#doesn’t mean i need to refuse myself rest

[luveline]

𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧

Clark is so completely oblivious to your flirting that you start to wonder if he even understands what flirting is. (He does, and he can prove it.) fem, 3k

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hey, Kent.”

Clark’s answering smile is enthusiastic, but little else. “Hey. How are you, how’s your morning going?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

He takes this more seriously than you’d expect. Or, exactly as you’d expect apparently, because this is Clark you’re talking to. “No one’s made you a cup of coffee?” 

“Well, Jimmy offered, but, alas. Nobody has hands as skilled as yours.”

He nods like this is a given. “I can make you one. Decaf?” Clark laughs loudly at your crestfallen expression. “I’m kidding. Be right back.” 

With caffeine and Clark Kent, your morning promises to improve. It was destiny, fate, and one kind boss that put you in the desk to the right of Clark’s. He’s made good out of a bum deal sandwiched between his desk and a pillar, having turned the pillar into a home for his corkboard and sticky notes. You study him often, his hair kissing the wall each time he leans back to watch the office television. 

You just need to say the right thing to him. To get him to notice you. If he rejected you, you’d stop, of course you’d stop, but Clark hasn’t so far acknowledged your flirting, and even that would be enough to put you off the whole thing if Jimmy hadn’t fanned your flames a few weeks ago. 

He definitely doesn’t know you’re flirting, Jimmy’d said, mouth half full of popcorn, the other half milk duds, that’s what happens to boys when they come from a home on the range, my friend. No game. 

You’d laughed at his grand bravado and kept that information stored away. Clark does seem a little… inexperienced, when it comes to adult life. He’s perfectly normal as things go, but he’s hopeless when it comes to dating. A few weeks ago, a woman at the bar closest to work had asked him if he’d buy her a drink and Clark, all manner of sympathy in his eyes, had asked if she lost her wallet.

So you assume him unknowing and carry on valiantly. “Kent,” you say now, resting your hand on his shoulder, “can we have lunch together?” 

“When, now?” 

“Whenever’s best for you, babe.”

He quirks a smile. “I’m always hungry.”

“I know. I brought you something.”

“You did?” 

“Mm-hm. Put your monitor on standby and come find me.” 

He doesn’t let you get far, his hand pressing lightly to the small of your back as you break for the office kitchenette. “What sort of something?”

“Sorry?”

“What did you bring me?”

“A special treat for a special boy,” you murmur, mostly joking, ever so slightly salacious, and far too much for the setting. 

“You’re leaving me in anticipation here.”

“Is there any other way to leave you, Clark?”

He gives a well-meaning shrug. “Sure, you usually like to leave me hanging.” 

“Don’t be mean. I’ll keep your treat for myself. You know I will.”

Clark chuckles. The sound never fails to light you up from the inside out, has you rushing to the fridge to get your two Tupperware boxes for sharing. You hand one to Clark, the other housing your boring dinner. He slides his arm under yours before the fridge door can close and effectively boxes you in as he grabs his own lunchbox. Your faces are close enough to kiss. 

You take the proximity gratefully, cataloguing the gentle lines of his face. His eyes are beautiful, and light, a warm blue that refuse to dip down to your lips as yours fall to his. You give them a longing stare. Clark collects his lunch and backs away from you. 

He leads you to a table together while shaking the box you’ve given him. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

“It’s not like it’s see through, or anything.”

He grins, eyes averted. “I’m going to guess what it is by sound.” Clark turns the box on its side. “Too soft a noise for cookies. If it were fairy cakes again, I’d hear the paper. And we’ve sworn off of caramel after you almost lost your incisor.” 

“So?”

He sniffs. “Brownies.”

“Cheater.” 

“I’m not cheating,” 

“You are! You’re smelling them, I know you are, they’re chocolatey enough. Just the way you like them, if you even care.”

“Of course I care,” he says, finally letting himself look down at the Tupperware, eyes lit with joy. “Oh, these look beautiful.”

“Well, I tried my best.”

