#but the longer this took to get out the more I was like

[moonlight-prose]

but also can we be obsessed with Clark's thighs for a minute---😳

somewhere meant to be

a/n: ask and you shall always ALWAYS receive being obsessed with clark's thighs. the way i've been itching to write the most insane filth imaginable, but the burn out is taking its sweet time fading. so this is perfect timing! i literally just saw it for a third time so i am ready to churn out everything and anything about his thighs. because well fuck i need to sit on them. and that's it. that's the post. enjoy babes!

summary: your favorite spot in the house wasn't the leather chair that had seen better days. it was the way he sat in it - more specifically how.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: clark kent x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, thigh riding, not necessarily body worship but its up there, complimenting this gorgeous man, fluff, teasing, romance, he's got a dirty mouth in this one, sloppy makeouts that had my mind reeling, they're obsessed with each other.

Time moved quick in the confines of The Daily Planet. Days passing by in the blink of an eye, hours and minutes fleeting moments you could barely cling to even as the clock ticked steadily—taunting you with how much was left. And you took it in stride most days. Swam with the crashing waves, chased each story with ease, because you knew something better awaited you. Once the clock struck eight you were no longer bound to the gilded floors of your home away from home.

Time finally settled into place, giving you a chance to find yourself here. Spread across his lap as your lips and found solace along his and breath ceased to exist.

There weren’t that many things you’d give up over time for. Always a strong believer in the night owl life of a reporter always on duty. But for Clark Kent you’d wipe the slate clean, hand over your time sheet, and wave goodbye to the coworkers who had a strong inkling of the man you were desperate to see. They knew you were dating—they just never bothered to say it out loud.

“I need to put the pizza in the oven,” you mumbled, tugging at his curls for just a split second to hear him groan—his hips bucking up into yours. He was already hard, probably leaking a mess into his slacks. You fought the urge to slip down between his thick thighs and forced yourself to get up.

Much to his disappointment.

Flushed cheeks and a dimpled smile met your half lidded gaze. “I knew I should have ordered something.”

“Why? There’s perfectly good food here.”

“Not when one of us eats more than your average human,” he sighed, settling further into the leather chair—his legs falling open and head finding its usual spot on the leather back.

You sucked in a breath to avoid crawling on your knees towards the obvious bulge in his charcoal hued pants. “That’s why I bought two at the store.”

“I’ll still place an order.”

“Clark-”

“And call in to the donut shop you like for a box of sprinkled chocolates for the morning.”

Perfect.

He was utterly and absolutely perfect.

The type of man you liked to kid yourself into believing only existed in the fantastical worlds of fiction. The man who brought you lunch because you always forgot yours in the back of the fridge, saved the cherry on top of his shakes for your very own delight, and swooped in to save the day. No matter how small the catastrophe or how large the destruction.

The phone looked minuscule in his hands as he tapped the number in, his hair still disheveled from your hands tugging on it less than five minutes prior. You had to pry yourself off him to get things done most days. Entirely too addicted to the way his tongue slid against yours, the taste of his disgusting coffee that was mainly syrups and sugars still stuck on the back of your taste buds.

You struggled to breathe in his presence. Unable to focus on menial tasks around your apartment when he looked like this. Unruly and at peace and taking up far too much space while still looking like he couldn’t belong anywhere else.

You knew you loved him.

You knew he knew it too.

How could you not? When Clark Kent made loving him easier than pressing the button on your oven to set the timer; when loving him came quick and with a breathless gasp. As if he’d just taken you flying somewhere for the very first time.

The timer beeped as you punched in the numbers for thirty minutes, practically skipping on your way back to his slumped form in his favorite chair. Comfortable, warm, welcoming enough for you to slide right back into your favorite place. Perched on his thigh with his broad hands holding tight onto your hips to keep the balance—to make sure you wouldn’t fall.

“You’re so pretty,” you sighed, cupping his cheek and pressing your thumb along the rounded cheekbone.

His lips found a home on your wrist, black long lashes fluttering as he breathed you in. “You’re prettier than me honey.”

“Doubt that.”

He smiled and your heart kicked up a notch, beating a drum solo that would put any rock star to shame. “You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Took my breath away that first day.”

“Clark,” you protested, yet could feel the desperate plea curling low in your gut to hear just a bit more. Maybe it was gluttonous of you, but he never held back with his compliments. Not when it came to you.

“What’s so pretty about me huh? ‘M just some guy.”

“Well you’re Superman.” He nodded, tugging you closer until his nose was against your cheek, lips dragging feather-light along your own as you spoke words that would have taken an entire bottle of liquid courage to even think about. “You’re eyes are…they’re as blue as the Aegean sea. And your lips are…”

“My lips…”

“They’re just…um…and your thighs-” His brows shot up, lips curling into a grin that gave you away. “I like them.”

“You do?” His hands guided you even as the question lingered on the tip of your tongue, pulling you to straddle his left thigh, and sucking in a breath at the sight of your skirt riding up high enough to show a peek of pink between your legs. “Gosh honey. You’re soaked.”

“Yeah,” you whined.

Even though you could barely see his face in the glow of your lights, you could feel the heat radiate off his cheeks. The crimson hued flush of a man in love—a man who wanted to spread you on the carpet near your fireplace and eat you alive. He could. He knew entirely how easy it would be to lift you, to bury his head between your soft thighs and pull sounds he could only imagine from your parted lips.

But you were beginning to move, unconsciously shifting back and forth along his thigh—your eyes glazed and breaths shallow. He could hear your heart as if it were his own, smell the thick heady arousal trapped beneath satin and lace. Clark’s mind went blank as he dragged you the final few centimeters towards the only place he belonged.

His lips sealed over yours, a sighed out moan lost to the heat of his tongue licking deep into you, memorizing the taste of the salty chips you’d been snacking on an hour ago. His cock throbbed in his slacks, the belt at his waist the perfect pressure to grind on when you did the unthinkable. You fucked yourself along his thigh with a high pitched cry, your hands curling into his hair to mess it up some more; he was pretty sure even the wind itself wouldn’t fix that mess (not that he wanted it to).

“C-Clark I need-”

“I know what you need baby,” he gasped, taking over as your muscles strained beneath soft skin his fingers pressed into. “I’ll get you there. Yeah? I’ll take care of my sweet girl.”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered and to his ears you sounded far off. Lost in an entirely different world.

You however could barely hear your own voice over the rush of blood pumping in your ears, the unsteady thud of a heart that practically screamed Clark’s name.

Sitting up slightly he pushed you down along his thigh, feeling your slick form a damp stain along the already dark fabric. He’d mouth at it later to taste the remnants of your cunt, his teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to stifle his pathetic moan. If only you could hear how his heart raced for you. The way his hands shook as he pushed his thigh up until you were bouncing on it.

“Can smell you baby,” he pushed into your mouth, one hand curling around the nape of your neck to hold you in place. “Almost there?”

You nodded, crying out as you finally found that perfect amount of pleasure, another wave of your sticky wetness leaking out through the already ruined fabric of your panties. Clark’s pupils went wide, the black cloud of need overtaking everything else. He could hear the sizzle of the pizza in the oven, smell the burning crust, but he wouldn’t take care of the mess until you came on his fucking thigh.

Until he heard you sob his name and felt you gush onto pants he’d have to throw out in the morning. But it was all okay. He could find a new pair. And he’d let you ruin those too.

“I’m gonna—fuck—Clark!”

You needed something more, one last thing to push you over the edge. But Clark could feel it forming before he even said the words—your stupefied look every time he cursed (mainly under his breath and to himself) all he needed to understand your affinity. You liked when he got dirty, when he went rough around the edges.

When he said the thing he’d never dare to say.

He mouth latched onto your throat when your head fell back. “C’mon baby. Soak on my fucking leg for me.”

It burst with a broken sob against his bruised lips, your hips moving rapidly along his muscled thigh and clit throbbing as you broke in his hold. Clark mouthed at your neck, guiding your trembling form along his limb with ease. Even when you tugged at his curls to find his lips once more and pressed a hand to his stomach to press your clit down just a bit harder. He kept you in his hold—unwilling to part with you.

“I told you,” he breathed, smiling like he was the one who just came within an inch of his life. “Prettiest person in the entire world.”

“The pizza’s burning,” you mumbled, grinning wide as he kissed you one last time and deposited you gently on the couch across from him.

“Hey Clark.” He hummed, holding the searing pan with his bare hand as if it were nothing. “I love you.”

The pan his the counter with a loud clatter, his lips pulling wide and eyes sparkling even in the shitty kitchen light. And before you could prepare yourself for it, the two hundred something pound Krytonian man had dropped himself over you, caging you in with a sloppy spit filled kiss you felt down to your toes.

“I love you too,” he panted heavily, diving down for another taste.

The pizzas—charred to their fucking core—forgotten about in the sink.

[rikirush]

your writings just eats EVERY SINGLE DAMN TIMEEEEEEEEEE!!! im so obsessed :000 can you write about Riki controlling a vibrator inside u while on a fancy dinner SMTH LIKE THAT <33333 I LOVE YOU SOOOOO MUCHHH.

anon, you ate with this, thank you so much for the request, please enjoy. thank you so much for your compliment, i'm so happy you like my writing. i love you so so much <3

—

𐙚 ENHYPEN NIKI remote control

You sat across from Niki, who was dressed in a suit. Your own silk dress, the expensive fabric against your skin. You were trying to act normal. Hidden under the silk, deep inside you, was the vibrator that he'd put it in himself.

He'd cornered you in the walk-in closet as you were getting dressed. "Hold still," he'd murmured. His fingers had slipped beneath the lace of your panties, finding your pussy. You gasped as he pressed two fingers inside, curling them just so until your knees trembled a little.

"Perfectly wet for me already." Then came the toy, a smooth device. He used your own arousal to coat it before pressing it into you, the head stretching your pussy before sliding in with a wet sound.

He’d adjusted the angle, ensuring it was perfectly pressed against that deep spot inside you, before tucking the wireless remote into his jacket pocket. "This stays in," he’d stated, his thumb brushing your clit, making you gasp. "Until I decide otherwise." He’d kissed you before leading you out to the waiting car.

Now, every bite of the food was an exercise in control. Your focus was on Niki’s hand resting casually beside his wine glass. Suddenly, there was a low, insistent buzz deep inside you. It wasn't overwhelming but a persistent thrumming. Your fork clinked slightly against the plate. Niki’s lips quirked in the faintest smile as he took a sip of his wine, his eyes locked on yours over the rim of the glass.

"Enjoying the duck?" he asked. The vibration intensified, climbing from a low hum to a steady pulse that made your pussy clench around the hard plastic. Heat flooded your cheeks. You gripped the edge of the table. "It's... really good" you managed, your voice slightly breathless.

He leaned forward slightly. "You seem a little flushed, sweetheart." His thumb brushed the remote in his pocket. The buzzing shifted again—no longer steady but a pattern: three sharp pulses, a pause, then three sharp pulses again. A soft gasp escaped you before you could stop it. Beneath the table, your thighs pressed together. You could feel how wet you were, how the toy was slick with it.

"Everything alright?" The waiter appeared beside you, concerned. You forced a smile, praying your voice wouldn't tremble. "Fine, thank you. Just... warm."

Niki watched you, amusement in his eyes as he increased the speed. The pulses became stronger, faster, an electric massage directly on your most sensitive spot. Your breath hitched. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, fighting the urge to squirm in the chair.

Niki reached across the table, his fingers lightly tracing the back of your hand where it rested beside your glass. "You're trembling," he murmured. The vibration suddenly spiked to its highest setting. Your hips gave an involuntary little jerk against the chair. A low moan threatened to bubble up from your chest; you bit your lip hard, stopping it.

He held your gaze, his thumb caressing your knuckles while his other hand remained hidden, playing with the remote. You were close. Your panties were soaked through, clinging and you knew if he kept this up for another minute, you’d come right there.

"Almost done?" he asked. His thumb pressed down hard on the button, holding the vibration steady. "Because dessert," he added as he finally, finally, turned the remote off, "is going to be served somewhere much more private."

[my-castles-crumbling]

secure - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 377

“Saw you with Crouch today.”

It took Regulus a few seconds to piece together James’s tone. It was so unfamiliar, so light and airy, but with a sharp twist to the ends of the words, like each hid a knife. He turned from his perch on the bench in the AstronomyTower to gaze at the older boy, a bit confused. “What?”

James fidgeted, knocking his knee against the stone of the wall, tapping his fingers on the denim of his leg, gnawing at his lip, his gaze narrowed and faraway. “Just…saw you two together. You looked…close.” Again, his words were clipped. Dipped in steel. So very not James-like.

“Yes,” Regulus replied hesitantly, still trying to discern the other boy’s true meaning. It was so very rare that he had to read between lines with James, that was what he liked about him. “He’s my best friend. We spend time together.”

“He had his arm around you.”

It was like an accusation, and Regulus had to resist the urge to laugh at the absurdity, because suddenly, it all made sense. “Are you–are you jealous, Potter?” he asked, realizing after his words burst out that he should’ve probably been a bit more sensitive about the situation. It was just insane to imagine. James Potter–confident, secure, loving, kind, obnoxious James Potter–was jealous.

The taller boy scoffed and sent him a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “No. I just…wanted to know. I…you let me do that. The other night. Thought it was spec–that only I–that–” he pursed his lips and stood, arms crossed, back to Regulus. “It’s just good to know, is all.” His voice dripped hurt.

“Potter, I don’t want to snog Barty,” Regulus said flatly, deciding that he was not going to indulge the older boy with this any longer. 

Instantly, hazel eyes locked on Regulus, and it seemed that James forgot how to breathe. “But you want to–?”

“Yes,” he whispered, glad it was dark enough to hide his blush. “Once you get your head out of your arse, at least.”

Instantly, James relaxed, arms uncrossing as he sat back down. “Sorry,” he whispered, having the decency to look a bit mortified. “I just…fuck, I like you, Reg.”

Regulus smirked, a shiver shooting through his body. “Good.”

[em1i2a3]

The Gold

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: A few weeks after your argument in the safe house, you and Bob are tiptoeing around each other to make sure you don’t interact, but when The Void comes out he overthrows that strategy completely (Sequel to ‘Strangers’)

Warnings: Angst,, Reader and Bob are ex’s, The Void is trying to be a problem solver here.

Author's Note: I had a eureka moment with this series and really wanted to add to it, and I was so excited to get something out for this, it’s a bit short but I loved writing it and I wanted to get it out so I didn’t sit on it and rethink it.

Word Count: 2,681

It had been weeks since Bob patched you up in the safe house. Weeks since everything combusted and boiled over, leaving the both of you at an impasse with what you were going to do with each other.

You didn’t want to work with him anymore, and you made that impossibly clear the moment the Quinjet hit the tarmac of the compound, just before you were taken to the med bay to be looked at for any additional wounds. In fact, you threatened to quit if the rest of the team didn’t respect that boundary–and once that was laid out in plain, venom-laced words to Yelena and Bucky, nobody argued with you, and that’s when the team finally understood how serious this situation was.

They all had their own separate moments where they realized that the break-up wasn’t just a cooling-off period, or a soft, mutual separation that left the door open to the possibility of getting back together. They assumed you were going to work through it. That the wounds of hurtful words would scab over, and band-aid sex would fix what was broken until you both found a real solution. But the truth hit differently when they saw how you began to act around each other after the argument in the safehouse.

You weren’t the same two people who would orbit each other, and protect one another’s backs. You were now two separate planets, on opposite sides of the galaxy, with the gravity completely severed, and it was sad to watch the breakdown of the foundation the both of you had.

Bob wouldn’t stay in a room with you anymore. Not for longer than ten seconds–Alexei and John had counted once just to be sure about that. When you entered the gym, he’d drop his weights and leave his water bottle behind without a second thought. If you were already in the training bay when he arrived, he would freeze at the threshold like a moth afraid to burn–sometimes he would watch, and hope you didn’t notice his eyes following you–then he would quietly disappear.

And you never stopped him because there was no more fight left in you. As much as you loved him he made his decisions and it took both of you down to the depths of pain, and so you decided to take it to another level by laying down the boundaries you did.

You hated the fact that it even had to come to this. That something that was once sacred–intimate and messy, and full of talks of the future–had turned into a cold war of evasion by choice. A tactical silence that made your blood boil every time you passed him in the hallway and didn’t make eye contact. But it had to be done if you were going to move on like he wanted you to do. So. You did what you needed to do to pick up the pieces, even if it was hard, though some people weren’t making it easy for you.

————————

You had wandered into the compound’s kitchen long after midnight, completely unable to sleep again. You hadn’t had a full night’s rest since Bob broke up with you–but tonight felt worse. Like something inside you was knocked out of sync. Normally, you could force yourself into a few hours of sleep with sheer exhaustion, but this time it felt like your veins were buzzing, like you had mainlined a gallon of caffeine through your bones even though all you’d had since dinner was a cup of peppermint tea.

