimicking motion from George made it slip out. Fred was in your ass, and George was in your core. Able to copy each other’s movements in perfect unison. Some call it disturbing, you call it heaven.

“Damn, wet as hell. Don’t even need lube. We’re so excited to get to be our gift, weren’t you? Isn’t that sweet Fred-?” “Oh the ever sweetest George. We love it when you get excited. Gets us excited.” They echoed each other, while making sure to lather as much as they could. Knowing you would need it, and still remembering to put your needs first. Just gentle motions, as they made sure to cover as much as two fingers could. Teasing away at your sensitive spots, just to make you squirm.

“I can’t wait any more.” “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” And like that, the fingers were removed. You whined at it, which made them smirk. Now, you were feeling them pressed against you. They planned to go in, at the exact same time. It made your heart race. To imagine, being stuffed so quickly.

“How about we-“ But they broke through the tight barrier, and your mind was mush. Not so much from pain, just the over whelming sensation of being so full. To feel your insides grow so tight, as your muscles were being pulled yet pushed at the same time. Was a fluttery experience. Somehow so light, yet couldn’t be heavier.

“Fuck fuck fuck-“ You heard Fred whisper into your ear, while your blurry eyes could make out that George was hardly able to keep his own open. Biting into his stained lip, as to not whimper too early. To last, but damn. You knew he was fighting for his life.

Once they were both fully inside, the three of you just stayed that way. A mixture of wanting to make sure you were adjusted, and them not wanting to end the game so soon. How embarrassing that would be. Least that meant you were being pampered. With heavy breathing, and wet kisses on your skin. A means to help you relax, and it worked.

“Lucky me, I get to be the first one to pump you full. Isn’t that nice of Fred? To let me be the one to pump your little womb full?” That had your face burn. Yeah, you three were trying, but none of you exactly went into to much details on how such a thing would plan out. Given Magic was involved, with everything, isn’t a dumb guess to think these two will somehow knock you up at the same time. Just made you all the more flushed, as Fred would rub over your stomach.

“Don’t worry. When he’s done with you, we will switch. I can’t just waste it all in your ass. I love that cute thing, but I love you being full of out kids more.” Fred moaned, as he finally moved his hips. Just in time with George’s. The feeling of two at once, in different holes. Truly a fuzzy experience.

Your hands found George’s shoulders, while Fred grabbed your legs. Keeping you spread as wide as they could, as they rocked their hips into you. Such perfect calculations to make sure your mind stayed in that blissful fuzz. Was leaving you with your nails into Georges skin.

“Come on, love. You gotta moan louder for me. I’m missing an ear over here. Give me some noise-!” George cackled, as Fred took that as a que to pick up the pace. Your head was rolling itself back, and leaned on Fred’s shoulder. Giving George exactly what he wanted, after all. Louder moans, whimpers, gasps, and plenty of smacking flesh to fill in between.

“So cock drunk, and the night hardly started.” Fred teases, as he bit into your shoulder. Needing to steady himself, but the feeling was too much. George would have agreed, if it were vocal. They were getting sloppy with their movements, and you wouldn’t last long either. Especially since George was now planting sloppy kisses against your lips. Leaving you two a jumble mess of spit and moans.

Hearing their desperate breaths, and whimpers of trying to hold on, it was what brought you over the edge. By proxy, your tightening grip in your body had them gasp. Their hips stuttering, as they came inside of you. Throbbing, and having a shake in their system.

Riding it out was such a warm feeling. Felt like everything was on fire, in all the best ways. Already so exhausted, and ready to just sleep, but….They weren’t making any April fools joke with you. Just as your eyes closed, they moved.

You have a squeak, before a breathy moan, as they pulled out. Left such a mess between all your legs, before you were flipped around. Your hands now on Fred’s chest, and ass presented to George. Out right lining up again.

“Perk-A-Boo~!” Fred teases, as he poked your nose. Just as you wiggled it, they thrusted right back into you. The stimulation of being restuffed was mind melting. Right after your high, and with so much already running down your legs. The sounds of all made were so loud, and wet. Was utterly thrilling.

Fred was happy to drink in your moans, hogging as many kisses as he could. Meanwhile George was happily feeling over your hips. Letting those hard working hands trace the lipstick marks shared between them both.

“Don’t do poor Georgie like that, come on. You gotta moan a little louder. His hearing isn’t so good.” Fred would tease, as he forced your chin up. Trying to amplify your desperate sounds. It was all too much. You were going to reach your peak again, with tears running down your face. Smearing away the remains of your makeup.