“You didn’t have to go to all the trouble,” he says, even as he pops off the lid and lets out a pleased, decadent sigh, like a king looking over a vast sea of riches rather than four dark squares of fudgey brownies. 

“I don’t mind, Clark. I like doing things for you.”

He eats his brownies. He eats his lunch. You press your ankle to his under the table and smile when he doesn’t pull away, again when he washes your plastics and returns them to you towel-dried for your bag. He says, “Thank you for my treat,” with a small pat to your shoulder. 

Hours pass slowly, but then it’s your long awaited home time and you’re not interested in being alone just yet. 

“Could I ask you something?” 

Clark eases the loop of your tote bag back onto your shoulder. “Always.”

“Would you walk me home?”

“Today?” He holds your arm. “Everything okay?” 

“Would you believe me if I said I’d just really like your company?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Come on. We can beat the rush on the tramline if we hurry.”

You don’t beat the rush hour traffic on the tramline; the tram stations are all lined with people two-thick, so you take the slightly longer way on foot from the office to the quieter residential area where you live. The sky is moody, though the sun stays eager, following the backs of your necks past Metropark and Mr. Caleb’s corner store. 

“Wanna get shaved ice?” Clark asks. 

It may be warm, but it’s getting dark already and the idea of eating shaved ice in the dark is unpleasant. Still, he’s so charming, you end up shaking your head while you weave your arm through his. “Lucky you’re pretty,” you murmur. 

“We don’t have to. We could get coffee.” 

“You want to?” 

“I want you to be less sad,” he says. 

“I’m not sad.”

“No? You seem… I don’t know. You seem sort of defeated. Did something happen at work today? You aren’t acting like you would.”

“How do I usually act?” you ask curiously. 

He wrinkles his nose at you. It’s a fond gesture. “Like you. You’re so yourself. I don’t like seeing you down.”

“I’m not down, Clark. But I don’t know, maybe I’ll ask you something.” 

“Sure. Anything, I’m an open book.” 

You size him up. 6’ ridiculous (or 6’4 if he’s to be believed) and brazenly kind, even the look of him, a nose that’s pleasing to see, would be better to kiss, the lines in his cheeks from his smiling and his crow’s feet crinkle right at the corners of his eyes. His dark grey suit and the skinny red tie you occasionally tug between two fingers. Clark isn’t an open book. He is notoriously hard to get a read on, and he should know this. He drives you crazy. 

“Ugh,” you mumble, rubbing the space between your eyebrows. 

“It’s okay, honey.”

You narrow your eyes at him around your hand. “Clark, are you hard of hearing?”

“What?” 

“I’m genuinely asking. I know it’s a very rude thing to presume about someone out of the blue, or, to ask about, but I figured maybe you have an audio processing issue or something?” 

He doesn’t recoil as some might, or get offended at the question, as personal as it was. “I’m not hard of hearing. Why are you asking me that? Do I miss it, when you’re talking to me?”

“It’s like you aren’t hearing me, yeah.”

“I always hear you.”

“But… I say so many things, and your answers are so– neutral?” You frown at the deep confusion etched between his brows and catch a different thread. “When I said I wanted your company, earlier, you rolled your eyes. Why?” 

“You were joking.”

“Was I?” You untangle your arm from his to get a better view of his expression. “Why would I joke about that? Why else would I want you to come with me?”

“I don’t– I don’t know, you joke so often.”

“When?”

“Like, in the mornings. I ask how you are and you always say you’re better now you saw me.”

“That is quite genuinely true, Clark.”

“But it’s, like. You’re kidding. It’s like play-fighting, only…”

You wish you and Clark could’ve had this conversation sitting down. It would’ve been nicer somewhere quieter, but there’s comfort to be found in the quiet hustle and bustle of the tramlines whirring in the backgrounds, the single train track further from the main city, even the bump and beeping of Metropolis traffic. And there are people everywhere, chatting, walking, occasional laughter filtering through bursts of sound. You smile at Clark as someone out of sight lets out a roaring burst of giggles, enamoured with his own twitching smile, like even the hint of someone else’s joy is enough to bring colour to his day. 