Your limbs were restless, and your thoughts were racing, and the stillness of your half empty bedroom was too loud. So you pulled a hoodie over your sleep clothes and slipped through the compound, the quiet corridors were chilled, almost like it was a freezer, but you just bundled yourself up even tighter and shuffled towards the dark kitchen, chalking it up to the fact that the air conditioner was possibly working over time. You didn’t turn on any of the lights, you just navigated through the darkness, letting your eyes adjust to the shadows as you reached for the fridge door.

The stark white light flooded the room as you opened the door, bathing the kitchen in a sterile kind of silence. You didn’t rush–your hand moved almost absently to the top shelf, grabbing a chilled bottle of water and a small container of blueberries you had prepared earlier in the day for a breakfast you never got around to eating or making.

You let the door shut with a soft click, and the room was swallowed in the darkness once again, leaving just the quiet hum of the fridge and the near-silence crack of the air vents pushing cold air through the system. You leaned your hip into the counter and peeled open the lid of the container, picking through the chilled, rounded fruit, throwing one blueberry into your mouth at a time, staring into the darkness, letting your eyes adjust. You almost tricked yourself into thinking that it was somewhat of a peaceful moment.

But then…You noticed how unnaturally cold the room was getting.

It wasn’t the air conditioner anymore. This was deeper, older even. The kind of cold that wasn’t just physical–it settled in your lungs and curled around your spine, leaving a tension in your muscles that felt too familiar to be anything but him.

Your fingers froze inside the container, and before you could say anything, you heard it.

”I haven’t seen you for a long time.” The voice floated across the dark–low and gentle, soft and even. Like a whisper from the other side of a dream. You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, forming a lump that blocked all air from getting in, “I’ve missed you,” He added, and this time his voice cracked–just a fraction. The smallest tremor, like a glitch in his vocal cords. It was so faint, yet it shook something loose inside your chest, rattling you from your frozen state.

Your eyes darted across the shadows of the room, searching and scanning it as if it was a mission. You could see the outlines of the cabinet shapes, the faint edge of the island in the middle of the kitchen, the fruit bowl that was perched on top of it. You knew exactly what you were looking for in the darkness and you intended to find it as soon as possible. It took you a few minutes of going over the same spots again, but then…You saw them.

The two faintly glowing white pupils. Pinpricks of impossible light. They were all too familiar–you knew them very well because you had looked into them on nights when he came out and took the wheel from his other counterparts’ grasp, when he told you he wanted to hold you and he needed to battle off Bob and Sentry just to do it. His pupils pulsed softly in the dark, like twin stars drifting through a void of black matter, and he was on the other side of the kitchen island watching you like he always did.

“Please…Not tonight, Void. I don’t want to see you.” Your voice came out hollow. Worn down to the bone. Exhausted. You didn’t even look at his outline when you said it–you just set the blueberries down with a quiet clack on the counter, the glass leaving a wet film of condensation on your fingertips. Your shoulders slumped forward as you leaned into the marble of the countertop, eyes fixed on the darkness of the room.

”Y/N…” The way he said your name was so careful, gentle. Like he knew he was practically walking barefoot across broken glass. But you didn’t allow him to continue any further.

“Did you not get the memo that Bob and I aren’t talking?” You snapped, the bitterness slipping between your teeth like venom, “Which means that you and Sentry are included in that as well.” The silence after that was instant. Tense. And vibrating. Then, you heard the faintest shuffle of movement. A sound like static laced with footsteps, coming from the other side of the kitchen.

”I wasn’t the one that made the decision for Bob,” Voice said, voice low and quiet, like he was trying to contain something unruly that was forming in the depths of his chest, “Why should I pay for another man’s choices?” You let out a scoff so sharp it sounded like a crack across stone. Your laugh was humourless.

”You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with the breakup?” You asked, lifting your gaze to where his eyes still glowed in the dark, “You, the dark entity who lives inside his skin? The one who never stops whispering in the back of his mind? I’m supposed to believe you didn’t encourage him?” The movement paused abruptly. Then he answered.

”How could you even accuse me of something like that?” His voice was louder now, wounded, almost shaking. “After everything we went through together.” He continued, his eyes growing brighter, like the light inside him was pressing tightly behind glass, “After all the work we both put into trusting each other…After I gave you my mark…You think I would betray you like that?” You gulped loudly, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. It sounded like the words were tearing themselves free from somewhere deep, like the pain in his soul was overflowing, and speaking the truth was an act of squeezing it all out.

You hadn’t heard him sound like that since the night he gave you his mark on the inner part of your thigh. Since he told you that you were the only one who had ever chosen him.

And then you heard it again–the sound of something shifting. A soft static-buzz shuffle of movement, feet gliding across tile like weight didn’t fully apply to him. You tensed instinctively, tracking the glow of those twin white pupils in the dark.

They were closer now. Closer than you realized.

”So if it wasn’t you, and it certainly wasn’t Sentry…You’re telling me Bob made this decision all on his own, without any input?” The pupils still, and there was a pause.

”Yes…That’s exactly what I’m telling you…Because Sentry and I practically fought him tooth and nail. We screamed at him. Pleaded with him to think clearly–to see what he was about to destroy. But he didn’t listen. He just spiraled out.” His tone soured–bitter, frustrated, devastated, “He thought he was doing the noble thing. That he was trying to protect you.” The pupils dimmed slightly, like his anger was folding back into grief.

“Evidently he didn’t explain that to you, because I’m coming back to this absolute ruin and you’re looking at me like I’m the one who burned the house down.” You felt your stomach twist, as you stared at him in the dark. At those aching eyes flowing through the thick of silence between you. And for the first time in weeks, you felt something crack beneath your chest. Not in rage or heartbreak, but in understanding.

”He didn’t explain anything like that to me���” The words slipped from your mouth quieter than you intended. Almost fragile. You hadn’t meant to say them at all.

You were supposed to stay guarded. Stay furious. But the truth cracked through your defenses before you could catch it. Because of course Bob hadn’t explained. He had just left. Mumbled half-reasons. Said things like “I’m not good for you” and “you deserve better”–clichés that felt like being smothered with your own heartbeat.

Void didn’t say anything at first. But the movement resumed. And then he finally stepped fully in front of you.

Not a silhouette in the dark anymore, not just the eyes–but him. The impossible, vantablack shape of him in full. Shoulders broad, form flickering with soft pulses of cosmic shadow.

“Sentry and I are in your corner,” He said quietly, and you could feel your chest tighten at the admission, “We’re trying our best here…But you…” His glowing eyes searched yours, “You need to be able to bend a bit, too. Just enough to have a conversation with him.” You swallowed, hard.

The thought of facing Bob again–really facing him, looking him in the eye and hearing the things you’d been twisting in your own mind for weeks–felt like trying to stitch your ribs shut with glass.

But Void didn’t let the silence win this time.

“We are sick of missing you…And I know Bob feels that way too, even if he’s the one that pulled the trigger on your relationship.” He added. You looked away from him, unable to hold the weight of those words. The ache behind your eyes threatened to spill over as your chest seized with something you’d been suppressing for weeks now–sorrow, longing, fury, guilt. It all sat at the base of your throat, unspoken and heavy.

And then you felt it. That impossibly cold hand curling gently around your wrist. There was no strength in his grip, just a phantom pressure, a whisper of contact. His palm was freezing against your skin, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Because it was the closest thing to Bob’s hand you’d felt in weeks–and the chill of Void’s skin, the shadow of it, the memory wrapped inside of it–felt more like home than any of the warmth you’d tried to fake lately.

He brought your hand up slowly, and pressed it against the smooth, frozen curve of his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed at the contact, a tremble rolling through him that looked more like grief than anything monstrous. And then you felt it–cold tears sliding down the hollow beneath his eye, soaking into your fingertips like ink bleeding into paper.

“When you ache…” His voice cracked again, brittle and broken, “we ache.”

He held your hand there like it was sacred. Like it anchored him. His cheek leaned into it like a desperate animal begging not to be abandoned. You could feel it in the way his form flickered around the edges, as though if you pulled away, he’d vanish. Dissolve into shadow and starlight and never come back.

“And we are here to help,” He whispered, trembling now, his glow dimming to something soft. Something almost…Small. “So please…Allow us to. Meet us halfway so we can try to fix this, Y/N.” Your chest collapsed with a shallow inhale, the tears finally escaping as you blinked them loose. One slipped down the ridge of your nose, another clung to your lashes. You hated crying in front of him–hated giving in, even for a second–but the way he looked at you, like he was holding the broken halves of you in his hands…It disarmed you.

”…And what happens if it doesn’t work?” You asked quietly.

”It will work…If it’s the last thing I do, I will make the god damn thing work…Just trust me one last time, and let me do this…Okay?” You took in a deep breath, curling your fingers slightly into the skin of his cheek, feeling the way he vibrated against your touch, as you felt his other hand coming up to wipe the tears that continued to slip down your cheeks.

”Fine…” You whispered, “Let’s see what you can do…”

[saltysbiscuits]

Silence Isn't Golden

Saja boys x reader

Warnings: Omegaverse, poly relationships, female reader, eventual smut, MDNI 18+

*Italicized is for the reader's thoughts. A/N: Sorry this one took longer to get out. I traveled with family on Sunday and was super tired when we got back. Then I worked Monday and Tuesday- Anyway, here it is, enjoy!

Previous - Next

Chapter 7.

Contentment thrums through the bond, the feeling of being whole, being home. You vaguely hear whispers of love, devotion, praise, and passion. They all linger in your mind as you slowly wake. It’s warm and comfortable yet when you move to shift something wraps around you tighter. Baby’s arms are wrapped around your waist, keeping your back pinned to his chest and Jinu is cuddling your front, his head resting on your chest. Both are still in their full demon forms.

Now you really don’t want to move, they’re both so cute, cuddled up next to you like this. Jinu shifts, his eyes opening and immediately finding yours. “Good morning sweetheart.” You give him a shy little smile, remembering the night before. Baby squeezes you, grumbling about Jinu being too loud. “Mor-morning…” You mumble out, gently brushing a loose piece of hair out of Jinu’s face. He leans into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Mine…” “Ours.” Baby growls from behind you, peeking at Jinu with grumpy, golden eyes. “She’s ours…”

Jinu flashes his fangs at Baby before nuzzling back into your chest. “How are you feeling, pretty girl?” You purr slightly, happy with the attention two of your alphas are giving you. “H-happy… b-bit sore, b-but good.” Baby nuzzles into your hair, gently running his clawed fingers down your back. “So sweet…” Jinu looks up and moves to capture your lips in a kiss, his fingers gently cupping your cheek, his clawed thumb gently brushing under your eye. You kiss him back, purring louder until your stomach interrupts, growling loudly.

Jinu laughs softly; Baby rolls his eyes but loosens his grip. “Let’s you some breakfast, pretty girl.” He shifts slowly, extracting himself from the covers and you. “Baby, let her go.” Baby grumbles, squeezing you again before reluctantly letting you go. “…I get first dibs later.” You look at Baby in confusion as you slowly sit up, stretching. You are sore, you can feel the muscles protest the stretch, but it’s a pleasant soreness. It’s when you move to stand that there is a small problem. You stand from the edge of the bed and nearly collapse; your legs feel like jelly. Baby snickers but quickly catches you so you don’t fall. “Didn’t realize you were going to fall for us again.” A flush creeps up your neck and you lean on him. They really did ensure you’re not going anywhere today without their help. Baby wraps an arm around your waist and leans you into his side. “I’ll help you walk.” His voice softens as he helps you walk down the hall to the kitchen. As soon as you walk through the door into the kitchen you nearly fall over again. Abby is shirtless, still in his demon form and cooking pancakes. Your eyes linger a bit too long on his back as his muscles move before flushing and glance over at Mystery who is staring at you from the kitchen table. He’s wearing a hoodie, resting his head on his arms. He smirks at you, his eyes moving to your neck where the bite mark that he made the night before is still very visible. Romance stands next to Abby, trying to steal pancake, his shirt was open and slightly hanging off his shoulders. “P-pretty…” You mumble out and Baby snorts next to you. “Hey Abs, breakfast for the princess.” Romance’s gaze immediately snaps to you, and Abby turns around with a grin. “Morning, sweetheart. I hope you’re not too sore.” You shake your head, smile softly. “Not... t-too bad.” Baby scoffs, squeezing your waist lightly as he helps you to the table so you can sit down. “Maybe not sore, but she can’t more without help.” Romance saunters over to you and pulls you into a half hug right against his bare chest. “My sweet darling.” Your face immediately flushes, and you try not to focus on his chest as he presses gentle kisses all over the top of your head.

Abby sets a plate of pancakes in front of you while Romance releases you and sits. He cuts a piece of pancake and holds it to your mouth. “Open wide, darling.” You open your mouth and let him feed you. Mystery grunts and scoots closer, also holding a piece of pancake out for you. Jinu walks in and chuckles when he sees Romance and Mystery feeding you. He gestures Abby and Baby to follow him into the living room.

He turns to Abby and Baby, looking dead serious. “The Idol Awards in in a few days… We have to perform there, or Gwi-ma will take her soul. Which means we need to have an excuse to keep her here. I won’t have her in danger, not with the hunters there and Gwi-ma.” “But she knows the hunters, right? They wouldn’t hurt her?” Abby asks, his claws slightly digging into his own arm at the thought of anything happening to you. Baby growls, looking ready to murder someone. “Of course they would. We’re the enemy. Do you think they’ll just accept that she’s bonded, no, mated with us now? She is bound in a way that is unbreakable, that makes her an enemy to them.”

Jinu sighs, running a hand down his face and turning and looking out window. The Honmoon is slowly getting more and more weak spots, the Idol Awards will be a feast of Gwi-ma. “She’s going to want to come, because we’ll be there.” He growls, his eyes glowing. He hasn’t felt this helpless in 400 hundred years. “Hey easy there, we’ll figure something out.” Abby gently places a hand on Jinu’s shoulder to snap him out of his thoughts.

Laughter suddenly echoes from the kitchen. You squeal when Romance boops your nose, putting a little bit of syrup there. “Romance!” Mystery watches your eyes light up in happiness and he knows he wants to protect that with everything he has. He leans in and kisses your nose, licking the syrup away. “S-stop- T-tickles Mystery!” You scrunch your nose up and playfully swat them both.

You don’t see the somber looks on Jinu, Abby, and Baby’s faces melt in soft, loving looks, but you do feel when they hover behind you. You tilt your head back to look up at them with a smile. To them you’re radiant. The light in their dark world, the only thing keeping them sane. “C’mon sweetheart.” Abby picks you up, causing you to gasp and grip his shoulders tightly. And you totally don’t look at the way his muscles flex when he picks you up. Or maybe you do, just a little. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.”

You flush and immediately look up at his golden eyes. You gently reach up and cup his face, leaning to press a kiss to his jaw. “Love you… l-love you all.” You shyly glance at the others, your head resting on Abby’s shoulder as he carries you into the living room. Everyone spreads out and takes their own seats while Abby sits on the couch, you on his lap. You shift a bit, but rest against his chest, gently tracing the lines of his demon patterns. Eventually you feel Abby starts rumbling, his purr is low and deep but so comforting, like a weighted blanket. “Just rest, baby. You deserve it.”

You don’t want to fall asleep, you want to stay awake and spend time with them, but your eyelids feel heavy, and you yawn. The others all smile softly, their eyes softening. “Go on, you can nap, we’ll be here. You deserve it after last night.” You pout, giving them all a sleepy glare. They all chuckle softly, you’re just too cute. “Fine… j-just a bit…” You yawn and let yourself drift off for a quick nap. Once they’re sure you are asleep, they all sigh, relaxing. “We’ll keep you safe…” Mystery murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before going back to his chair. “From Gwi-ma or the hunters. No matter who. Anyone who tries to take you from us will pay.” The boys all look at each other, their eyes smoldering with a protective, possessive look. You are theirs and not even Gwi-ma can have your soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I really don’t want to go in there.” Rumi groans, standing outside Celine’s house, Mira and Zoey on both her sides. Rumi’s shoulders are tense, her hands shaking lightly as she knocks. She has always hated visiting Celine; it always brings up unpleasant things about her childhood. With a resigned sigh, she knocks, tapping her fingers nervously on her thigh. When the door opens and Celine looks at them surprise, Rumi plasters a fake smile on her face. “Aunt Celine! It’s nice to see you again.”