“Just hang on a little more. I want to make sure I get nice and deep in there.” Fred comforted, as George planted kisses down your back. Making sure your skin was covered in whatever remained of their lips.

Everything was so blurry, but you knew this. You came again, and your insides were coated once more. The ringing in your ears were dancing with the shakey moans of your lovers. So happy, and satisfied, with wrecking you so much.

When you came back to reality, you realized the lingerie you wore was gone. Seems they made sure to give you a sponge bath, before they were knocked out. You between them, as they snuggled you.

Fred behind you, as he held your stomach. Ever a man that loved feeling your ass against him. Meanwhile George was infront of you, tangling your legs together, as he snuck his arms just above Fred’s. His face under your chin, so he could listen to your heart beat.

“Happy birthday, you two.” You whispered, as you made sure they both were kissed on their heads. Freckled smiles crossed their lips, as they snuggled closer. Fred, enjoying his nose in your neck, while George gave you a squeeze. Maybe you should gift wrap yourself more often.

[ayumigotabittoolonelyquitted]

Gojo Satoru x older reader (7 age gap) headcanons

Synopsis - as a.normal adult that lived a stressful life , who thought she'll get a reason to live, pushing all the stress aside.

Warnings ⚠️ - f!reader , older reader. Reader is 28 and he is 21! A university student.

© not canon this is just a work of fiction, fuck off if you are pissed.

♡ Younger gojo - You first meet Satoru at a café near his university, where you often stop by after work. He’s loud, effortlessly charming, and annoyingly persistent when he notices you.

♡ Younger gojo - He overhears your conversation with a friend about work stress and, in typical Gojo fashion, inserts himself into the conversation with a teasing remark.

♡ Younger gojo- He starts showing up at the café more often, making playful comments about how it must be fate that you always run into each other.

♡ Younger gojo - He shamelessly flirts with you, dropping cheesy pick-up lines like, "So, how does it feel to be my ideal type?" or "You're a whole seven years older? Damn, you’re basically my cool, sexy senpai."

♡ Younger gojo - He teases you about your ‘serious adult job,’ acting mock-impressed whenever you talk about work responsibilities.

♡ Younger gojo-Despite his playful nature, you notice he actually listens when you vent about work. He remembers little details,your annoying coworker’s name, your favorite way to destress,and brings them up later in thoughtful ways.

♡ Younger gojo -You hesitate at first because of the age gap. Seven years may not be huge, but you still see him as a reckless, flirtatious university student.

♡ Younger gojo You remind him, "Aren't you too young for me?" only for him to smirk and reply, "Nah, you're just too perfect for me to ignore."

♡ Younger gojo - He works hard to prove he’s not just some immature kid. He’s persistent, but not in an overwhelming way he gives you space while making it clear he’s serious.

♡ Younger gojo - He loves calling you "Ms. [Last Name]" just to see your reaction. You roll your eyes, but he sees the small smirk you try to hide.

♡ Younger gojo-He lives to fluster you, whispering teasing things in public just to see you struggle to keep your composure.

♡ Younger gojo-He insists on paying for dates even though you earn more than him. If you tease him about it, he pouts dramatically: "Let me be a gentleman, okay?"

♡ Younger gojo-He loves stealing your work shirts or sweaters, claiming they ‘smell like you.’ It’s his comfort when he’s drowning in university assignments.

♡ Younger gojo-You’re more level-headed, but he has a way of making life exciting. He drags you out of your routine, making you loosen up and have fun.

♡ Younger gojo-He’s surprisingly good at giving emotional support. If you ever feel overwhelmed by work, he makes you take breaks and does something stupid just to make you laugh.

♡ Younger gojo-But he’s still Gojoz,immature at times. He complains dramatically when you act too much like an ‘adult’ “Babe, stop being so responsible and come play with meee.”

♡ Younger gojo-You find yourself being the one reminding him to study, eat properly, and sleep on time. You joke about babysitting him, but deep down, you don’t really mind.

♡ Younger gojo - He casually talks about the future with you, dropping comments like "When I graduate, we should move somewhere nice."

♡ Younger gojo - You worry about how people might view your relationship, but he never lets it get to him. "Who cares what they think? I have the coolest girlfriend ever, i mean mommy-" you smacked him.

To the ones Asking me if gojo was my favourite NO he is not ☹️ my suguru bby is, why do I create so much fics about him then?