“I could never put my hands on you, handsome. You’re too precious,” you say, almost shy. “Not play-fighting, by the way. I’m flirting with you, Kent. I have been.” 

He raises a hand to his neck, scratches. Lets it flop back down, his lips parting in surprise. “You are?” 

You hold your hands behind your back. “It’s not a joke, Clark. Honey. I’m sorry if I never made that clear for you. I definitely wasn't trying to make a joke out of things. Don’t get me wrong, I love teasing you, and sometimes I’m being hyperbolic, but I mean everything I’ve said. I hope you… hope you don’t mind.” 

You watch in real time as Clark goes a rosy shade of pink. Spreading across his nose, glancing up his cheekbones, a heated stain to evidence his embarrassment even as his lips stretch into a smile that’s unfailingly, untouchably pleased. His eyes go soft, his fingers tickling the back of your hand as he finds it, turns it, and grabs your fingers. Too impatient to thread them together. 

“Oh,” he says, giving your joined hands a sway. You watch him mouth it again. Oh.  

“Clark?”

“When we went to dinner, after Perry’s party, I should’ve paid,” he says. 

“What?”

“And– and there are so many doors I could’ve held for you.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says, sounding, for a second, genuinely agitated. It’s a stark contrast to the way he treasures your hand in his, rolling your fingers nicely. 

“Clark, I’ve been trying. For weeks. If anyone’s going to be annoyed right now, it’s me.”

He glares at you. That glare quickly softens, turning to more of a stickied, almost playful smile you fail to place on him. 

“What?” you ask. 

He takes a step into your space. “What?” he asks back. 

“I asked you first.”

Clark takes you in as you shift your weight from one foot to the other,  an uncomfortable warmth spreading over the back of your neck.  

“What?” you whisper. 

“Just looking at you.” 

You flare with embarrassment. “Do not,” you warn. The bite you’d tried for is more of a whine. 

“Don’t what? Look at you? How could I not?” 

“Clark, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” 

“Dead ridiculous,” you murmur, tail end of your words a breathy, harsh exhale as Clark leans into your space and presses his lips to your skin. 

Anticipation tightens every joint. Your brain catches up slowly, finds his mouth on your cheek, your cheekbone, and the corner of your eye, three soft kisses that threaten to bowl you over in the middle of the sidewalk, despite his hand clasped over yours and the other guiding your face toward his kissing. He presses a final kiss to your temple, takes a breath of you, and lets you fall away. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, before,” he says, rubbing the back of your hand sympathetically, “but I know now.” 

You do your best not to stutter. “Sure. It’s okay.” 

“Yeah, it will be. Where do you want to go for dinner?” 

—

Clark has to confess to bone deep elation. Bordering childish, wildly grown up, he cannot contain or restrain the force of his affection. 

In less pretentious terms, Clark Kent is falling in love. You might’ve had the head start when it came to the whole courting side of things, but Clark would argue he’s pined harder, and for far longer, to the point of delusion: every flirtation was thought to be a joke. Some days he’d believe you, and others he’d go home thinking about a flirty, lovely girl who just likes to make her coworker smile. 

He can’t say he’d believe this, now. Picture you here, sure, achy mornings scrolling his phone in frustration, before tossing it aside to clutch a pillow to his chest, his nose in the case, trying to find your smell. What is it you always smell like? Your perfume. He’s awful at this stuff, knows so many smells but can’t make it out. 

Clark —lucky Clark, in there and now, elated— slips his arm over your chest and pulls you easily into his front. You’re practically weightless to him. 

“Mm…” you mumble. 

He shushes you mindlessly. 

Unfortunately, the sound only serves to wake you more. You doze weakly in his arms, a touch unsettled, all his fault for being selfish, so Clark rubs your back delicately and tries to repent. Wordlessly, he adjusts his arm under yours to hold your stomach in his palm, inching you backward, waiting for a sign. 