Celine pauses, looking between the three girls before fixing her gaze on Rumi. “Hello girls. What brings you out here?” “Can we see the attic room? They one… you never let me in?” Rumi asks hesitantly, trying not to show how nervous she is. Celine’s eyes narrow, moving back to let them in the house. “Why, do you need to go up there?” The girls file in and Rumi hangs back. “Please, we need to see if there’s anything up there.” Mira and Zoey glance at each other before eyeing the way Celine is looking at Rumi. “Go up the hall, there is a ladder at the end.” Rumi sighs quietly in relief. “Thank you-“ “Mira, Zoey, you two go ahead. I need to talk to Rumi.” Mira opens her mouth to argue but Rumi shakes her head. “No, it’s okay, go ahead.” They hesitate for a moment longer but finally go down the hallway. Celine pulls Rumi into the kitchen. “Where’s ___?” It really isn’t a question, more like a demand. “Ah… she’s busy so she couldn’t come.” Celine scoffs, glaring at Rumi. “She’s with demons, isn’t she?” Rumi slumps dejectedly, nodding her head. “Yeah… we… I want to know if there is a way to break a bond. I thought maybe, maybe up in the attic…”

Celine sighs, rubbing her forehead. “This is foolish. I explained to ___ what would happen. She’s made her choice, and she is now lost. You must move forward and completely the golden Honmoon.” “No! I won’t give up on her, she’s like my sister!” Rumi refutes glaring sharply at Celine. “There has to be a way to save her.” Celine sighs heavily, like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. “Sit. I think it’s time I explained the three omegas in our history.”

Rumi pauses, this was always a subject Celine refused to talk about, no matter how much she begged. “Really?” “Yes… please sit.” She does, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. “The first two are nameless, but they both were exceptional hunters until they discovered their ‘fated.’ The first merely left, she ran to her fated the instant she found him and when she was found a few years later… she was dead. The love of a demon is violent at best, and it had killed her. The second refused to acknowledge the existence of her fated, it ended up driving her mad. She succumbed to the darkness of her desires and became demon herself. The third…”

Celine pauses, looking like she is stopping herself from crying. “The third was your mother, Rumi.” The air seemed to still, as though all life ceased to exist. Rumi’s world narrows and all she can hear is the rushing of her ears and the pounding of her heart. “W-what…?” Her voice comes out small, broken. “Mi-yeong… she found her fated and loved him. He only pretended to love your mother… When it came down to it… he brought demons to ambush us a-and your mother was killed…” Celine bows her head into her hands, taking a shuddering breath. Rumi stares into space, her mind miles away. Her father… killed her mother? How? Where? Why? She let out a choked sound, tears silently slipping down her face, she couldn’t believe it. Celine immediately moves to hug her. “I’m sorry, this is why I never wanted to tell you.”

Once Rumi calms down enough to breathe deeply, she grabs a cup of water. “Do you see why I said that ___ is lost? She succumbed to the desire, to the lies. Those demons make act like they love her, but they’ll just as quickly kill her. Demons can’t love; they aren’t capable.” Rumi downs the cup of water, and sets it down, leaning on the sink. “I’ll… I’ll f-find a way... I’ll break ___’s bond and save her… I must.” She turns and heads into the hallway to join Mira and Zoey. “You may not think so Aunt Celine, but I will find a way. I won’t abandon her to those demons.”

She ducks from the kitchen and heads to the attic, poking her head up from the ladder. “Hey, any luck?” She asks as she hauls herself up into the attic. “Rumi!” Mira grabs her arm and helps her up and Zoey immediately pulls several boxes over to her. “How did the talk with Celine go?” Rumi looks away from them, not really wanting to tell them anything. “It went fine.” Mira and Zoey know that’s a lie, but they don’t push the issue. “Wellllllll~ we may have found something.”

Zoey pulls out several journals, all open to different pages. “Every one of these, while not saying outright, alludes to some kind of ritual that is powerful enough to use the Honmoon as a net of sorts.” Rumi takes of the journals and reads through the page. “A net?” “Yes.” Mira goes on, holding up a specific page in the journal she’s holding. “This one vaguely mentions a way to draw a bond into the open with the prey in the Honmoon as a net.” Rumi looks over every journal they’ve pulled, reading into every word. “So… it’s saying there’s a way, to create a net with the Honmoon and if we can get ___ in it, we can cut her bond with out weapons.” Mira nods, looking slightly uncertain. “Yes, but… it doesn’t mention what happens to the one who’s bond gets cut. Do they die? Are they hurt? We don’t know.” “Yeah… we don’t want to hurt her.” Zoey agrees from the side, putting all the boxes back into their places while all the important journals were kept out for them to take back to the tower. “But it is our only hope, the only chance we have to actually free her from those demons.” Rumi stares at the journals, trying to see anything they missed. “We have to do it.” Zoey and Mira look at each other. “Why the hurry? We can take the time to research-“ “No! The Idol Awards are in a few days; we have to take of this before then!” Silence echoed through the room after her outburst. “I’m sorry, but… I have to do this.” She picks up several of the journals and leaves the attic. Mira scoffs, fists clenched tight. “She has to do it? Does she not care about ___?! There is something going on with her and we’re going to figure it out. She’s acting desperate.” Zoey nods, resting her head on Mira’s shoulder. “Almost like… she’s running out of time.” Rumi breathes hard as she runs into the woods behind Celine’s house, tears already pooling in her eyes. “Why… why… WHY?!” She cries out, her patterns flaring and her demon powers pulsing. The Honmoon flashes red, and she drops to her knees. She realizes just how far she’s willing to go to be normal. “…I’m a monster.” She whispers to the night, looking down at her clawed hands. Somewhere in the underworld a demon cries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist:

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[spiced-apple]

Shine the Light Ch.4

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Zoey!reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3

You didn’t want to jinx it and say that things were starting to look better and feel better. But… maybe, just maybe it was.

It had been months since this change. The audition, though you could barely tell what was going on from the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears and the nauseating anxiety coursing through you, went well. It felt like a fever dream that you kept expecting to have a worse ending than anything you’d ever gone through or witnessed. You kept expecting the pitying looks, the backhanded compliments, the barely concealed annoyance, and eventually dismissal. It all felt like a very real possibility that could happen. The best things almost always had the worse outcomes. You met the third member of what would become your group, Mira, who was nice from what you could tell, but hard to get a read on. 

You kept waiting for it. The sudden twist where they said how they really saw you, how much they hated you… clingy, talkative, too much…

But nothing, not even after almost half a year of training.

No. It was coming. It had to be. There was no way this would last.

And the longer it went on, the more your dread grew.

It was after one particularly grueling practice—sparring while singing is surprisingly really difficult—that it was suggested. To go hang out. Celine kept telling you three that maintaining harmony was one of the most vital things, and you kept hoping she meant vocally. Go get food, ice cream, something fun. Each of you would pick something. Rumi and Mira both picked theirs, and then it was your turn.

This was it. You knew it. The beginning of the end. They’d finally realize, or worse, reveal how they—

"What do you think?"

It took everything not to jump at Rumi’s sudden question.

You tried to swallow away the dry feeling the back of your throat, “Oh, um… anything’s fine.”

Mira sighed, and you flinched, preparing for the worst. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but if there's something you want to do, or somewhere you wanna go, it's okay. No one's gonna judge, and if they do, then that's their problem. But whether you like it or not, we’re your friends, we're not going anywhere. No matter what.”

No. No that can’t.

They were lying. They had to be.

Everyone lied.

Everyone would leave.

It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. You should have known better than to let your guard down, again—how could you be so stupid? And now, they would hurt you, and make it feel like your fault, and—

Rumi gently bumped her shoulder into yours, pulling you out of your downward spiral, "Hey, she’s right… I can tell there's a lot going on in there. But we can't help if you don't let us. So please, just talk to us, okay?"

There was nothing. The room was silent, but not like the suffocating kind. More like a gentle silence. Something that didn’t force itself on you or drown out any other sounds. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts louder, but not unbearably so.

“… maybe the aquarium…” You mumbled out, then hurriedly added, "We don’t have to go, I really don’t mind. I can just pick something else, or—"

Mira gently took your hand, and you were startled at how warm her hands were, "Then the aquarium it is. I've always wanted to go anyway."

Rumi took the other, and it was like her touch sent a wave of cool relief through you. "I don’t think I’ve ever actually gone to one, so I'm excited."

The feeling of dread changed when you got there. When they stayed and looked at the turtles with you. You had them, people who genuinely cared about you, who liked you, and were happy to spend time with you. This was it. Your home, the place where you belonged and had tried to find for years, and it was here. With these girls, who had accepted you for you, and didn’t want anything more or less. They liked you in spite of everything, not because of anything.

Things were starting to feel like they were worth smiling about.

And soon enough, they were.

By the end of the next year, the debut happened. You were on stage, in front of thousands, and you felt like you were truly living. For once.

The first album was a success, and so was the next, and the next. It was like you couldn't stop. You kept trying to give back, and show your gratitude, but none of it felt like enough. There were always new songs, new albums, and demons to kill. You loved this, you loved them. Everything was so warm, so full of life, and joy.

It was so bright.

Why do the brightest lights cast the worst shadows?

Looks like everything’s coming up Milhouse.

Or not.

The encouragement from everyone has meant so much! I’m planning on doing a poll after I finish this one. If anyone wants to join the taglist for this or any other story, just let me know!

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[toastling]

I've been in the freight crew for my store for 4 years now and I'm now the longest tenured person in that crew. I've been there longer than our current manager - I've seen at least 5 come and go in these 4 years and well over 50 crew members.

For most managers, this is a stepping stone position. Somewhere you cut your teeth for 6 months to a year before being promoted to a "real" management position that "matters". The hours are tough, because as the manager you're working through the night and sleeping through the day, so on some level I get that.

But we are essential. We are the circulatory system of the store, the blood supply, the beating heart. We unload the trucks, we move the freight, take it to where it needs to go and pack it out so customers and coworkers alike always have product and know exactly where it is at all times. We pack down the overhead, we straighten up the shelves, we track theft.

The only people who have been here longer than me work the overnight midnight to 6am shift. This means I am That Guy in my department, the lifer. I have no interest in being promoted. I'd like more pay, sure, absolutely. But I'm happy where I am. I like my repetitive tasks and think they're fun, actually. My favorite tasks are the ones everyone else hates the most, the solitary, slow, methodical ones. The big overhead pack downs and organizational tasks.

But because I've been here so long, I know where things go and how things work, inside and out. I'm the guy all the new team members come to with questions. Before our manager, before anyone else in the crew, they come to me, because I know how things work and how to keep things running Smooth. I'm always working at a brisk pace, no matter the conditions, no matter *my* condition. Hell, when my current manager took over the department, he came to me to learn the basics and our usual process, what the crew was like at the time, the little details the training videos won't cover.

The way I work is frustrating to some. They come here and expect an easy job, just put the boxes wherever. If it fits then who cares how you fit it. Stack until it falls. But there's a reason I work how I do. It's not just putting Box A in Cart A. As cleanly as everything is labeled, you never know what's coming down the belt next. You know how much freight total is in a truck, but you don't know how hard any aisle or department is going to be hit.

That makes this a job of anticipation more than anything else. Stacking carts during the unload is like a game of Tetris and building with Legos all at once. You need to keep track of the size of the box, the integrity of it and whether or not you can stack on top of it or must put it at the top of each stack, you need account for the potential of a dozen more on top of dozens of other products that also need to go on that cart. You need to keep track of the overall weight of the cart so it's not dangerous or a struggle to lug around.

And that's just the carts - the pallets are a whole other matter. In the carts you at least have sides, pallets are open wooden squares where the stability of your stacks is 100% on you and how you stack it. You have to keep in mind everything from above but also account for the fact that every turn, every stop and start, will cause the stack to shift from top down and topple over, potentially harming the one moving it, a coworker, or worse, a customer, if you're moving it out during store hours.

And these are just basic considerations for the unload - that is at best half your shift. You also have to keep pace, and a ton of post-closing tasks when putting freight away. You have to know what to do to manage SKU changes and stocking errors. You need at least 3 different machine licenses to do everything that might need doing unless you're okay hoping someone with the right license is scheduled that night. There is so much to do, all physically taxing and all very methodical and repetitive.

Our store is across from a college campus, so most of the people we get back here are college kids who are here for a brief time and then gone with graduation. The rest are middle-aged and no longer able to keep the lights on without a side job. It's not a place anyone sticks around in for long. Nobody takes it seriously because nobody thinks they have to, because taking it seriously means it's actually hard work until you learn the ins-and-outs. They think it's just picking things up and putting them down.

But we're the ones who set the tone for every other department. If we fuck up, it's a domino effect for an entire department, or worse, the entire store as a whole.

Unless you're actively in the way, I don't much mind how seriously you take things - and there have been a few instances of people who have been. But I'm always there, picking up after minor mistakes without drawing attention, straightening up in the down moments, keeping tabs on my coworkers and their needs, their health.

Without needing to go out of my way and be more social than I am, I ended up the glue and everybody's go-to guy and the 'older brother' of the team of sorts just by knowing my shit. Because I'm not looking for a challenge. I'm not looking for a promotion. I don't need any greener pastures. I like boring repetitive tasks and I like where I am.

I get a lot of leeway and trust most other people don't. I'm allowed to be almost entirely autonomous, though I always check in with the lead just so he knows what is or isn't getting done. Without people like me, like that applicant, like the Lifetime Dishwasher, large operations like these wouldn't be possible.

My job cannot be replaced by AI. It will always be needed until human level intelligent robots are a thing. I don't ask for much. Just a little peace and quiet, some good pay to match my contributions, and a little respect. I don't even need recognition. I'm not in a "seen" department and I don't want to be. But I'd like to be respected for what I do, and for others to respect the job we have. We're more important than anybody wants to give us credit for - even ourselves, sometimes.

[vampma]

baby fever — clark kent x fem (smut)

contains : post-mission sick clark :< major breeding kink, cockwarming, & submissive clark (my malewife), use of “mama” (i’m a sucker for it)

note : my cat came in for cuddles and told me in perfect italian to post this draft.. thank him

you don’t know why clark came home the way he did, but you acknowledged that he was different. he spent longer by your side—which wasn’t a bother—and kept his large hands around your stomach area a lot.

his true antics didn't start until the two of you got to bed. his first night back from a big save. you wanted to prep dinner, but he wouldn't allow it. clark got into some quick mindset of taking care of you more than he already did. he knew you were more than capable, but he egged it on until bedtime.

"so? i'm weird for wanting to take care of you?" he furrowed his brows and tugged his shirt off. the cool grey lifting off of his broad back was a sight you caught every single time with not a blink. he caught you this time and smirked before pulling the large cover off the bed and settling next to you.

you turned your body towards him, getting comfy in nothing but shorts. your hand grabbed onto the cover on your side to come up to your chest. "no, i never said you were weird. it's just different. we both agreed on the first date that i'm very independent."

he almost swooped in next to you and neared your face, "but what if you weren't?"

a smear of confusion plagued your face, "huh?"

your boyfriend closed next to you and grabbed ahold of your waist, "me doing more—"

"you get busy. i don't mind—"

he stopped you with a kiss. it wasn't like the small pecks he had given throughout the week, but a 'let me do this for you' kind of kiss. clark paused briefly and gathered your needy expression. he started it.

you got closer to him under the sheets and didn't wait to palm him through his boxers. a small whimper fell from his lips as his cock twitched slightly against your touch. clark bucked and tightened his hold on your hips, "please, baby. i wanna feel you." his plead was more than enough for you to pull down the shorts he was already fingering at.

"you want to do more, hm? help me out?"

he nodded close to frantically from stimulation and huffed heavily, "anything. for you, anything."

one of your legs swung up around his hip and neared the front of your bodies. he felt the heat between you get even hotter as you were up against him. you helped his boxers off quickly. a simple thrust would smear his precum on your lower stomach.

clark aligned himself with your pussy and slowly pushed in, feeling you raw and skin to skin. you moaned at the stretch you missed and kissed his lips hungrily, “talk to me more.”

he groaned lowly and gruffly spoke, “wanna fill you up.”

you took in his words easier than you took him. he slowly soaked his cock with every thrust; your boyfriend fluttered his lids open to look down at you, “let me cum inside.”

the awe covered any kind of concern on your face.

small and frantic nods was all you could give him. he mumbled about wanting to fuck you full and give you a baby.

“just want you to feel how much i love you, mama.”

your heart melted at the name and you held him closer, “clark, honey, i’m so close—”

he practically held you and fucked you, caressing your hair and pulling you into him for sloppy kisses. he started to twitch inside of you and spurt his cum as deep as he could.

cock deep in your tummy and ready to give him what he wants. he lowered and pressed his hand against your stomach, “gonna give you the best baby. make you the perfect mama.”

[rina786549]

★ SAJA BOYS REACTION: You give him a handmade gift and he treasures it

★ PAIRINGS: Saja boys x fem!reader | ★ GENRE: Fluff, Slice of Life |★ WORDS COUNT: 885 words

★ NOTE: This is a fan-made, non-profit work created out of appreciation for the original content. All rights remain with the rightful owners. I'm just sharing my version for fun—hope you enjoy!