Alright so Cannonically I m similar to gojo YES I m , like seriously. When I first saw gojo , I was like , he is me , I m him. So it's like , i know myself better than anyone else, that's why I make gojo fics more often, some fics are based on real life incidents 🫦

[calmcoldevening]

Hi, can you make jealousy headcanons for Billy Loomis and Stu Macher separately?

Ghostface jealousy

Billy Loomis

• His jealousy is cold and sharp like a knife blade. He never shows it openly and quietly stores it in his vulnerable heart.

• He is a very loyal person (unless he is "dating" someone in order to kill them without a trace, but you would know about that), and he expects the same from your partner.

• If you talk to someone for a long time, he will watch you silently with a deadly calmness, but when you are alone, his actions and words will be filled with poisonous insults that hide pain and resentment. He genuinely believes that he should be your first priority and that you should spend more time with him.

• He can be quite insecure, and his jealousy can turn into excessive care. He becomes overprotective, always trying to be around or constantly texting to find out where you are, who you're with, if you're okay, and so on. He will randomly appear in the same places as you, saying something about coincidence. "Baby, I'm just really worried about you. You've heard about the new serial killer in town, haven't you?"

• If he believes that you have "betrayed" him, he won't resort to tantrums or arguments. Instead, he will seek revenge. It will be cold and calculated. He will go to a club frequented by your friends and flirt with a girl, gently pressing her against him in preparation for a kiss. Once he is certain that your friends have taken a photo of him "cheating" and sent it to you, he will discard the girl like trash and wait for your reaction.

• He's not interested in other people, either guys or girls. You can be sure of that. But he's flirting with them to make you notice that he's not bad either. In fact, he doesn't give a damn about other people, but he also wants to make you jealous.

• Deep down, he's a vulnerable kitten with trust issues, so he expects unconditional loyalty, love, and affection from you.

• A sign that you've crossed the line and hurt his feelings too much is comparing him to his mother. Baby, it's not a red flag anymore, it's a fucking black flag. "You're acting like her... Are you going to leave me too?" 🚩🚩🚩🏴🏴🏴

Stu Macher

• Stu is not stupid, no. He's just hyperactive and overly emotional. His loudness is a result of his desire to be seen, noticed, and taken seriously. While there may be some benefits to being perceived as a fool, it's a temporary state. His jealousy makes him even more noticeable.

• If you talk to someone for a long time, he'll just walk up, put his arm around your waist possessively, and give your conversation partner a disgusted look. "Are you having more fun with him than with your boyfriend?" "WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM?!" "I don't understand, why are you hitting on my girlfriend, asshole? You got a few extra inches and think you're cool? I'm gonna cut your balls off!"

• When you're talking about someone with excitement (even if it's just an actor in a movie, God), he's already jealous. Your attention should be on him. He becomes possessive and tries to be around you more often. When you watch the movie again, he's like, "Oh? Is that the actor who's better than me? Yeah... haha, sure." If it's a real person, expect them to be on the news soon as a missing person.

• Stu also becomes obsessive, but in a less graceful way than Billy. Stu will "forget" his things at your house so he has reasons to come over. Or he'll "accidentally" spill his lemonade on your shirt. Then he'll give you his dry one, and you'll have to go to his house to return it!

• He's like a cat marking its territory. He'll be constantly around, touching and hugging you, just so everyone can see that you're his. He likes to rub his forehead against you like a lost puppy.

• Stu likes to play the victim. At home or anywhere else, he'll just throw a tantrum. "You don't love me at all!" "I'm boring you, aren't I? Just say it, don't play with my feelings!" (God, he's a drama queen) "I do everything for you! And you cheat on me!!! What about our Timmy? You're gonna leave him without a father/mother, huh..?" (Timmy is a kitten...)

[lavendermin]

Please don't leave us hanging from the Jing yuan drabble I'm afraid you awoken something in me (take your time also take good care of yourself 💖💯💯)

If you mean the little drabble of jing yuan being told he’s going to have 8 kids in the future, I have soooo many thoughts I’m trying to put together. He makes me insane, anon 🫠💗💗💗

a continuation based off this post below

cw | pregnancy, breeding kink, fem reader

Needless to say the words linger in his mind for the rest of the day. They play over and over in Jing Yuan’s head. He needs to process them, but what’s there to process?

Coming from the Master Diviner of all people, it was a prominent future she saw. It tells him two things: one, Fu Xuan has been checking up on him (this one is her job actually) and two, he’ll be quite busy with his spouse soon.