You let out a long, low sigh and fall mostly asleep again. 

Clark rests his nose in your hair. This is hard-worked but perhaps unearned, considering all your heavy lifting, but Clark will be damned if he hasn’t tried to make things up to you. The best, worst thing about you is that you find it all endlessly funny; Clark brings you flowers and you tickle him under the chin with their petals; he takes you out for dinner and you sneak off (unsuccessfully) to pay the bill during dessert; he tries to flirt, voice low and warm and pleading, and you ask him if he’d like to play fight. It’s your favourite joke. That’s if you aren’t blatantly pretending that Clark isn’t flirting. 

And you’re here now because… well. You haven’t fucked. Clark has —offered you things. Never wanting to take too soon, but needing you to have. And you’ve let him spin you around some, but tonight was because you just didn’t want to leave. Who was Clark to let you? You should have everything you want, including him, and including this. He’ll lay here stretching an ache out of your back all day if it’s your wish.

He tries to dial back the philosophical. Presses his nose further into your head and closes his eyes again. He’s tireder than usual, but that could be down to the late nights with you. He likes calling you, knowing you’ll answer. He likes listening to you talk, and he loves the casual flirtation you throw at him. Better now, because you know your crush is reciprocated. 

You smell incredible. Clark could fall to pieces about it. 

You wake up, then, Clark’s not sure why, holding his arm off of you to spin beneath it to face him, before forcing yourself under the curve of his chin to hold him. 

Clark doesn’t say anything in case you’re trying to get back to sleep again. He just waits, letting his fingers tumble the length of your back as it rises and falls. 

You don’t fall asleep again. 

“Hey,” you murmur. 

“Hi.”

“Good morning.”

“Better,” Clark says, tipping your head back by the nape of you, something right about it as you follow his hand back to show him your sleep-rumpled face, “now that you’re here.”

You turn your face into his arm. Clark can feel the heat of your skin, and thanks whoever there is to thank for the way that shyness and heat go hand in hand. You’re warm as a hearth against his skin, like a stripe of sun laid down and resting. 

“Steal all my best ones,” you mumble. 

“Best what?” 

“My pick-up lines.”

“Honey, I’m not flirting with you. Is that what you thought?”

He says it in a mumble. Presses it right into your mouth. 

Your first kiss had been somewhat of an oddity. No flirting before or afterwards, no pretenses, only a kiss. You’d been shy the day after your impromptu dinner and Clark hadn’t loved it. ‘Cos you’re adorable, but it had bordered too harshly on unsurety. Like you were waiting for Clark to take things back. 

His hands under your face to hold you. A wading of a kiss turned biting turned pleading, two shades of desperate and third pathetic. Clark had put everything he could into it. Translated months of longing, and the permanent ache that had come with your teasing.

This kiss is nothing like that. It’s melding your mouth against his with ease, meeting you halfway there as his hand carries you inward. Chest to chest, your little smile a lance against his own. 

“M’not flirting,” he murmurs. 

“Why not?”

“‘Cos you have me, baby.” 

You grumble weakly against his lips and take another kiss. “I like the flirting,” you say. 

“That’s too bad, huh?” He presses your shoulder to the bed, watches your eyes widen and then fall shut. “Maybe I can be persuaded.” 

“Flirt with me.”

“Nicer.” 

Your attempt to hide a triumphant smile fails. Clark doesn’t mind. 

“Please?” you murmur. 

He mouthed beautiful into the side of your neck. There’ll be time for the rest. Not that you’ll enjoy waiting —and not that he’ll mind giving in. 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

Thank you bec for proof reading!!!!♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

[berryrev]

Sniper Wifey

hanma shuji x reader

"How many guns do you have, Shu?"

The question that slips from your mouth isn’t unusual, not when it comes to your husband. You’ve always had a habit of blurting out whatever curiosity hits you, and he’s always indulged you, gladly, even.

But not now. Not at 3 AM, while he’s trying to sleep. Not when he firmly believes you don’t need to know.