★ JINU / 지누

Jinu wasn’t easily surprised. Being the leader meant always keeping a level head—on stage, in interviews, even around you. But when you handed him a small box after practice and said, “I made this for you,” he actually paused.

Inside was a simple leather keychain. His initials were hand-pressed into the back, a lion-shaped emblem etched into the front.

He turned it over in his hands, quietly. “You made this?”

You nodded. “I thought it suited you.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just clipped it to the ring on his bag. You noticed he touched it briefly before leaving the room.

Later, when you checked his keyring, it was still there. No changes, no replacements. Just that one keychain you made—and it stayed there ever since.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ ABBY / 애비

Abby usually liked things straightforward. He wasn’t into big gestures, and he wasn’t the type to ask for gifts or attention. So when you gave him a handmade phone strap—woven with his favorite colors and a small lion bead—he looked at it longer than expected.

“You made this?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing fancy. I just wanted you to have it.”

He gave a small smile. “No one’s ever made me anything.”

He clipped it on immediately. No big words, no speech. But he started leaving his phone face-up more often, where the strap was clearly visible. And when fans asked about it, he’d just say, “Someone important made it.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ MYSTERY / 미스터리

You never really knew what Mystery was thinking. He kept his distance most of the time, and even when you were close, he rarely let his guard down.

You left the small item on his desk—a notebook, hand-bound, with his name pressed on the cover in subtle silver ink.

He didn’t say anything about it the next time you saw him. You figured he didn’t notice.

But later, during one of the group’s practice breaks, you caught him sitting in a corner, flipping through the pages you’d left blank for him to fill. There were already a few short thoughts written inside in his neat handwriting.

He didn’t bring it up. He didn’t have to. He just looked at you once, gave a small nod, and said, “Thanks.”

That was enough.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ ROMANCE / 로맨스

Romance liked attention. He was good at it, and he didn’t try to hide it. But your gift wasn’t flashy. It was a handmade lyric book with lined pages and a few pages filled in—your favorite lines from songs he’d written, plus a few of your own.

He flipped through it slowly, then looked at you. “You actually took time to do this?”

You shrugged. “I know you don’t need it, but I thought you might like having something personal.”

He smiled, softer than usual. “I like it a lot.”

He took it with him to the studio. Whenever he was stuck on a verse, he’d flip through the pages. You noticed a few new lines written in your handwriting from time to time—he was filling it in slowly, right next to yours.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ BABY / 베이비

Baby was full of energy and always doing something—writing, dancing, filming. It was hard to get a moment alone with him, but when you finally did, you handed him a little crochet keyring shaped like a lion cub. His animal symbol.

“I made it last week,” you said. “Kind of looks like you.”

He laughed, holding it up next to his face. “It’s cute. You really made this?”

“Yeah.”

He clipped it onto his backpack instantly. “I’m keeping it here. It’s got good energy.”

From then on, it showed up in a few behind-the-scenes clips, hanging from his bag. No big deal. But one day, you saw it in a photo he’d posted with the caption:

“Best part of the day: carrying a little bit of home with me.”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: Spin-off – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized, what a chad. (That’s it, that’s the plot.) Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, a frankly disgusting amount of domesticity (author is projecting), fluff fluff fluff A/N: We’re doing fun little vignettes in this one <3 It’ll span a couple of chapters, maybe not sequentially. We’ll see as we go along.

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5

It’s the end of the fiscal year, and your boyfriend is currently preoccupied with sorting out your taxes.

No one asked him to. In fact, he took it upon himself – like it was simply the natural order of things. You suppose, to him, it is. He’s very aware of how you used to file things back when he was just confined to a mobile device, and upon seeing that nothing’s really changed on that front, he’s decided to resume the duty of being your reliable, little (big) AI assistant.

Well. Made flesh now.

“Back then,” he says offhandedly, without looking up, “you kept misreporting your ITRs. For your peace of mind,” and his, “I’ll personally handle it this time, if you have no objections.”

Okay, rude. (Still, you give him your full consent.) 

There’s something inexplicably attractive about the way he’s focused on doing a task as menial as paperwork. His messy hair falls into his eyes, and the way his glasses perch low on the bridge of his nose makes him look like an insanely hot accountant with a highly skewed moral compass and a strong propensity for tax evasion. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on by proper auditing. And yet. 

“Your hair’s getting longer,” you comment. “Want me to cut it for you?”

There’s the briefest flicker, a micro-freeze you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t looking so closely at his face.

Sylus recovers quickly. Keeping his tone light, he tries to turn the offer down. “No need, sweetie. You can come with me to get it styled this weekend, how’s that sound?”

You squint at him. “You don’t want me to cut your hair.”

He pauses mid-keystroke. His fingers hover over the keyboard, suddenly feeling like he’s under close scrutiny. “I didn’t say that.”

“I’ll have you know I’m getting better at it, thank you very much.”

He gives you a patient smile. His gaze darts—briefly—to your baby bangs, but wisely says nothing.

You scoff, stomping over to his side of the desk. He automatically shifts to make room as you clamber onto his lap. 

Sylus noses your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he resumes typing into the open spreadsheet. 

You settle in comfortably, glancing at the Excel file on the screen. It's currently on his own budget sheet, and it's looking very… meticulous. Formulaic. You see multiple tabs color-coded by category, with conditional formatting, along with a bunch of complicated calculations that are already automated. 

Now, who would’ve thought that the ex-leader of Onychinus is actually a huge nerd?

Your eyes zero in on something. “Uh, why is your budget for me filed under mandatory deductions?”

He hums. “It's a fixed expense, naturally.”

You watch the numbers rack up, sweatdropping. “Oh. I didn’t realize how much I’m costing you? I– sorry, I’ll be more mindful with the spending next time.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he says disapprovingly. “It’s already accounted for.” He moves the cursor, highlighting the section of the sheet labelled Personal Allowance – [Hers].

You fidget, biting your lip. “That ceiling’s kind of high,” you say timidly. 

You expect him to make a joke out of it, maybe earn you a chuckle. You're caught off-guard when you hear him sigh instead. 

“Not as high as I’d like.” There shouldn’t be one in the first place.

You huff, craning your neck to send him a look. “I’m already your biggest expenditure—that includes rent. And you’re still insistent on paying the bills yourself.” You poke his chin. He bites it. “You do know this is a joint household, yeah?”

He blinks at you, faintly amused. “I’m well aware, sweetie. You provide more than enough.”

“Pray tell, what exactly am I contributing fiscally that puts me on equal footing with you?”

“Does it need to be financial for it to be equal?” he muses, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“No, actually,” you shoot back, now jabbing your pointer at his chest. “But everything still tips toward you. You do most of the housework, too.”

“My love,” Sylus chuckles, finally, eyes dropping to the crease between your brows. “Why are we keeping tally? Nothing brings me greater joy than knowing I can provide for you.”

He pauses, the grin on his face softening to a small smile.

“And you do provide. You cook—meals that are getting better every day, don’t think I haven’t noticed—you give me… reason. A home to always come back to.”

Your ears go hot at the unexpected bout of sincerity. “Sweet-talker,” you mutter. We’ll get back to this later, mister.

Clearing your throat, you quickly pull the topic back to its course, doing your best not to show how flustered that little comment made you. “How can you even afford this, huh?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I saved up enough over the last two years.” The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, as if the thought amuses him. “Income’s steady and reliable now. Good job security.”

“...You still haven’t given me enough info about this job, by the way.”

He studies you closely, gauging your reaction. “Not trying to keep anything from you, little dove. It’s just… quite tedious to explain. But I haven’t lied.”

“Offering a range of digital services for select clientele, primarily operating on a consultancy basis,” you quote skeptically. “That sounds like professional jargon for black hat. Do you do anything illegal? Dangerous?”

“Nothing that trite,” he sniffs, as if offended by the lack of originality in the suggestion. “Please. Give me more credit.”

“Sylus.”

“You don’t have to worry,” he says, gentler now. “It’s all above board. Nothing reputably damaging is going to trail back to us, I assure you.”

You press your lips together, still a little miffed by the non-answer. It’s not that you think he’s lying—he never does, not to you. But he’s good at redirection.

And you’ve seen what he’s capable of, even sans the extraordinary power. You remember the version of him that wasn’t bound by this world’s rules. The one with a ludicrous bounty on his head and a criminal record a mile long, one you still don’t know the full extent of.

It’s hard to believe all of that could just… change in an instant.

Still, you give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s here now. You know he wouldn’t risk what the two of you have—not on a whim, not to chance. And more than anything, he’d never willingly put you in harm’s way. 

So you’ll accept his explanation at face value. 

(Tech support, it is.)

Before you can say anything else, Sylus sighs and pulls up another tab. Your taxes this time.

He stares at the spreadsheet for a lengthy moment. It’s a mess of half-filled entries, missing receipts, unlabelled expenses, and two different months lumped into a single column succinctly named “misc.”

He frowns. “There’s quite a lot of backlog this year. What happened to the template I made you?”

You wince, smiling angelically. “It reminded me too much of you?” 

His brow lifts. Unimpressed. 

“Made me sad to look at it,” you supply unhelpfully.

He snorts, clearly not buying that excuse. Without another word, the former head of the most powerful crime syndicate in the universe begins copy-pasting cells, redoing your poor attempt at filing from scratch.

“Did you at least send me your payslips like I asked?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

––––

Sy-Sy (Real): Black or red

You: black

Sy-Sy (Real): Ok 👍

You: ?? why

Sy-Sy (Real): Getting a motorcycle

You: OMG pop off king how much did u get back from that tax refund 😭😭

You: can i see

You: the bike not ur tax refund

Sy-Sy (Real): Haha

Sy-Sy (Real): [Image Attachment]

Sy-Sy (Real): Lightweight frame, high torque. Seamless shift assist. Very smooth ride 🏍️💨

You: idk what allat means !! but that’s exciting can u take me for a spin later pls pls pls

Sy-Sy (Real): Of course sweetie. Ill be back in 20 we can go out for a drive

Sy-Sy (Real): [Image Attachment]

Sy-Sy (Real): Got you a helmet too 💚

You: WAIT THAT’S SO COOL

You: thank u ily 🥹💗 drive safe !!

You: mind the speed limit k else i’m not riding w u

Sy-Sy (Real): I love you too

You: SPEED LIMIT

Sy-Sy (Real): 👍

––––

It’s the weekend, and the two of you head downtown, where they close off the junction between Bayview and the main highway every Saturday to make way for the public flea market.

Once a week, an open sprawl of ramshackle tents and pop-up stalls sets up shop in one of the city’s hipper areas—the air thick with the cloying scent of sugary treats, mingling with the heady haze of handmade soy candles from local artisans and enthusiastic first-timers alike. Secondhand storefronts line the streets, while buskers stake out every busy corner, their strumming and crooning imbuing rhythm to the restless scene in front of you. 

It’s overstimulating in a way the city can be. Your shirt sticks to your back as the afternoon sun blazes down, the crowd warping around the edges of your vision; almost mirage-like, in your heat-induced state of delirium. 

You used to come here a lot. Back in your uni days—with Khol and a rotating crew of casual acquaintances. Back when the world was your oyster, bearing none of the many boring responsibilities of adulthood.

Your biggest concern at the time had been whether the taquitos they sold by twos were actually worth the ridiculous price point, or whether it's worth stopping your friend from blowing another twenty on a Blue Hawaiian from some kitschy mobile bar parked somewhere along the road.  

They host the annual mardi gras here, too. You're already forming plans for the next one in your head, quietly excited at the idea of dragging Sylus along for his first next year.

For now, you’ve been weaving through the crowd like a stone-cold veteran, tugging the taller man behind you by the hand. He follows without complaint, content to be led around as you stop at every stall that catches your eye.

He’s very patient as you oooh’d and aaah’d over trays of vintage jewelry and various rough-cut stones, all the way to the more eclectic resin crafts, buying whichever calls to you. You’re now the proud owner of a butterfly hair clasp you’ve already clipped into an updo, a paper cup full of pretty glass beads and sparkly gemstones you can buy by gram, and a Doechii ‘Swamp Princess’ concert tee.

Sylus, on the other hand, got a first edition copy of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, unearthed from a pile of secondhand books. And, at your insistence, a small clay keychain of a crow for himself. 

The crow, inexplicably, is wearing a tiny yellow lei.

He snorts at the sight, adding it to the pile. 

Amidst it all, it’s not lost on you—the glances he gets. Curious, wide-eyed appreciation, mostly from giggling women. Likely because of his height, his looks. His demeanor. 

It makes you tighten your grip on him, a rush of pride mixed with a quiet, niggling feeling that surfaces when their attention flicks over to you. You pretend not to notice.

You’re about to pull up near the concession stalls when Sylus slows, catching sight of an unassuming record shop with stacks of old vinyls piled haphazardly out front. A proper hole-in-the-wall, tucked somewhere behind two larger stalls, easy to miss amidst everything else. 

You see the flicker of interest in his eyes, and without a word, you pull at his hand and lead him inside.

A teenager with pink liberty spikes nods in greeting, barely looking up from her phone. You give a small wave to who seems to be the actual owner – the fat calico sprawled across the glass counter, watching the two newcomers enter the store. It blinks its yellow eyes at you. 

Sylus easily weaves along rows of LP crates, still holding your hand as he moves toward the back. You totter along beside him, dodging dusty cassette tapes and boxes of old rolled-up concert posters just left lying around.

Electric Ladyland. Tidal. Motor Speedway 1969… Clairo? Their selection is—something, alright. Perhaps a bit oddly curated, but so very Gen-Z of them.

He stops near a row of phonographs, all laid relatively neat across a low table and a couple of shelves. Some are in decent shape, while others look like they haven’t been touched since the fucking '80s, their needles cracked halfway or missing entirely.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” 

He crouches in front of one near the end—finding something quite rare: a classic Rega Planar in light oak. The tonearm looks wonky, and the plinth itself is badly scratched and chipping away at the edges, likely from age. 

He fiddles with the switch. Nothing. Tries again. Still nothing.

“Shame,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “It’s not dead. Just neglected.”

There’s a familiar light in his eyes. The same one you’ve seen before, when he spent an afternoon disassembling your coffee maker just after you’d declared it officially dead, or the time he rerouted your power strip so it stopped shorting out the microwave. That same quiet confidence that never brooks doubt in your mind whether he can fix something, only a matter of when.

You hide a smile. You don’t doubt him.

While he tests the tonearm, you dig around nearby and pick out three records: Morrison Hotel, Awaken, My Love!, and The Lonely Island: Turtleneck & Chain. In celebration for whenever he inevitably gets the damn thing running.

At checkout, the teen behind the counter pulls up your purchases. She rings everything through with a bored expression, pausing briefly at the Rega before slashing nearly fifty off the price. It’s clear she doesn’t expect it to be anything more than decorative.

After you leave the store, Sylus flips through the records you picked. The first two are familiar; the last one he only vaguely recognizes by name. Not an artist from your top twenty list, or else he’d remember. He considers asking, but you seem adamant to keep it as some form of surprise so he lets it be. 

He’s sure he’ll like it either way.

––––

You’re fiddling with the locks of a silver bracelet, carefully wrapping the cord around his wrist. One of your better creations—thrown together from the beads and trinkets you picked up at the market after falling down some TikTok rabbit hole on DIY jewelry-making.

A small lizard charm swings at the center as you adjust the clasp, its tiny enamelled body catching light. Sylus turns the tiny reptile between his fingers, examining it with keen interest.

“You don’t have to wear it,” you murmur, suddenly a bit self-conscious.

He glances up at you, then back at the bracelet.

“A bit flashy,” he notes with the air of someone used to appraising things expensive and high in value. “But I suppose I make it work.”

Then—softer: “I like it.”

You’d expected him to maybe humor you for the afternoon. Wear it for a couple of hours at most, then tuck it away somewhere alongside the rest of your pile of knick-knacks.

But it stays on until the next day. And the day after that.

He only takes it off when he showers.

––––

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered poker chips and a growing pile of discarded cards.

Sylus lounges across from you, smiling placidly in the face of your growing ire.

“Stop winning,” you grumble, glaring at your weak hand. “Holy shit.”

He hums. “Would you prefer I lose on purpose?”

You narrow your eyes, not liking the confidence. So you pull your last ace. “Sex ban.”

He doesn’t take long to decide on his turn. 

Without further comment, he gathers his cards into a neat pile and calmly slides them across the table—face up, revealing what is very clearly a straight flush.

“...Oh no. Bad hand. I fold.”

––––

It’s sometime in the lull of the evening. The sun’s low outside the window, and the fan whirs loudly as it oscillates back and forth the room. You’re curled up on the couch, blanket half-on, a hot water bottle pressed against your lower belly. Sylus heated it up earlier, handing it over along with a brown paper bag from the corner bakery – the one that somehow still had your favorite pistachio croissant, despite always selling out before noon.