How soon? Jing yuan can’t help but wonder. And he didn’t want to pry with Fu Xuan. Best not to give her the upper hand with something to tease him with.

“Something on your mind, love?” Your question brings him out of his pondering. He takes a seat on the couch next to you, a quiet sigh leaving his lips as he sinks into the plush comfort.

“Just a few things I have to do.” His reply is vague and the smug smile he wears makes you raise a brow.

You shuffle over to straddle his thighs, nimble hands working into his tense shoulders.

“A lot of work recently? Will you be busier?”

He chuckles, closing his eyes to relish the attention you give him.

“Mm. Something along those lines.”

“Want me to run a bath for us?”

His hands absentmindedly settle on your hips. “A little later. Haven’t even kissed my wife yet.”

You can’t help but smile with a little roll of your eyes, easily giving in and placing a peck to his lips. It’s chaste and loving—a sincere ‘welcome home’. But as Jing Yuan chases your lips, it’s clear there’s something more he’s after.

You pull away breathless, a string of saliva connecting you both. It’s a little obscene, even for him. “J-Jing–”

He cuts you off as his lips slot over yours again, his tongue pushing into your mouth greedily. This kind of possessiveness was rare with him. It lit a fire in your belly when he got like this. But…

“Jing Yuan– Wait,” you lightly push him off you. His lips continue to feverishly press kisses to your jaw and neck. A sharp gasp leaves you as his hands start to slowly grind you back and forth on his thigh. “L-Love, I’m ovulating. We can’t– It’s too risky.”

It wasn’t like him to be this lost to reason. A rumble akin to a growl leaves him as soon as you mention it. By now your neck is littered in marks he’s sucked to the delicate skin there. Jing Yuan is breathless as he uses all the resolve he has left to stop, his breath hot against your bare chest where he was already pulling down your top.

You can’t help looking at him with concern. In an instant, he looks up at you with composure back under rein. His smile is sweet, devilish as it hides the insatiable hunger that’s growing at an alarming rate.

“All the more reason to make love to my precious wife, wouldn’t you say?”

With the opportunity presented to himself and the tangible future of his wife, lovely and pregnant, he thinks himself a fool not to start now.

You chuckle at first, assuming it’s some of Jing Yuan’s usual teasing. But as his eyes lock with yours, unwavering and pupils blown wide with lust as his arms press you further against his broad body, it dawns on you that he’s completely serious.

“You– We,” you stutter as you feel your core throb with a surge of need. Damn those hormones during your ovulation. In a small, shaky voice you ask, “I thought you said you wanted to wait until you retired… Do you really want to try for a baby?”

There’s a glimmer in your eyes, chest tight with a flood of different emotions. Anticipation, unabashed lust, adoration.

Jing Yuan responds with a chuckle, opting to gently pull your face for a kiss. This one is only a light simmer of the ardent need he has to breed you until dawn.

“If you’re agreeable, of course. There’s a saying from a few star systems down that says life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. I’ve already made you my wife, I’d love to also make you a mother.”

The bright smile that breaks on your face is all the answer he needs as you pull his face in to litter kisses all over his face, ending by going in for a kiss that leaves him smiling like an idiot. Your idiot.

Jing Yuan has no plans to retire soon, but officially starting his family rejuvenated his resolve to continue as general for a while longer. There was still work to be done to keep the Xianzhou safe and ensure the era of peace continues for his children. He’ll have to thank Fu Xuan later for the slip of her tongue.

And it’s no surprise that making love to you for the next few consecutive days proves fruitful a couple weeks later.

Gossip and rumor spreads fast, especially with Jing Yuan being general of the Luofu. He’s constantly in the eye of the public. Once your tummy starts showing a bit more, he can’t help but stroll around proudly with you by his side—his hand protectively on your belly whenever he can. The people call your pregnancy a sign of abundant good luck, an omen for exceptional good to come in the future. Likewise, Jing Yuan is positively over the moon as a soon-to-be-father.

He can’t wait to hold his twin girls in a few months.

And after that, he can breed you again. And again. And again. It’s in his future, after all.

[skz-sage]

skz reaction to sage excusing herself/getting emotional during an interview [hyung line]

tw // child abuse, ed, mental health & drugs mentioned

bang chan

it was an interview just with the two of them and the questions being asked were more deep and specific then the regular questions they normally get. the interviewer asked her the question she was hoping she’d never get in her career.