Hanma Shuji—feared in the underground and respected by criminals, has one and only oath when it comes to you: keep you far away from his world.

Ironic, isn’t it? To be married to a crime boss, yet he refuses to let you experience his side of things.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t fully open with you. You’ve known him since time immemorial, and you accepted him for who he is and what he does. That’s why, even when a lot of people told you to run away before it was too late, you didn’t listen. Instead, you drew even closer, held his hand, and chose to run away with him.

Which brings you to where you are now: your head resting on his chest, fingers mindlessly caressing his tattooed bicep as you wait for his answer.

He didn’t react. Even in his half-awake, half-asleep state, he still held firm to his belief that you didn’t need to know. And if he refused to answer, if he just pretended he didn’t hear you, maybe you’d stop.

Hopefully.

“If you’re not going to answer me, I’ll get your case and count them myself.” you look up, watching to see if that threat would pull a reaction out of him. It didn’t fail—he opens his eyes and shot you a direct glare.

“How many?” you flash him a cute smile, the one you know he can’t resist. If you’ve managed to pull one reaction out of him, you know more will follow. Your best bet? He’ll keep entertaining you for as long as you want. You have that kind of power over him.

“You don’t need to know,” he mutters coldly, shutting his eyes again, ready to drift back into dreamland, where he hopes you’re in it, hopefully naked and minus the annoying question.

“Shuji—”

“God, baby, it’s fucking three in the morning. I’ll answer you later when we wake up.”

“Why not now?”

He lets out a grunt and rubs his eyes with his free hand. If one of his subordinates saw him like this, they’d be terrified, because they know what usually follows when Hanma Shuji starts getting pissed off. But you? You purposely annoy him and still have the audacity to look at him adorably afterward, like you didn’t just stretch his patience to the limit.

God, you’re annoying… and lovely, all at the same time.

“Baby, I have lots. Now sleep.” he hopes you’ll drop the question and finally drift off, but unlucky for him, you continue.

“What’s your favorite gun out of all of them?” you stop caressing his skin and shift to drape your full weight over him, lifting your head so you can face him completely. “Is it the one you always bring?”

This time, he fully opens his eyes, a serious look settling on his face as he locks his golden irises onto you.

“You’re not planning to get any of my guns and play with them, are you?” his breathing stills. Unlike earlier, when he’d rather ignore you than entertain your curiosity, this time, he’s genuinely anticipating your answer.

“Baby, you’re not getting my guns—”

“Shu, what if I ask you to teach me how to use one?” and this time, he can’t hide the slight shock that flashes across his face.

He snaps out of it after a few seconds. His honeyed irises, dilated from your question, are now replaced with confusion.

“Why’d you want to? If you’re planning to gun someone down, I’m here. I can do that for you. You don’t need no guns. I can kill for you.”

And you know he can do it. No doubt. Shuji would kill for his baby.

He’s not a crime lord for nothing, putting his life on the line for you has always been his top priority.

But that’s not the reason you started this talk. And it wasn’t a random question, either.

The purpose behind all of this is the fear of not having any power to fight back when the time comes, when you’ll be in danger, and no one, not even Shuji, will be there by your side to protect you.

"I mean, I am the wife of a crime lord. Isn’t it only right that I learn how to hold a gun too?" you ask, pouting. You already know he’ll refuse, but just in case, maybe the pout will sway him.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want, be whoever you want, go wherever you want—without a fucking gun, baby.” husky voice is laced with finality.

Shuji worked hard in the streets and underground to give you everything, to make sure you’d never feel restrained, even if his world is built on broken laws and freedom is elusive for someone like him.

But in his eyes, you’re free to do whatever you want. In his arms, you can be whoever you want to be. Except for one thing. There’s one thing he never wants you to touch, and one thing he never wants you to feel: the cold, heavy weight of a gun or the fear of standing in front of one.

With that thought, he hopes you’ll drop the topic.

However, he forgot that he also gave you the freedom to be bratty, which means… you’re not going to let this go.

“But Shu…” you whine.