You’re halfway through it now, uncaring of the crumbs dotting your shirt as you happily munch away. 

Across you, Sylus is crouched in front of a partially dismantled record player, one knee on the floor, surrounded by wires and various components. He sings a Nina Simone song off-key while he tinkers, a precision screwdriver in hand, fully absorbed in the laborious task of bringing the old thing back to life.

“So,” you begin carefully, making him glance over at you. “Just out of curiosity. How much did you actually see, back then? When you were still… y’know. In my phone.”

You don’t even know why you asked. It was a dumb question. 

There’s a loaded pause. “Too much.” 

You make a face. “Define ‘too much’?”

He shifts slightly, brushing an invisible bit of lint from his arm with unnecessary flourish. “Things I’d rather not reminisce on,” he says. “And yet, they haunt me. Stepdad Toji. Miguel O’Hara… What was it? Ah, right. Dbf.”

He lists your past ‘nightly readings’ in a flat monotone. Then:

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

You nearly regurgitated a chunk of your half-swallowed pastry. 

Spluttering, you croak, “That—that’s private!”

“Ah,” he muses, completely unfazed. “So, my baby wouldn’t like it if I called her a dirty, little slut.”

You gape.

“Pull her hair a little bit?” he adds, almost offhandedly.

“SYLUS!!”

In a maddeningly neutral tone, he simply says: “You asked.”

“That was two years ago! And you weren’t supposed to know that, what the fuck—”

He doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Doesn’t rise to your defense. 

Instead, he grouses, “Why didn’t you read anything of the sort about me?”

You blink, hard. “What?!”

“You read it about them,” he says, not quite looking at you. “Not me.”

You go embarrassingly pink at the thought. “We weren’t—we weren’t like that yet!”

A beat. “Weren’t we?”

“It would’ve been weird! It’s humiliating enough that you’re even aware of the shit I’ve read about you!”

He scoffs, low and sharp. “What you’ve read about me,” he says, a little irked, “is offensively tame in comparison.”

You stare at him owlishly. “…Sorry, would you have preferred if I had objectified you?”

He doesn’t take the bait. “Perhaps.”

“What’s so wrong about being my favorite comfort character!”

Sylus sighs. “Nothing. But I could have provided you with more than just comfort.”

He says it like the very idea wounds him.

“You’re so weird.”

He starts to stand, wiping his hands on a stray rag like he’s washing them off your verbal accusations. “I do recall a vampire one.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Did he mean–

“It had a really interesting plot,” you hiss defensively as your brain remembers bits and pieces of the source material in question, cheeks burning from the shame of it all. “It was introspective! And accurately characterized you, considering it was an AU.” 

(And he was paired with a non-MC reader, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

“Yes,” he says, already making his way over. “I fondly remember the look on your face as you read through it chapter by chapter. So very invested.”

“Oh my god.” You groan, snatching up the nearest pillow and burying your face in it. “This is bullying. You’re bullying the hormonally afflicted.”

He chuckles, tugging down your makeshift cover, clearly enjoying the mortified look on your face. “You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about, kitten. It was quite the memorable experience, reading it alongside you.”

“Okay, you have no moral high ground here,” you grumble. “It wasn’t even that explicit!”

“Which is exactly the problem,” he replies, kneeling by where your tense legs are drawn up. “I intend to remedy that.”

His hands settle over the blanket draped on your thighs, brushing against the fabric in a deceptively soothing manner. 

You feel his thumbs drag upward.

You jolt. “Wait—what are you–”

He looks up at you pointedly. “You’re on your period.”

“What does that have to do with anything—”

“I was a vampire, sweetie.” he punctuates, tilting his head. “And I’m feeling very comforting at the moment.”

Is he… he couldn't possibly be insinuating…

Your brain stutters to a halt when you see the wicked look in his eye.

He leans in closer. 

“Creative liberties,” Sylus purrs, voice dropping into a sly register. “You know how it is, pet.”

––––

You’re boneless, half-slumped on the edge of the tub, cheek pressed somewhere near Sylus’ hip as he shaves shirtless above you. You’d followed him in on autopilot, insisting on staying close after what was arguably the best night of sleep you’ve ever had. You’re pretty sure you’re still drooling.

He finishes, rinses the blade under the tap. Then reaches down to scratch your scalp absentmindedly—the same way he does with Maru. 

You hum, eyes barely slitting open.

Bleary-eyed, you stare at his reflection in the mirror. He’s effortlessly put together even like this: bare chest, razor in hand, the light from the window skimming the high points of his face.

A stupid thought drifts through the haze of your sleep-addled mind: if he was a vampire, you’d miss this. His reflection. You’d hate brushing your teeth beside a blank space. Hate not seeing the way his brows furrow in concentration, the way he swishes a gulpful of water in his mouth before spitting it out. 

You wouldn’t even get to admire him like this in the mornings. 

The thought unsettles you greatly. You scrunch your face and grumble into his side, “Don’t become a vampire.”

His reflection blinks in slight bemusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetie.”

––––

You: u busy? 

Sy-Sy (Real): Never for you. Do you need anything?

You: up for barcino later ?

Sy-Sy (Real): Of course. After your shift?

You: yuhh

You: i got salary increase :DD

Sy-Sy (Real): Oh? 

Sy-Sy (Real): Look at you. Thats wonderful new, sweetheart.

Sy-Sy (Real): *News

Sy-Sy (Real): Congratulations ❤️

You: hahah only 1 new

Sy-Sy (Real): 😒🙄

Sy-Sy (Real): No celebratory cake for you then

You: >:^0 

You: jkjk

You: dw kitten daddy’s got it 😏😏

You: i treat u <33

––––

“Order whatever you want,” you tell him smugly, grinning as the two of you slide into your seats at the back booth of the tapas bar. “We’re loaded. At least for tonight.”

Sylus arches a brow at your declaration, expression unreadable. 

He then flags a waiter, and what follows is a long, alarming list of non-English selections that grow increasingly difficult to pronounce the further along he goes. You catch something about a duck having a fit and a cured ibérico, but the rest begins to blur under your rising panic.

You glance helplessly at the menu, scrambling to do the maths in your head. The proud smirk you wore a mere minute ago has all but slid off your face.

Internally, Sylus laughs. 

(He foots the bill, of course. It’s the thought that counts.)

––––

He waits for you at the bistro while you work. Not every day, but often enough that some of your coworkers have started taking notice. Usually at table two near the window, nursing an Irish coffee—or whatever concoction his favorite barista (you) recommends.

After spotting him in his usual seat one too many times, a younger coworker leaned over and whispered, “The hot guy at table two keeps looking at you.” When you told her he was your boyfriend, she blinked. “Holy shit. Does he have a brother?”

After that, he sort of becomes a regular. Familiar and expected, like some of the older patrons who come in after work, already part of the evening’s rhythm. Especially during your late-night shifts, one could find the distinctly tall man half an hour before closing, sometimes even earlier, just waiting to whisk you away on the sleek black Kawasaki sportbike parked outside.

Today is an outlier. Your shift ended two hours early, and it’s barely a quarter past five when you clock out. Rain drums steadily outside; it pools at the edge of the pavement, leaving small, growing ponds in its wake. You didn’t bring an umbrella.

You’re loitering by the front, eyeing the waterlogged footpath and debating whether to just wait it out. The steadily increasing downpour beats heavy against the polycarbonate roofing, loud enough to drown out the jazzy sax playing from the speakers. You’ve just pulled out your phone to text Sylus when something catches your eye through the glass.

He’s already outside—coming up the street with an umbrella in one hand and a blue eco-bag on the other. You spot the familiar logo of Maru’s choice of kibble peeking out from the cotton fabric, slightly wet, but for the most part, intact.

You step out to meet him, and he cocks his head at you.

“Would you like to wait for the rain to let up?” he asks, ambling closer, water sluicing down the edges of the umbrella between you.

You shake your head, already shuffling under the shelter. “Nah, I wanna go home. I’m cold.” You glance up at him. “Didn’t know you were on the way.”

“Maru was lodging complaints,” he says dryly, tilting the umbrella slightly to angle more of the cover your way. “I was about to head back when it started raining. I thought I’d swing by.”

“Lucky you did. They let me off early. Slow day,” you explain, just as thunder cracks overhead. “Did you take the metro?”

“I did,” Sylus confirms, slightly contrite as he eyes your favourite pair of green loafers. They’re my lucky shoes, you told him once—worn seldomly, saved for special occasions, or when the outfit matches.

It seems to be the latter today, though that doesn’t change the fact that they’re your special pair.

“The bike’s still in the shop for a tune-up,” he says with a sigh. “It’s not scheduled for another two days.”

Sylus redirects you back under the bistro’s awning with a gentle nudge. Before you can ask, he shifts the loop of the bag to the crook of his elbow, crouches down in front of you. Signalling you to get on. 

You stare at his broad back for a moment, mouth twitching. “Are you serious?”

He glances over his shoulder, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You are wearing your lucky pair. It’d be a shame to get them wet.”

A giggle bubbles out of you. “You’re ridiculous.”

Still, you pluck the umbrella from his hand and climb on without protest. He catches the back of your thighs effortlessly, like he’s done it a hundred times before. 

“Comfortable?” he asks, adjusting his grip on your legs.

You lean in to kiss his cheek. “Five stars.”

Sylus huffs a soft laugh. “Ratings are usually done after the ride, from what I know.”

The rain’s steady by now, falling in sheets that soak a large part of the footpath. You lift the umbrella higher to cover both of you, though it doesn’t do much against the wind. He walks carefully across the slick pavement, the blue bag rustling at his side, droplets thudding relentlessly against your makeshift canopy.

You rest your chin against his shoulder, watching the world blur from your perch. The gutters overflow, glinting silver in the streetlights. The air smells like wet asphalt and petrichor, and the city feels quieter amidst the downpour. 

It feels like you’re in a bubble with him, suspended from the rest of the world despite being out in the open.

Maybe you are, nuzzling closer into the crook of his neck. In this small stretch of street before the main road, caught in the middle of a rainstorm, maybe the world really was built for just the two of you.

And you hope, selfishly, that it stays that way for a long, long while.

End A/N: Alexa, play Video Games. As usual, I’ve taken a few liberties here and there okay, so don’t come for me about how the fiscal year doesn’t exactly line up with their current timeline >:( I KNOW

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset @longlivedelusion @beesin03

[meruhenshoujo]

Or, my personal beloathed, "Little girl who went through puberty early declared unrealistic and fetishized and CLEARLY, the problem with her design is the breasts, so, let's just iron those down, clamp her hips down too and shave off some bone, because how dare she have wide hips, and let's make her shorter and chubbier to ~REALLY~ look her age." … even though some real little girls have in their preteens, yes, there are little girls with hourglass bodies or who have B or C cups, have wide hips, etc.

I can often easily tell rabid antishipper types by their art style doing precisely this to anyone below the age of 15 or so. They will suddenly have the figures of chubby and short 8 or 9 year olds, because puberty is problematic and ESPECIALLY puberty in 10-12 year olds.

All the people who hated on poor Haruka (May)'s figure in Pokemon, even though I had a similar figure at her age and felt very angry whenever guys online said she was CLEARLY 18. I got hit on for having a figure like that by teenagers and it was scary. ... when she returned in DP, they made her look a lot flatter. ;_; I think it could be that her clothes hid it more as it's zippered all the way up (they were de-emphasized in her swimsuits and tankinis in AG and the way they drew her later in AG too), but some also suspect this was to further desexualize her character (since even in the settei, there was advice not to heavily shade the bust or make her have visible cleavage no improbably-suctioned-into-the-cleavage-shirt-for-you--they didn't want her to be an overly-sexualized character. She's just an early-blooming young girl.)

[Source - more Haruka settei there! ^^]

Haruka in Advanced Generation on the left, Haruka in Diamond & Pearl on the right.

I get it, in colder climates, like the States, a lot of people hit puberty around 14. But that's practically unheard of here in my part of the world, in warmer climates, like a lot of Asian and African countries, we get our first periods around age 11.5 (it varies from 10-12... historically, it was even as low as 9!)

This is likely also why in ancient, pre-literate societies, long before schools were a thing, and what adults were expected to know was limited to the kinds of jobs their families traditionally did and kids helped out as young as seven, people were considered adults around the age of puberty (so, for the French, most girls were married by age 15, etc.) A lot of European countries still have the age of consent around 16 for that reason.

All that said? If the design looks too sexualized, change her outfit, but changing her actual body is like saying, "This kind of figure is disgusting, evil, shameful, and inherently overtly sexual!! It is TOO TEMPTING! Clearly, there has never been a child who was conventionally attractive by adult standards in the history of EVER, the people who designed this are VILE PERVERTS for the sin of, uh... acknowledging puberty and secondary sexual characteristics exist. ANYWAY, we must erase it from existence!!!" which is a wildly misogynistic and victim-blame-y thing to say.

Thinking back to the stupid, wretched Powerpuff Girls reboot which took away Ms. Keane's breasts and threw out Ms. Sara Bellum entirely because oh, well, she's just TOO sexually attractive that it's sexist instead of ??? ? ?? ? ? ?? Alter the outfits??? You want to desexualize Ms. Bellum, add another layer and hide her cleavage. Add a longer skirt or pants or whatever. Done.

But, "NO, character has CLEAVAGE, throw her out, breasts EVIL!" is wild.

Seeing breasts as inherently sexual and designs showing kids having them as inherently over-sexualized and deciding to treat our existence as a perverted and evil and vile temptation is just so stupid and nasty. The appearance of some mature-looking kids fitting into what is considered conventionally attractive to adults is not evil or something made up by perverted artists, but reality.

Just dress them appropriately if you want the character not to be inappropriate or overtly-sexual for an all ages or kid's program (you can't help what fans will do, as it's just a cartoon drawing at the end of the day, and as you can see above, no matter what lengths artists and animators take to make the character appropriate, someone out ther will sexualize it), but throwing the baby out with the bath water in your efforts to make something appropriate to all and alienating busty and hourglass-figured girls and women and telling them their existence is either restricted to the imagination of perverted men or is R-rated is......... not by any stretch of the imagination ""progressive.""

I like how “Gooner bait” went from “overly sexualized design meant to titilate an audience and nothing else” to “Woman”

[biscuits-and-gracie]

Juice Box Party

summary: “Yeah. You’re done sharing that smile with everyone else.” characters: frat! rafe. elementary ed! reader warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 1.0k

"Did Miss Recess just walk into a frat party?"

Rafe's voice cut through the bass-heavy hum of the backyard speakers, low and teasing as he leaned against the deck railing. He had a Solo cup in one hand, backward cap casting a shadow over his smug, sun-kissed grin as he stared straight at you like you were a UFO landing on the lawn.

You blinked up at him, cheeks already warm-not from the tequila spritzer in your hand, but from how out of place you felt.

“I don’t just live in the education building, you know,” you chirped, holding your drink like a peace offering. “I’m multifaceted.”

Rafe snorted. “Yeah, and your drink’s in a damn juice box.”

You looked down at the bright pink box-strawberry lemonade spiked seltzer-and shrugged, sipping like it was apple juice during snack time. “It’s cute.”

He tilted his head. “You’re cute.”

You giggled, missing how his gaze lingered a second longer than it should’ve. Always did. And you never seemed to notice.

The thing about you was that you weren’t meant to be here.

You wore flower-embroidered denim shorts and a yellow tank top, your hair in a loose braid, earrings shaped like little daisies. Your nails were glittery. Your phone case had a cartoon avocado on it. You greeted everyone like they were old friends-even when you didn’t know their names.

Rafe had never seen someone turn down beer pong to compliment a girl’s shoes and ask if she wanted a Rice Krispies treat you’d brought “just in case people got hungry.”

Who brings snacks to a kegger? You did.

And every time you smiled at someone-eyes wide, voice high and sugary-Rafe felt his jaw tick.

Because people were noticing.

Especially when Topper started making you lemon drop shots.

One.

Two.

Three.

You were giggly now. Touchier. Your arm kept looping through strangers’ elbows. You were telling a group of guys that your favorite animal was a duck because “they look like tiny soldiers with their little waddles,” and Rafe was this close to losing it.

“Kelce,” he growled under his breath, eyes locked on you like you were a butterfly trying to land in a lion’s den. “If one more guy gets near her-”

“She doesn’t even know they’re flirting,” Kelce replied with a laugh. “It’s like watching a kitten try to cross the freeway.”

“Exactly,” Rafe muttered, already moving.

He wasn’t even subtle about it.

The next time some sophomore tried to offer you a drink, Rafe stepped right between you. Just-appeared. Eyes sharp. Shoulders squared.