“what was your childhood like?”.

chan’s eyes darted at sage with worry, knowing how she feels on the topic. sage wasn’t open about how she came up. she dreaded talking about it. for her fans though? anything. “oh… wow. um, well, … yknow i grew up in new york. it was always me, my mom and my little sister. it was… it was.. tough.”

trying to keep her composure, but the quivering in her voice was evident. sage did her best to say the right things, keeping a calm tone and holding onto chan’s hand for dear life. she ended with this. “no kid deserves to be abused. they deserve to be nurtured and cared for like they’re porcelain. things will get better. they will.” nodding and looking over at the interviewer and chris.

“yeah and we’re all so proud and happy that sage made it this far. we love her to death.” chan added, wiping her tears with his own jacket sleeve.

thank god the universe sent sage someone like chris. at her worst, he’s always there and that’s something she could never live without.

lee know

at this time, there were rumors going around that sage was on drugs during their trainee days, judging by how thin and sickly she looked some of the time.

of course the rumors weren’t true, but it was something she was avoiding. it really caught up to her today

“so sage, recently news have been going around that you are on drugs. is this true.”

“yeah, no, no, no, she’s not answering this, shut the camera off.” minho stood up, the other members stunned that the interviewer would ask such a question.

“ it’s fine, it’s fine! i’ll answer. ” sage assured, telling minho to let it go and sit back down. it took a minute, but minho sat back down, shaking his head in disapproval.

“of course, these nasty rumors aren’t true. i would like to go a different way about it, but… i wasn’t eating much during those days. i was focused on making it as apart of the group and giving it all i got so much that i threw away my health. it was.. a very awful time for me.” the cameras zoomed in on her as tears prickled out her eyes

once minho saw those tears, he shut it down. “okay, no more, no more! shut off the damn camera, no more questions at all. it’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it!” the other members around her trying to console her as minho tries to shut down the rest of the interview.

let someone fuck with sage like that just to get a reaction out of her and minho is at their door with a chainsaw and a plan.

changbin

this interviewer just didn’t like sage for some odd reason. a girl in a boy group? come on, that just didn’t go together. she’s probably just some pick me girl. she can’t even sing! those boys don’t deserve this loser tomboy. these were all the thoughts of the interviewer

“so sage…. why are you in this group?”

sage gave an awkward smile, the members around her sharing looks and such. “i’m sorry, what do you mean?” sage replied, obviously confused

“i mean.. you’re a girl! in a boy group!” she exclaimed. sexism does not look good on her.

“and…?” sage sat up in her chair, changbin sitting right next to her and sitting up with her. if sage is gonna stand on business, binnie is too.

“i’m sorry, but… i just don’t get it. you’re more fit for.. i don’t know.. maybe a bubblegum pink pop girl group, yeah?” the interviewer smiled, enraging sage on the inside.

“ no, i’m sorry. i’m leaving.” sage calmly removed her mic, sliding off the chair and leaving the studio. changbin, of course, follows after her.

changbin catches up, giving her a huge hug. after a hard day, all she could ever need is to be engulfed in his big, teddy bear arms

“hey, don’t listen to her. she doesn’t know anything. you’ve come a long away and proved to everyone that you deserve your place in the group. people like her don’t get very far.” sage could only nod, her head running wild with thoughts. maybe a hiatus would due her some good.

hyunjin

sage’s mental health was never the best. she hated to admit it, but she isn’t perfect. for stay, she wished she could be the most perfect idol in the world. that just wasn’t possible. it eats at her day and night too.

“i want to ask, sage, how do you tackle mental health. you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

sage’s palms got clammy as her face got a little pale. “no worries, i can answer. wow, let’s see… i want to be honest.. i don’t really, exactly tackle it. unfortunately, i just let it run wild in my head. i hope some time in the future i can overcome this, but… yeah.” she nodded

“great thank you, and now-” the interviewer continued as sage tried her best to sneak off from the set, turning off her microphone. hyunjin immediately went after her. the members turning to each other and the interviewer confused.

sage was found in the dressing rooms, crying by hyunjin.

“miju! oh my god, are you okay?” he immediately, but delicately held her. “ i’m fine, it’s just.. i-i don’t know, i think i got nervous o-or scared, i didn’t want to cry in front of the cameras, i just couldn’t do it.”

“i know, i know. it’s okay. i’m here.” she cried, holding hyunjin close to her.

“you’ll always be okay, i’ll make sure of it.”