He’s about to refuse you again, but your next words nearly, nearly, make him give in.

“I know you just want to keep me away from danger as much as possible, and I understand that, baby. But we live a life where risk is part of everything, especially you, Shu—you face it all the time, and sooner or later, I will too"

You say it in the softest voice, hoping it reaches his core. And knowing your husband, even the most trivial or nonsensical thing you say, he always remembers. He engraves it inside him.

“I'll keep you safe.” You feel his arms wrap around you tightly. Even now, when you're both in the safest part of your home, he feels the urge to shield you anyway. “You don’t have to, baby. I can do it.”

“Love" you call, and this time, you know it’s your last resort.

Then you hear him sigh. Not an annoyed sigh, but one that says: I surrender.

“I want to be able to defend myself… because you won’t always be here when something happens. I want to fight like you do—so I can live, too. So I can stay with you longer.”

And surrender, he does. You hear another sigh, this one followed by a tender kiss on your head.

He can never win against you.

And his solemn promise not to let you touch anything related to his world? It immediately flies out the window. Because even if he’s stronger, he’s weaker for you, and your love always makes him surrender.

He know it's still half hearted, but to make you stop he mutters his decision. “All right. But I’ll be the one to choose your gun—and you’ll only use it with my permission, and only when I’m around. Got it?”

-

Now here you are, clutching your husband's arm inside the warehouse. According to him, this place is where they stock “supplies,” and some of the rooms are for “rats”, which you didn’t ask him to elaborate on.

Dressed in your Loro Piana dress, you don’t exactly look like you’re here to learn how to pull a trigger. In fact, you look more like you’re about to attend a tea party. But Shuji didn’t have the heart to tease you, not when you’re beaming and literally pinching his arm in excitement. So he just let you. Shoot a gun in heels and lace, if that’s what his wife wants.

“So, what gun am I using?” you stare up at him, eyes sparkling, and Shuji bites his lower lip to keep himself from smiling.

Goddamn. You’re so adorable that if someone saw you from afar, they’d think you were asking where the two of you were going on a date… not what kind of gun you were about to use.

He woke up trying to pretend he didn’t remember the conversation from earlier that morning, but when you pouted, pleaded, and peppered him with kisses (even bribing him with an offer to suck him off), he didn’t have the heart to refuse you anymore.

“You’ll be using the P365,” he says, giving you a peck on the lips and tucking your hair behind your ear. “You gotta listen to me, baby. Alright?”

“Yes, boss!” you beam, and your husband couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. He knew that answer was your playful imitation of his subordinate from earlier.

The warehouse was full of men in suits when you arrived, but Shuji waved them off with a single command. He wanted you to relax, to feel comfortable. Before they left, though, you caught him murmuring something to one of his men. You only caught two words: “rat” and “bring.” You didn’t think much of it, your eyes were too busy wandering around the massive space.

“Bring him in!” Shuji’s voice boomed across the warehouse, sharp and commanding.

Two suited men reappeared seconds later, dragging someone between them—a bruised ragged man, blindfolded and stumbling.

“Shu?” confused, you clutch tighter onto your husbands arm.

He turns to you with that crooked, amused smile. “Baby, I prepared your target.”

“H-huh? B-but—”

“Bullets are expensive, my wife.” he says coolly, his big hands wrapping around your waist.

“We don’t want to waste them. And instead of aiming at a piece of paper” he tilts his head toward the blindfolded man now kneeling at gunpoint. “Why not practice on someone who’s worth even less than that?”

He’s challenging you. Not because he wants you to bite at his taunt, but because he wants to tap into your morals and prove a point—that you can’t hold a gun.

That you’ll never pull the trigger. Not even if he himself deems this poor man less worthy of life. Not even if you’re literally married to him.

He’s not going to force you to kill anyone. That’s not what this is. He just wants to see you waver, even just a little, so he can decide, once and for all, that you, his precious wife shouldn’t have a gun, and will never need one.