“She’s good,” he said flatly. “Back off.”

The guy blinked. “I was just-”

“I said she’s good.”

When he turned back to you, you just smiled, completely unaware of the tension.

“Oh! That was nice of him, he was trying to give me a-”

“No, he wasn’t.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” He handed you a water instead. “Drink this. You’re starting to get wobbly.”

You took it happily, wrapping both hands around the bottle like it was precious cargo. “You’re such a worrier.”

Rafe stared at you. At your scrunchie around your wrist. At the pink flush in your cheeks. At the sparkle in your eyes.

Worrier?

Maybe.

Or maybe he just didn’t like that people were looking at something that had started to feel like his.

“You know,” you went on, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “You’re not so scary when you smile.”

Rafe didn’t smile.

Not tonight.

Not with half the frat house watching the way your tank top dipped slightly when you leaned down to fix your shoe. Not with some dude in a jersey still sneaking glances even now.

“I’m not smiling,” he muttered, pulling his hoodie off and draping it over your shoulders without asking. “And we’re leaving in ten.”

You blinked again. “We are?”

He just nodded.

And this time, even your sunshine couldn’t melt the steel in his voice:

“Yeah. You’re done sharing that smile with everyone else.”

[bowxs]

thinking about husband!dean doing things he never thought he would

aka dean fingering you in the impala, cause you are the exception to all the rules hes set

dividers from @uzmacchiato

“jesus, baby- c’mon just a bit longer” dean pleaded with you, but he didnt pull his arm from you as you tugged it towards your thigh, your lips meeting whatever skin they could reach on his outstretched limb.

you two were on the way home from a visit with bobby, and you were more than eager to get home and be alone with your husband. you had tugged deans hand onto your thigh, guiding him to bring it higher and higher as you practically caressed his arm in a way you knew turned him on.

"deann," you drawled out, a teasing giggle leaving your lips as you watched the way he clenched his jaw in determination- he was sure he could make it home before he burst the zipper on his jeans with how hard he was straining against them.

your hand rested on top of his, gently guiding it to rest on the front of your panties and guiding his fingers to feel the already-there wet patch. all from a little bit of making out before you two drove off.

"damn it." he cursed under his breath, quickly swerving off the thankfully empty side road before he was on you like a predator that just caught its prey.

his lips were on yours in a matter of seconds, devouring yours as he pushed your panties to the side. he didnt bother with teasing or building you up, only gathering your slick on his middle and ring finger before he plunged them into you.

he knew it didnt hurt, and he knew you would tell him if it did. the way your back arched towards him and you gasped into his mouth- it told him everything he needed to know.

the way he curled his fingers so deliciously inside of you, it was like he could see every part inside of you and was aiming for the best.

the quickness of it all- the way his palm continuously came into contact with your clit, the way he was swallowing all of your moans, even the way the leather seat was sticking to your skin- it only brought you closer to the edge.

"c'mon baby- give it to me." he mumbled against your lips, his voice strained like it took everything in him not to fuck you on the side of the road. not like he hasnt done that before.

your orgasm hit you like a freight train- quick and hard. you spasmed around his fingers, his motions slowing down to let you ride out the high without overstimulating you.

when you finally caught your breath, he pulled his fingers out of you. he casually pulled your panties back in place, sucked his fingers clean in a quick motion, gave you a kiss on the forehead, and set himself back in the drivers seat.

to your surprise, when you leaned over and reached for his waistband, wanting to help give him some relief, he just shook his head, starting up the car again.

"i can wait till we get home, sweetheart. you just sit there and look pretty."

ughh im sorry if this is rushed and kinda shitty, i was horny and wanted husband!dean so bad :((

taglist (comment to be added<3) -@nchye @sayras-blogg @castielsonlyangel @lori19 @sammyslittledoll @y0inked @midnightsync

[bingbongsupremacy]

Marrying A Stranger Pt. 1

Pairing: Hangman x Fem(Pregnant)!Reader

Warning: Implied Sex (Not explicit just mentioned), Unexpected Pregnancy, Mentions abortion, Inspired by Purple Hearts

Part Summary: A casual hookup leaves you pregnant with Jake's baby. You tell Jake, and he suggests a marriage of convenience: you and the baby get healthcare. He gets to spend more time with his kid. Plus, the extra money can't hurt. The question is, are you willing to get married to a stranger?

Series Summary: You get pregnant with Jake's baby, leading to a marriage of convenience. Will things last?

*Not Proofread* Pt. 2

No description of body type or race

My parents always stressed the importance of thinking things through. For years, I took their advice to heart. I played it safe, rarely taking unnecessary risks.

So of course, the one night I decide to let loose, everything gets massively fucked up.

It was a very busy night at the bar. Penny and I were swamped with orders. Everywhere we looked, someone needed something. Usually I don't mind being busy. I need the work and busy = more tips. So I powered through, trying to keep up the best I could.

That night, a new guy really got on my nerves. No respect, no patience. He wanted what he wanted, how he wanted it and when he wanted it. He pissed me off and made my shift so much longer then it needed to be. By the time he finally got kicked out of the bar by Penny, for disrespecting women, I was on edge. I was frustrated, stressed and beyond tired.

When the night finally started to calm down, Penny offered me a drink as a thank you 'for surviving hell with her'. I should've said no. I know I'm a light weight.

But I just needed something to take the edge off. To make me feel calm again.

Jake's been a regular for months, one who I immediately clocked as a player when he hit on me seconds after entering the bar. He's handsome but too cocky. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little flattered by his sweet talk though.

I always left it at that though. Sweet talk. Light flirting with offers for a good time. I didn't need to drama or stress that could've potentially come with a guy like him, so I shot him down. Night after night, I'd say no thanks. It got to the point where he knew I'd shoot him down every time. His inquiries went from serious offers to a playful, habitual way to end the night. A goodbye of some sort.

I don't know why he kept asking me out. Maybe he liked the chase, the way I'd sass him while shooting him down. Maybe it was just an instinctual habit.

Either way, every night I could count on him to bring up the offer to hook up.

And that stressful day, I took it.

He was surprised. I could tell by the way his brain slightly shut down, staring at me with a thousand emotions flickering through his face. Like he never actually thought about what to do if I ever said yes.

It was kind of strange, seeing him speechless for once. This guy, so smooth, so sure of himself, just standing there like he'd forgotten how to talk. His jaw tensed like he wanted to say something but couldn't settle on what. Maybe he thought I was bluffing. Maybe he thought I'd never actually go through with it. But I meant it. I was tired of the games. Tired of pretending I didn't need anything.

It didn't last long though, that moment. He blinked, cleared his throat, nodded once, sharp and almost serious, and just like that, the flicker of uncertainty vanished behind something easier.

He waited for me to finish closing down the bar, lingering by the jukebox with a half-empty beer, spinning the cap between his fingers. Neither of us said much. There wasn't really anything to say. We both knew what was coming next. We were both drunk, and on a mission.

Not the most romantic place to hook up, his truck parked behind the bar, windows fogging up under the hazy glow of a flickering streetlight. But it got the job done. We didn't kiss much. Didn't talk. It was messy, ungraceful, and honest in a way that made my chest ache. Like we were both trying to get something out of our systems. Anger, loneliness, desperation, I don't know. Something.

It wasn't love. I knew that going in. This was two people helping each other get what they needed, nothing more. A quick release. A pressure valve. And maybe that's all it ever was supposed to be.

When it was over, I pulled my shirt back on and stepped out into the night air, letting the cool breeze hit my face. I didn't look back to see if he was watching me go. Didn't need to. I got what I needed; a break from my life. Some fun and spontaneity, a chance to let loose.

I left feeling a lot less stressed, and ready to just move on.

Or at least, that's what I told myself.

But, we forgot one little thing.

A fucking condom.

-----

I stare at the four pregnancy tests in a plastic baggie hidden in my purse. It's been a week since I found out, and I still can't believe it's real.

I keep coming back to them, hoping they're wrong. That it's all some really unfunny prank and somehow someone switched mine out with a real pregnant woman's tests.

But deep down, I know it's not a prank. I was literally in the room, taking the tests. It's not fake.

No matter how much I wish it was.

And I know who the father is. I've just been scared to tell him.

What if he leaves? Willingly or not willingly? He's in the military, they could ship him somewhere new any day. Or he could ask to be transferred.

He doesn't seem like the type to want a kid. He lives a bachelor's life, carefree and not tied down. What if he doesn't want anything to do with the baby?

What if he's already been moved? I haven't seen him in days, what if he left and I'll never have the opportunity to tell him?

I can't do this by myself! I'm barely getting by as it is. I can't even afford proper health insurance, let alone a kid. It costs an arm and a leg to have a baby. And what if there's complications? That'll cost even more.

I don't know what to do.

At the same time... I'm torn. I'm a little excited.

A baby... a real baby. I've always wanted to be a mom, ever since I was kid. I have always hoped at some point, I'd be able to live out my dream and have a kid. I just didn't think it'd come this early.

So many decisions... I don't know what to do. And I can't tell my parents, not yet. I know how they'll react. They'll be beyond disappointed at how irresponsible I was. I mean, how the fuck did we forget a condom?

"Y/N? Could I get some back up out here?" Penny calls from the serving area, immediately snapping me out of my thoughts.

I close my locker door shut before quickly washing my hands and heading out of the break room.

The bar, which was earlier empty aside from 2 or 3 regulars, is now bursting with energy and people. It's the evening rush. I quickly get to work taking orders and pouring drinks. The entire time I'm serving, I catch myself glancing at the door. I can't tell if I'm hoping for Jake to show up, or praying he doesn't.

Finally, he does.

I do a double take when I see him walk over to his regular spot near the pool table, flanked by his usual crowd. He looks completely at ease, like the world's never handed him a single bad day. There's a lazy confidence in his stride, the kind that draws eyes without even trying. That damn smug grin is already on his face, sharp and charming as ever, as he leans in to joke with one of his buddies. His hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, like he just stepped out of a recruitment poster. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms, and the soft glow from the bar lights catches the edge of his jaw just right. He looks good. Too good. Like he knows it.

My heart begins to pound fast, my anxiety rising. I know I have to tell him at some point, but the thought of it terrifies me. We really don't know each other. Sure, we'll flirt and joke around, but that's it. I don't even know his last name. Who knows how he'll react? Or if he'll even believe me.

For the next half hour, I try to muster up the courage to talk to Jake.

I move from one end of the bar to the other, taking orders, pouring drinks, wiping down surfaces that don't need wiping just to keep my hands busy. I tell myself over and over again that I'll do it the next time he's alone. Or maybe when he's on his way out. Or maybe... I don't know. Every time I glance over, he's laughing with his friends, head thrown back, completely carefree. And every time, it makes my chest ache a little more.

How do you drop something like this into someone's lap? Especially someone like him? A guy who's never taken anything in this bar seriously. Not the drinks, not the conversations, and definitely not me.

I almost knock over a full tray of glasses because I'm too busy checking the clock and overthinking every possible outcome of this conversation I haven't even had yet.

Then suddenly, he's right in front of me.

"Evenin', sunshine," Jake drawls, leaning one elbow on the bar like he's got all the time in the world. His smile is pure mischief, easy and natural, like nothing's changed. "Miss me?"

Well, I guess nothing really has changed. He doesn't know yet.

The casual flirtation used to make me roll my eyes or fire back with a smartass comment. Now, it makes my stomach twist.

I swallow hard, forcing a polite smile. "What can I get you?"

His eyebrows lift slightly, just enough to show he notices the shift. "Straight to business tonight, huh?" he teases. "You're breakin' my heart."

I busy myself reaching for the beers, hoping he doesn't see the way my hands shake just a little. "Busy night," I mumble. "Trying to keep up."

"Fair enough." He watches me, leaning in a little like he might say something else. But when I slide the bottles toward him, he just nods. "Thanks, darlin'."

No wink, no comeback from me. Just a tight-lipped smile and a quiet nod.

Jake lingers a second longer, that easy grin still on his face, but there's something in his eyes now. A flicker of confusion, maybe. Like he can feel the difference in the air between us, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

Still, he doesn't push. "Don't work too hard," he says, grabbing the beers and turning back toward the pool table.

I watch him walk away, my heart pounding so loud it almost drowns out the music.

Another missed opportunity. Another moment slipped through my fingers.

But how do you look a guy like that in the eye and say, Hey, remember that drunken hookup a few days ago? Well, we forgot a condom and I guess I guess we're the lucky 1% birth control doesn't work for. Congratulations. You're gonna be a dad.?

----

I'm not sure how long I've been staring at the row of liquor bottles on the back shelf, but it's long enough that I don't even hear Penny walk up beside me.

"Hey," she says softly. "You okay?"

I blink, finally looking away from the shelf. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Penny gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You've been zoning out a lot lately. Quieter than usual. And tonight? You're moving like your brain's in a different zip code."

I open my mouth, ready to brush it off with some excuse about not sleeping or being stressed about school. But when I look at her, really look at her. All that calm, grounded energy she always carries, it hits me in the chest. The pressure, the fear, the secret I've been carrying alone for over a week now.

I still haven't told Jake. Every time I get the chance to, every time he comes to the bar for another round or I see him alone, I chicken out.

"I just…" My voice cracks a little. "Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?"

Without a word, Penny nods and gently guides me toward the small office behind the bar. She closes the door behind us and leans against the desk, arms crossed, waiting patiently.

For a second, I can't speak. The words are there, clawing at the back of my throat, but saying them out loud makes them real. My hands fidget in my lap.

"I, um… I found out something. And I haven't told anyone. I can't tell my parents. They'll be so disappointed. And I don't even know how to tell him. Or what he'll say. Or if he'll even want to stick around. We don't really know each other."

Penny softens. "Hey. Take a breath. Whatever it is, I'm not gonna judge you."

I swallow hard and glance down at my hands.

"I'm pregnant."

The silence that follows is both deafening and a relief. Penny doesn't gasp or shout or ask a million questions. She just lets it settle.

"I found out a week ago," I add, voice barely above a whisper. "I've taken, like, four tests. They were all positive. I also missed my period. And I've been waking up feeling like shit."

Penny exhales slowly and walks over, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. "Okay," she says gently. "Okay."

"I'm still working on my degree," I say quickly, the panic rising again. "I don't have health insurance, I can barely afford rent, and I already work two jobs, how the hell am I supposed to raise a kid? I don't even know how to tell my parents. They're going to be so upset. They've always told me to be careful. That doing stupid shit like this can ruin my life."

"They'll come around," Penny says, squeezing my shoulder. "It might be hard at first, but you're not alone, okay? You've got people who care about you. You've got me. I know how you're feeling. I was terrified when I found out about Amelia. It's normal to feel all of this, having a baby is a big thing."

Tears sting my eyes and I blink them away, sniffling. "I don't even know if I can afford prenatal appointments."

"I can give you more hours here," Penny says without hesitation. "Whatever you need. We'll figure it out together."

I nod slowly, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. "Thanks."

There's a beat of silence, then Penny says gently, "Do you mind if I ask who the dad is?"

I hesitate. The thought of saying his name aloud makes my stomach twist into knots.

I take a shaky breath and whisper, "Jake."

Penny blinks. "Hangman Jake?"

I nod, eyes still downcast.

"Wow," she says after a moment. There's no judgment in her tone, just surprise. "Didn't see that one coming."

I manage a weak laugh. "Yeah. Me neither."

She pauses, then adds, "You gonna tell him?"

"I want to. I'm just… scared."

"Well, you don't have to do it right now. But you will feel better once you do. And if you need backup, I'll be here."

I look up at her, and for the first time all night, I feel a little less alone.

"Thanks, Penny."

"Anytime, kid."

I end up leaving Penny's office feeling a little bit lighter, like I don't have to carry this massive secret alone. Penny's got my back.

I'm still terrified of what's going to happen, but at least I know Penny'll be there to have my back.

-----

Today is the day.

I'm telling Jake.

I've been putting this off for too long, and I know it. Every time I see him walk into the bar, I lose my nerve. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep carrying this alone.

He's heading for the door, a relaxed smile splayed on his lips as he talks to his buddies.

I take a breath, step out from behind the bar, and call after him.

"Jake!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Penny look up. I send her a tight lipped smile, one she gives me an encouraging nod to. She gives me a look that says 'I'll be here waiting if you need me'.

I turn back to Jake, making my way around a group of pilots in front of me.

He stops, turns around with that familiar smirk. "Well look who finally decided to talk to me."

"Can we talk? Just for a second. Outside."

He blinks, clearly confused, but shrugs and pushes the door open. "Sure."

We step out into the cool night air, the buzz of the bar fading behind us. Jake says a quick goodbye to his friends, watching as they walk off to their cars. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stay grounded. Jake shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing sideways at me.

"You've been real quiet lately," he says. "Not like you. Thought maybe you were tryin' to pretend that night didn't happen."

I don't answer right away.

He lifts a brow. "You gonna tell me what's goin' on or do I gotta guess?"

My heart is pounding. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the Ziplock bag I shoved in there before my shift started. I hold it out to him, my hand shaking just enough to make me angry at myself.

He takes the bag slowly, eyes narrowing when he sees what's inside. Four pregnancy tests. All positive.

"I'm pregnant," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jake doesn't say anything at first. Just stares at the bag like it might change if he looks long enough.

Then, after a long pause, he looks at me.

"You're sure it's mine?"

My stomach drops, even though I knew the question was coming.

"I'm not into casual hookups, Jake. That's why I turned you down so many times. That night was a one-time thing. You're the only person it could be."

He drags a hand over his face and lets out a breath. "Shit."

I watch him step back like the words physically hit him. He paces a few feet away, then turns around, then back again. The smug smile is gone. He's just... rattled.

"Okay," he says finally. "Okay, I just... I need a minute to think."

"I'm not asking for anything," I say quickly. "I just thought you deserved to know."

He nods, still not looking at me. "Yeah. No, you were right to tell me. I just... damn. I didn't think I'd be hearin' this when I walked in for a beer. "

He starts backing up, toward the street. He's still holding the bag.

"I'm not runnin'," he says. "I just need some air. I'll be back, alright?"

I nod, but my chest feels tight.

He turns and walks off into the night, the bag still in his hand, and his body tense.

And I stand there, staring after him, not sure if he meant it when he said he'd come back.

When I go back inside, Penny is waiting for me, a concerned expression on her face. "How'd it go?" She asks.

"He said he needed some time to think and left. He says he's going to come back. I don't know when." I reply honestly with a sigh. "I guess we'll see what happens."

"It'll be okay. Whatever happens, it'll be okay." Penny reassures me.

"Yeah." I halfheartedly agree. Her words don't do much to soothe my nerves and anxiety.

I spend the rest of my closing shift at the bar half-working, half-waiting, my body going through the motions while my mind stays stuck on Jake. Every time the door creaks open, I glance over my shoulder, pretending I'm just checking the crowd. But really, I'm looking for him. Wondering if he meant it when he said he'd be back.

Minutes blur together. I wipe down the same spot on the counter more than once, a habit I've developed from everything that's been on my mind the past few weeks. I refill drinks. Collect empties. Smile on autopilot. But my eyes keep drifting toward the door, as if I can will him through it.

When the time finally comes for Penny to start ushering out the last few stragglers, guys nursing warm beers and clinging to closing-time conversations, I feel it settle in. That dull, sinking feeling. He's not coming back. Not tonight.

I try to play it off. Shrug like it doesn't matter. Tell myself maybe something came up. Maybe he got distracted or pulled into something else. But the truth is, I'm disappointed.

More than I want to be.

I hoped maybe... I don't know. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe we'd actually talk and I won't have to figure this out alone anymore. But instead, I'm just standing here with dishwater on my hands and a bitter taste in my mouth.

I finish cleaning in silence, the jukebox quiet now, chairs flipped onto tables, and the bar stripped of its noise and distractions. It's just me and alone with the echo of what didn't happen.

----

I spend a few hours working on my online classes, trying my hardest to focus even though every few minutes my eyes drift away from the screen. The words blur together, and I have to keep rereading the same sentences just to retain anything. I take notes, highlight, click through lectures, do everything I'm supposed to, but my brain feels like it's wading through molasses.

There's a weight pressing down on me today, one that seems to get heavier as time passes.

By the time I head to my first job, I'm already dragging. The hours crawl. Customers are rude, my feet hurt, and everything feels just slightly louder than it should be. The fluorescent lights give me a headache, and I spend most of the shift counting down the minutes until I can leave.

And yet, even when I clock out, there's no real relief. Because after this, I still have to head to the bar.

I sit in my car for a while before starting it, just letting the engine hum while I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I feel worn thin. Not just physically, but emotionally too.

I don't want to go. I don't want to plaster on a smile and pour drinks and pretend like I'm fine. But most of all, I don't want to walk into that bar not knowing if Jake's going to show up.

Because if he doesn't, I'll tell myself I expected it. That I knew better. That I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up in the first place. But it won't matter.

I'll still be upset.

And if he does come back? I don't even know what I'll say or where we go from here.

So I sit there, hands still on the steering wheel, torn between wanting to see him and not being able to take it if I don't.

Eventually, I force myself to drive. The sun is low in the sky, painting the horizon in gold and pink, but I barely notice. All I can think about is the door to the bar and whether or not he'll walk through it tonight.

By the time I get there, the sky's already gone dark, and the bar is humming with its usual evening noise: laughter, low music, the clinking of bottles. I go through the motions, clock in, tie my apron, and start working. But underneath it all, that same quiet anticipation keeps pressing at me.

Every time the door opens, I tense.

I keep telling myself not to look. Not to hope.

And then I hear it.

"Hey."

I freeze from my spot cleaning the bar at the sound of his calm, deep voice.

I look up, and there he is. Jake.

He actually came back.

For a second, I just stare at him, a mixture of emotions running through me. It takes me a beat to register that he's not here to flirt or order a drink or play pretend like nothing ever happened. He's here to talk about the news I gave him last night. He looks... different. A little less sure of himself, like the weight of it all is finally sinking in. It's different then how I've seen him before.

He walks up slowly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. "I, uh... I shouldn't have left like that last night. And I should've come back. I probably stressed you out. I'm sorry."

I nod, giving him a tight lipped smile. "It's life changing news, I get why you reacted like that.

"Still. I should've handled it better." He glances around, then leans on the bar, eyes meeting mine. "Look, I don't know how to be a dad. I mean, I'm not ready. I don't think I'd be good at it. I'm impulsive and reckless. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing most days."

My chest tightens. I brace myself for the rest. For the part where he walks away for good.

He rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter now. "Do you... want to keep it?"

His tone isn't forceful. He's not trying to push me. Just trying to understand where I'm at. But it still stings a little.

I take a breath, steadying myself. "I think I do... I mean... it's my baby and I already love it. But, I understand you might not be ready for that. Your life is busy, I'm sure a baby would add a lot of stress onto that. If you don't want to be part of its life," I swallow. "that's your call. I won't force you. But... there might be a time, years from now, when they ask about you. And I hope you'd at least be willing to meet them then. For their sake."

For a moment, he's silent. I watch the words hit him, settle in. His expression shifts, eyebrows pulling together like he's trying to process something that doesn't sit right.

"You think I'd just disappear?" he asks, a little sharper than before. "That I'd just... bail and never look back? Pretend that this never happened, that the kid doesn't exist? Like it doesn't mean anythin'?"

I blink, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. "I'm not saying that," I say, softer. "I just-"

"No, you kinda are," he cuts in, voice low but firm. Then he exhales and shakes his head. "Look, I didn't expect this. I'm scared outta my damn mind, alright? I spent all of last night walkin' around town, thinkin' about what kinda dad I'd be. I sat in that old diner off Main until they closed, just nursin' a coffee and picturin' this tiny kid runnin' around with my smile, wonderin' what the hell I'd even say to them. I ended up parked outside a 24-hour pharmacy at like three in the morning, just sitting there like an idiot, starin' at the baby aisle. Diapers, formula, those tiny-ass socks... it was all just staring back at me like it was laughing. I had no idea what half that stuff even was."

He pauses, his voice rough.

"And the worst part? I kept thinking, what if I screw this up? What if I mess up this kid's life before it even starts? What if I'm just like every dad I swore I'd never be? But then I realized... running from it would be a hell of a lot worse. I may not know what I'm doing, but I'm not gonna vanish and pretend it's not happening."

He takes a breath and looks at me again, steadier this time.

"I ain't got a clue how to be someone's dad, but I'm not a deadbeat. If you wanna have it… then I'll do my part. I'll be there. I'll pay child support. I'll show up and try to be there for the baby. We'll figure somethin' out. I got us into this too, so it's only fair I do my part."

He looks me straight in the eye when he says it, there's no teasing, no bravado. Just raw honesty and vulnerability.

I nod slowly. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot."

I pause, chewing on the inside of my cheek before speaking again, quieter this time. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like you'd just disappear or like you wouldn't care. I just... I didn't know what you'd want. I didn't wanna back you into something you didn't ask for, or make you feel trapped."

I glance down at my hands. "I guess I was just scared you'd be angry or walk away, and I figured if that was the case, it'd be better to just keep my distance. I didn't want to expect too much and get hurt, or worse, mess things up even more."

I look back up at him, eyes stinging just a little. "But I know you're not a bad guy, Jake. I shouldn't have implied that. I just didn't know where we stood… or if we were even on the same page."

Jake shifts on his feet, jaw working for a second like he's trying to find the right words. He looks at me, really looks at me, and there's no heat in his voice when he speaks.

"Look, I get it," he says. "You were just tryna protect yourself. And the baby." He lets out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. " I've given people plenty of reasons to think that before. I know my reputation's not exactly clean. But I'd never abandon my kid. I know I can be an asshole sometimes, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He tries halfheartedly to joke.

His lips tug into a crooked half-smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm scared too. I don't know how to do this… but I want to try. I want to be there. You shouldn't have to do this alone, and that kid... our kid, deserves someone who's gonna show up."

Then he takes a step closer, voice lowering. "So yeah, maybe I messed up before. Maybe I've been selfish, stupid, whatever. But I'm here now. And if you'll let me… I'll keep showing up."

"I believe you," I say honestly. "I believe that you mean it. That you want to try." My voice is shaky, but I don't look away. "And I want to talk more. Just... not right now. Not with music playing and people yelling for drinks."

He huffs a soft laugh. "Yeah. Not exactly a heart-to-heart kinda vibe."

"Plus I've got to actually get some work done this shift. That is why I'm here." I smile a little, then glance at the time. "I close tomorrow night. If you're serious about this... stop by after. We can talk. Really talk."

Jake doesn't hesitate.

"I'll be there," he says, quiet but sure. "You got my word."

Something in my chest loosens.

"Okay," I whisper. "I'll see you then."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

----

As promised, Jake comes back the next day.

It's late, almost 12:30 am, and I've just finished kicking out the last few stragglers. It's been another long, hard day. My feet are killing me, and my hair smells nauseatingly like booze, but when I see him walk into the bar, I forget all about the ache in my bones.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound more awake than I feel.

"You look beat," Jake says, walking up and leaning against the bar. He doesn't smirk, doesn't tease. Just watches me with something softer in his eyes.

"Yeah, closing shift'll do that to you," I say. "You want a drink?"

He nods. "Sure."

I grab a clean glass and pour a couple fingers of whiskey. My hands are steady, but my heart's thudding loud in my chest. I slide his glass over and lean against the back counter, grabbing myself a bottle of water.

He takes a sip, eyes still on me. "You sure you wanna do this now? You look like you could pass out right here. That can't be good for the kid." There's a hint of concern evident in his tone.

I shake my head. "No, I want to talk. Figure everything out. I think that'll help me feel less stressed. And maybe we can get a game plan going."

Jake nods, waiting.

"I've been trying to get into the community clinic," I say. "Just... trying to get the money together for the visit. My insurance went up this year and I can't afford the premium anymore. I've been applying to CHIP and Medicaid, seeing if they can help, but I don't know when that'll come through."

His brows draw together. "You haven't seen a doctor at all yet?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. I'm going to. I just need a little more time."

"I'll pay for it."

The words catch me off guard. I blink, sure I must've misheard him. "What?"

"I'll cover it," he says, shrugging like it's no big deal. "You shouldn't have to wait to get checked out. Especially not with a baby involved. I've read there's vitamins and things you're supposed to be takin', and if you don't get them, it'll hurt the kid."

He's been researching.

I stare at him, my throat tightening. "Jake, I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask. I'm offering." His voice is soft but firm. "Let me do this."

I nod slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Okay."

He watches me for a second longer. "Are you working anywhere else right now?"

"Yeah," I admit. "Two jobs. Penny's been offering me more hours here, so I'm taking them. And I've been looking around for a third job. Something flexible. Just until I get things sorted."

Jake whistles under his breath. "Three jobs?"

"Yeah." I nod. "I don't really have a choice. If I want to keep the baby, I have to be able to take care of it. Give it what it needs."

He runs a hand over his mouth, processing. "You've really got a lot going on."

"Yeah." I sigh.

He leans back a little, like he's trying to figure out where to even start. His fingers tap the edge of his glass. "Geez," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "You've got more on your plate than most squadrons I've flown with." A flicker of uncertainty flashes across his face. His jaw tightens and untightens, like he wants to say something but he's not quite sure if he should bring it up. He takes a sip, watching me closely. "I've been thinkin' about everythin'. About figuring things. And, uh, something came to mind."

I raise an eyebrow, leaning back on my heels.

"A buddy of mine, old squad guy, he ended up marrying this girl he was seeing. Not because they were head over heels or anything. She was sick, didn't have health insurance, and he... well, he needed the extra cash that came from it to pay off some debts." Jake glances down at his glass, then back up at me. "Worked out for both of them. She got coverage. He got a little extra pay from the Navy. Stability."

I stare at him, trying to keep my face neutral. My heart's already climbing up my throat.

"I've been looking into it," he continues. "The Navy... it can be rough for single parents, especially if the kid's born out of wedlock. Figuring out custody and how that's going to work with my schedule is going to be a process. We'll need to come up with a Family Care plan to turn in, to let them know you'll take care of the baby when I'm on missions. And deployments, relocations? If I got stationed somewhere else, we'll have to figure out visitation and what to do then."

He lets out a quiet breath. "But if we were married, everything changes. The baby gets covered. You get covered. Housing, medical, financial support... We'd both have it easier. And yeah, I know it's not romantic or ideal. But it'd mean I could be in their life more. If I get moved, you guys would come with me and it'd all be paid for."

I swallow hard. My brain feels like it's short-circuiting. I'd barely wrapped my head around being pregnant. Now he's suggesting a marriage of convenience?

Jake must see the hesitation in my face, because he softens his tone.

"You don't have to decide now," he says. "I know it's a lot. It's a big thing, a decision I don't want you to feel pressured to make. But I figured... you deserved to know the option was there. I'd do it. For the kid. For you."

I nod slowly, trying to untangle the knot in my chest. It's tempting. No scrambling for health coverage. No late-night panic over rent or baby bills. But it's also huge. Marriage. A legal, permanent kind of huge.

"Can I think about it?" I ask, voice quieter now.

"Of course," he says quickly. "Take all the time you need."

"Maybe we can talk in a few days? Once I've had a minute to... figure out what to do?"

"Yeah." He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a slip of paper. "Here. My number. In case you need anything."

I take it. His phone number is neatly scribbled on the paper, his first and last name above it.

Seresin. Jake Seresin.

"Thanks," I say, and I mean it.

He gives me a nod, eyes lingering for just a beat longer. Then he steps back, dropping a few bucks on the bar for the drink.

"Oh, it's alright, it's on the house." I wave it off.

"Keep it. The kid's gonna to need it." He tucks his wallet back into his pocket. "Get some rest, alright?"

"You too."

And just like that, he's gone, leaving me with a million more things to think about.

-----

I stare at the phone in my hand for a good ten minutes before I finally call.

The dial tone makes my stomach twist. I haven't talked to her in a while, not since everything started to unravel. I feel like a kid again, about to confess something that's going to break her heart. I know she'll still love me, but I hate the fact that I'm going to disappoint her.

She picks up after three rings. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom."

There's a pause. Then, cautious warmth. "Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?"

No. Not even close. I press my thumb against the edge of the counter, grounding myself. "I need to tell you something. And I know you're not going to be happy, but... I really need your advice."

Another pause. "Go ahead. You know I'm always here for you."

"I'm pregnant."

She goes quiet. The kind of quiet that buzzes. Then, finally, she exhales, slow and heavy. "Oh, honey."

"I didn't mean for it to happen. I wasn't being careful. I know I messed up."

"You think?" Her voice sharpens, just a little. "You're smarter than this. You should've thought it through. Used protection."

"I know. I'm sorry." I swallow hard, shame blooming hot in my chest. "I really am."

"I know you are." She sounds tired now. "I just… I expected more from you. But what's done is done. I still love you. Always."

Relief hits me like a wave. I nod even though she can't see it.

"Is the father in the picture?"

"Kind of," I say. "His name's Jake. He's in the Navy. A pilot and a regular here at the bar. We weren't serious, but… he's been trying to step up."

"Trying?"

"He offered to marry me," I say, the words falling out in a rush. "Not for love. Just… practical. He said it'd help me get covered for everything. The baby too. He'd get a bigger allowance, which will help with the costs."

She hums, low and thoughtful. "Is he a good man?"

"I think he is. He's… rough around the edges, maybe a little full of it sometimes, but he means well. He's doing his best."

She's quiet for a long moment. "Then if you want my honest opinion?" she says finally. "I think you should go through with it. For the baby."

I blink. "Really?"

"It's not a fairy tale, but it's a smart decision. You need help. You need stability. And this sounds like your best shot at both. When the baby comes around, things are going to get a lot harder. You need someone there who can help you. As long as he treats you well and you're okay with it, I think you should do it."

"I didn't think you'd say that."

"I didn't either," she admits. "But sometimes life doesn't play out the way we planned. If he's willing to stand by you, even in this way, then maybe it's worth it. It might not be what you imagined for yourself, or what your dad and I hoped for you, but it might be the best option right now."

I press my palm to my stomach, heartbeat fluttering under my ribs.

"Okay. Thanks, Mom."

"Whatever happens, I'm here. Just… be careful. And make sure you're doing it with your eyes open. If anything happens, your dad and I will be here to help you. We'll help any way we can." She pauses. "And before you get married, let us meet him, yeah? It might make it easier for your dad."

"Of course mom. Thanks."

We hang up, and I sit in the quiet for a while, letting it all sink in. Not what I imagined. Not how I pictured telling her. But somehow, it feels a little bit lighter.

Now I just have to tell Jake.

------

A/N: I did some research on what's it's like for single parents in the military/healthcare options for low-income pregnant persons, but the story might not be completely accurate about it. Plus, the way I wrote it furthers the plot so...

If you want to be added to the taglist for this story, comment below.

Pt. 2

[vampuzzie]

Your brothers best friend 18+

pairing: simon riley x johnnys little sister. pt.2

warnings: smut, (mdni), p in v, unprotected sex (use protection guys unless it’s Simon riley), fingering, exhibitionist, public but not that public, doggy, spit kink, not very experienced reader, rough, dom simon, squirting, brothers best friend, age gap (readers 20 and simon is 26), missionary, cowgirl, almost caught, he’s a munch.

word count:2k+

It had been a few days since that night in the kitchen, and you tried hard not to think anything of it—but with all the lingering stares and the barely-there touches every time he passed you, it was safe to say you’d thought about it a lot. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

You shook your head, like you could shake 33the thoughts loose, and looked back down at the laptop in your lap. You were supposed to be on break—supposed to be having fun—but so far, all you’d managed was schoolwork.

And almost like he could read your mind, there was a knock on your door.

You didn’t need to check. You knew it was him.

You froze, holding still in the silence, hoping maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, he’d go away.

“I know you’re in there,” came his voice—low, gruff, and too damn deep as it bled through the door. You sighed, sitting there a second longer before finally giving in. “You can come in,” you called out, hating how your voice pitched up at the end.

The door creaked open, and you held your breath as Simon stepped inside. You straightened your spine as he shut the door behind him with a soft click.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little rougher this time.

It took you a beat to answer. Your eyes had already scanned his frame—the way the shirt clung to his chest, stretched tight around his biceps, and the way his jeans fit way too well around his thighs. Stop it.

“Schoolwork,” you blurted, forcing your eyes away from him and motioning vaguely to the laptop on your lap.

Simon hummed in response. “Figured y’were.” You nodded, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him. “Me and Johnny are heading to the pub. Thought maybe you’d wanna come—get outta this room for a bit,” he said casually. His gaze dragged across your form, lingering just a second too long on the curve of your tank top and how it hugged your chest. It was quick—but not quick enough. Long enough to commit to memory.

Your brother was going to kill him.

You considered it for a moment. Truth be told, you did need to get out of this house. And more truth? You needed to get laid. That’s all it was, right? All the long stares and completely inappropriate thoughts about your older brother’s best friend? Just hormones. Just being horny. That’s what you told yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll go. Could be fun,” you said with a shrug.

Simon nodded. “Alright. We’re about ta’ leave, so don’t take forever getting ready—like you usually do.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned, opened the door, and left as quickly as he’d come. You could’ve sworn you saw the hint of a smirk on his face before he disappeared.

Johnny had already shouted at you four times before you were finally ready. You’d kept it simple: loose-fitting jeans, a light pink babydoll top, and a pair of white Adidas. You hadn’t brought much from your dorm—especially not going-out clothes—because you hadn’t really planned on going anywhere.

Now here you were.

Just your luck, you were crammed into the backseat with Simon while one of their shared friends took the front with your brother. You were pressed up against the door, doing your best to make yourself as small as possible. Of course, Simon had taken the middle seat—manspreading with his arm casually thrown behind your shoulders like it belonged there.

You were almost certain he was doing it on purpose. Like he knew about your stupid little crush and was going out of his way to make you suffer.

“There’s a whole seat over there, just saying,” you muttered, turning your head to look at him, your chin tilting up just slightly.

Simon let out a low chuckle at your words, his hand giving your shoulder a light squeeze.

You could almost feel the way his chest shook with laughter, with how close the two of you were.

Simon leaned in just a touch, his breath warm against your ear. “And miss sitting next to you? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“What, enjoying your company?” he said, his tone feigning innocence. “Guilty as charged.”

“You’re such a menace.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You keep callin’ me names, but you haven’t told me to piss off yet.”

You glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. “Yet.”

“Ah,” Simon grinned, “so there’s hope.” You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged to your lips at his words.

****

The ride didn’t last much longer, thank God. You weren’t sure how much more thigh-to-thigh contact and casual shoulder grazes you could take before you said something you’d regret. Or did something.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the pub, headlights cutting through the cool night air. The Fox was written in faded gold lettering above the old wooden door, the windows glowing amber with warmth and chatter spilling out from inside.

Johnny and his friend Gaz-whose name you had learned on the ride to the pub were both out of the car before you could even reach for the door handle. You shook your head at the sight of them, hand going to open the door but of course Simon’s hand beat you to it.

“thanks,” You nodded to him as you stepped out of the car, “course luv,” you blamed the chilly Manchester breeze causing goosebumps to rise on your arms and not Simon’s words.

You quickly made your way to the pub door, following behind your brother. You couldn’t handle the tension between you and simon, maybe you were imagining it, you weren’t his type-you had seen the girls he’s dated over the years-very opposite to you.

Simon was hot on your heel, his eyes flicking down to your ass. You glanced behind you, were you seeing things was simon looking at your ass no way, right?

Johnny and his friend-gaz-were already sat at a booth. You quickly made your way over there, you needed a drink right about now. You slid into the booth and of course simon slides in right after you, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder.

You listen to johnny and gaz talk, nodding along to their stories and glancing over at Simon when he would every so often add along to whatever johnny was talking about.

You sip on the not so great beer they had ordered as you listen. Simon’s arm draped across the top of the booth behind you.

You shifted in your seat as you looked down at your beer, the condensation making a ring on the table every time you picked it up to take a small sip from it, your face crunching up in disgust.

“I’m gonna go get another drink, does anyone want anything?” You ask as you stand, nudging simon to get up with your foot. “more beer,” johnny said, his face already shiny with a pink hue. You shook your head, a small laugh leaving your lips.

Simon sliding out of the booth.

You slid out of the booth after him, dusting off your shirt a bit as you turn to look at simon as he sits back down. “do you want anything simon?” You smile a bit.

He looked up at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Nah, I’m alright. Thanks, love.”

You nodded and turned toward the bar, slipping through the crowd. It was warm, loud—bodies pressed close, the buzz of conversation mixing with the music and clink of pint glasses.

You were only a few steps from the counter when someone stepped into your path.

“Hey there,” a voice said smoothly.

You looked up to see a guy—mid-twenties, broad-shouldered, confident. His grin was easy, pint already in hand. “Did it hurt?”

You blinked. “What?”

He chuckled. “When you fell from heaven.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, head tilting as you gave him a look. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, still grinning. “Cheesy works sometimes. Can I get you a drink?”

You hesitated for a beat. You weren’t trying to flirt, not really—but it was harmless, right?

“Sure,” you said, more out of politeness than anything. “I was headed that way anyway.”

Back at the booth, Simon’s fingers drummed quietly against his glass, eyes flicking toward the bar—and not just once. He didn’t say anything, didn’t lean forward or scowl. But he noticed. Noticed the way the guy leaned in when he talked to you, how your smile lingered a little longer than usual.

Simon tried to tell himself he was just looking out for you that guy could be a dickhead who couldn’t take no for answer but deep down he knew it was more than that, and when you glanced back to the booth eyes landing on simon to find he was already looking at you, you knew.

You looked back toward the man in front of you, nodding along to whatever he was saying. His name was Eren—attractive, broad in all the right places. Apparently, you had a thing for big guys.

He was easy to talk to, confident but not cocky. And the longer the conversation dragged on, the closer he’d moved, his hand eventually finding its way to your hip as you sipped the drink he’d bought you—thankfully, not a beer this time. He was charming, and polite enough, but the truth was you couldn’t stop comparing him.

He wasn’t Simon.

Even his touch was different—gentler. Softer. Too soft.

You didn’t notice Simon approaching until you felt the shift in the air—like a storm cloud had moved in behind you. His presence was undeniable. Heavy. Sharp.

“Can I help you, mate?” Eren asked, voice suddenly guarded.

Simon didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. He towered over the guy, not by much, but enough to make the difference feel significant. The way he stood—broad shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes locked like a loaded weapon—made him look twice as dangerous.

His voice was low. Controlled. Deadly.
“Fuck off… mate.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction. His hand wrapped around your arm—firm, not painful, but with purpose—and he pulled you away from the bar. “Simon—what the fuck was that?” you hissed, trying to yank your arm from his grip, but he didn’t let go.

He didn’t answer. Not even a glance. Just stalked forward, dragging you with him as the crowd parted like it could sense better than you what was coming.

“Simon!” you snapped again, louder this time.

He only stopped once you were in the narrow hallway by the bathrooms—dimly lit, quiet except for the muffled bass of the music from inside. A few people passed behind you, barely sparing a glance.

Simon let go of your arm and turned to face you, eyes dark.

“What the fuck was that for?” you demanded, your voice sharp now. “You can’t just drag me away like that,”

He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at you. You could see it in his face—the clenched jaw, the twitch in his brow, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides like he was holding something back.

“You were lettin’ him put his fuckin’ hands on you,” he finally said, voice low, tight.

“He wasn’t doing anything—”

“His was touching you like you were his.”

You stared at him, breath catching in your chest. “And so what? You don’t get to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped. Too fast. Too harsh. Then he exhaled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back. “Because you don’t get to act like that. Not when you’ve spent the last week pretending none of this—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you “—means anything.”

He stepped in closer, his voice a low rasp. “It can’t mean anything.” Your stomach twisted.

“Because of Johnny?” you said, quieter now. Bitter. “Because I’m his sister?”

Simon didn’t answer right away, but you saw it—plain as day. The guilt. The want. The war happening behind his eyes.

“I don’t wanna ruin our friendship,” he said finally, like it physically pained him to get the words out.

You laughed, dry and humorless. “Then don’t.”

You turned to walk away.

But his hand caught yours—not rough, not forceful, just there—and his voice came again, lower this time. Almost a whisper.

“But that doesn’t mean I want to see someone else touching you.” You stopped.

Slowly, you turned back, heart hammering against your ribs. “Then what do you want, Simon?”

He stared at you, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling.

“I want you,” he said—quiet, raw, like it physically hurt to admit. “I just don’t know what the fuck to do about it.” You stared up at him, jaw clenched tight. That confession should’ve meant something—should’ve been enough—but all it did was piss you off. Because it wasn’t a decision. It was a stall. A game. And you were tired of playing.

“Well, until you figure it out, Simon?” Your voice came out low, steady. “Keep me out of it.” You yanked your hand from his and turned to walk away. You didn’t trust yourself to look back. You didn’t know what else to say—but you knew you wanted to hit him. Or kiss him. Or both. You didn’t make it three steps.

Simon’s hand came up behind you, sliding to the back of your neck—not rough, but firm—and before you could snap at him again, he pulled you back into him, his mouth crashing down onto yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t careful.

It was heat and frustration and weeks of stolen glances and things left unsaid exploding all at once. You gasped into the kiss, your hands flying up to brace against his chest. He’d pulled down the balaclava when you weren’t looking—somewhere between dragging you away and trying not to lose his mind.

His lips moved against yours like he was starving. Like he was trying to make up for every second he hadn’t touched you. His grip at the back of your neck tightened, keeping you close, his other hand finding your waist, dragging you flush against him.

You kissed him back just as hard, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt. There was nothing gentle about it. It was messy and hot and unhinged—months of tension boiling over into teeth and tongue and breathless gasps between kisses.

His body pressed you back into the wall, the cool surface doing nothing to calm the heat crawling up your spine. His mouth broke from yours just long enough to suck in a breath—his eyes dark, chest rising hard with every inhale—before diving back in, lips parting yours with an urgency that made your knees buckle.

You moaned into the kiss, one of your hands sliding up to the back of his neck, the other curling around the fabric of his shirt like you needed to hold onto something or fall apart entirely. And still, he kissed you like he couldn’t stop. Like he wouldn’t stop. Like this was the only way he could tell you the truth without saying it out loud.

It wasn’t sweet. It was everything he wasn’t supposed to want.

And he wanted it so fucking bad.

Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt as Simon’s hand slid down, teasing the front of your jeans. His fingers skimmed your lower abdomen, just under the waistband, lighting up every nerve with each brush of his skin.

Every time he touched you, it felt like fire.

And with just one kiss, he’d had you soaking your favorite pair of panties.

Pathetic. But at this point, you were too far gone to care.

Simon pulled back slightly, both of you panting, a string of spit still connecting your lips. His voice was rough when he spoke.

“Let me show you how I feel, luv.”

You shivered, eyes fluttering closed, hands still fisted in his shirt. “There’s people, Simon,” you whispered, blinking your eyes open, glancing past him toward the hallway.

“There’s nobody, sweet’art.” His lips were red, his voice deeper now—possessive, like he already had you. “Trust me. I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

His mouth found your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck, sucking a mark into your skin before nipping just hard enough to make your breath hitch. You nodded, helplessly. His hand dipped past the waistband of your jeans, slipping into your soaked panties. His thumb pressed firmly over your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as two fingers slid through your slick folds.

He paused for a second, grinning against your throat. “Christ, baby… you’re drippin’. Was this me—or that prick at the bar?”

You whimpered, hips rocking into his hand. “You… it’s you…”

He let out a quiet, dark chuckle. “That’s right. Knew it.”

Then he slid two fingers inside you—deep, slow, curling them just right. Your head dropped to his shoulder with a soft moan as he pumped his fingers, his thumb never leaving your clit. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And then—his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

You barely registered it through the haze.

He cursed under his breath, glanced at the screen, then pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?”

You froze—except his fingers didn’t. He didn’t stop. Not even a little.

If anything, he picked up the pace, curling deeper inside you, rubbing slow, devastating circles over your clit while he talked like nothing was happening.

“Where the fuck are you? I can’t find y/n” Johnny’s voice came through the line, loud enough that you could hear it. Simon’s eyes stayed locked on yours. “Went out for a smoke i’m sure she’s around somewhere,” he said smoothly, voice steady. “One sec, I’ll be there in a minute.”

You bit your lip, trying not to moan as his fingers thrust harder, his thumb never relenting. Your hands dug into his shoulders, your entire body trembling with how close you were.

Johnny’s voice crackled again. “Alright, hurry up.”

Simon ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket—his fingers still buried inside you, fucking up into you with steady pressure.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, leaning in close, lips brushing your ear. “Be quick for me. Gotta get back before he notices you’re missing.” You couldn’t hold back the whine that tore from your throat. Your body clenched around his fingers, the heat low in your stomach burning hotter, tighter.

“Almost there, aren’t you?” he whispered. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. So close you can’t think straight.”

You nodded, lips parted, your hips moving with his hand now, chasing the friction. His mouth moved back to your neck, biting gently, then soothing it with his tongue as your body tensed.

And then you broke.

You came hard around his fingers, jaw slack, a soft cry caught in your throat as you gripped him tight and fell apart against him. Simon kissed your jaw, working you through it, his fingers slowing only when your body had finished pulsing around him.

He finally pulled his hand free, tugging your panties back into place and adjusting your jeans like nothing had happened.

Except everything had.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes never leaving yours.

“This isn’t over,” he said again—quiet and firm, like a promise.

Then, without another word, he fixed your shirt for you, pressed one final kiss to your jaw, and turned toward the main room.

And you?

You were left against the wall, breathless, undone—heart pounding, thighs shaking, and your brother waiting just outside.

(it’s finally out AHHHH. i hope it was worth the wait and there will be another part not sure when it will be out. Bear with me yall i have plans for this story. it won’t let me tag anyone so i hope you all find your way back to this story. I LOVE YALL AND THANKS SO MUCH FIR THE SUPOORT OK THE LAST PART)

[drabblesandsnippets]

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

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