But instead, you stare at him with those imploring eyes, a silent plea that you don’t want this. Not like this. Not with a shaking man on his knees. You’re here to learn how to defend yourself, not to point a gun at someone who won’t even fight back.

“Shu, I—I don’t want to—”

“Why not?” his tone is somewhere between playful and challenging.

“I thought you wanted to learn how to aim? Why not start with a target? Or… you don’t wanna learn at all?”

He still won’t push you. If you say no, that’s the end of it. You’ve known horrors just by standing next to him, and the last thing he wants is for you to carry any of it on your own. But if teasing you just a little will make you turn around and hide behind him, if it’ll remind you to leave all the danger to him, then maybe it’s worth trying.

“I don’t want to, love.”

And just like that, Shuji throws every damn conviction he had out the window again.

God, woman.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, then turns to the kneeling man. “Get him the fuck outta here.”

And just like that, the two of you are left alone again.

You gently grab Shuji’s arm and swing it a little, like a kid tugging for attention.

“I’m sorry, baby… I feel like I might be asking too much. Am I interrupting your work?”

“Not at all, babydoll. But I guess now I really do need to teach you how to use a gun.”

“Why? Weren’t you planning to anyway? Is that why you brought a man in here?”

“Just scaring you a bit to see if you’d give up, s’all.”

You jab his side gently, and he grabs your hand, presses it to his lips, and kisses your knuckles.

“Let’s see if this hand is capable of shooting.”

In front of you is a gun—a Sig Sauer P365. Hanma chose it himself because he thinks it suits you best. It’s compact, lightweight, and reliable. Unlike your husband, who prefers heavier ones just for the feel of their weight against his palm. He’s a thug, after all, and full-sized weapons have always been his go-to.

And you, you need something that fits your hand and body without feeling like a burden, something that doesn’t feel foreign or overwhelming.

“Since you don’t have a target… see that bottle over there?” he points to what looks like a bottle of alcohol perched on top of one of the crates. “That’ll be your target, baby.”

He hands you the pistol. When the gun sits snug in your grip, he moves behind you, one hand guiding your arms, the other resting lightly on your waist.

“This gun doesn’t have a safety,” he murmurs. “So it’s point and shoot. First rule? Keep your finger off the trigger till you’re ready.”

The gun in your hand is surprisingly lightweight, like you’re not carrying a gun at all, but you can feel its presence against your fingers and palm. Whether it’s excitement or fear, your heart starts to beat faster as your husband’s instructions continue.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” a shiver runs down your spine as your husband's deep voice graze right beside your ear.

“Lean forward just a little—not too much. You don’t wanna fall back when it kicks.” you adjust your stance, feeling his hand tap your left elbow.

“Both hands. Dominant hand high up on the grip, thumb along the frame—not the slide, unless you wanna lose skin.” you nod, swallowing, as he folds your fingers around the gun, wrapping your support hand over your dominant one.

His hand skims up your arm again, then down to rest at your lower back—steadying you, but lingering a little longer this time. Before you can say anything, he leans in and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your neck.

Your breath hitches. “Is this part of the lesson?”

“Sorry, got distracted,” he says with a lazy grin against your skin, then pulls back like nothing happened.

“Now, straighten your arms a bit. Relax your shoulders. Don’t lock your elbows—keep it firm but flexible.” you shift, taking it all in, trying not to think about how warm his hands are or how close he’s standing.

“Breathe in. When you exhale, gently squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it. You control the shot, not the other way around.”

You take a breath, let it go slowly, and squeeze.

The shot cracks through the air, and the recoil nudges into your arms—not harsh, but not subtle either. Then Shuji's hand steadies your back.

“Not bad.” Sin and Punishment trail down your back to your waist, giving it a light squeeze as he kisses your temple. “Again,” he grins.

-

Two weeks have passed since you learned how to use a gun. With Shuji’s additional instructions and facts, you now feel confident that you could use one even without him at your side.

Though, when your husband left for a week-long mission, he firmly reminded you not to use anything while he was gone. You have his bodyguards to protect you, his men ready to obey your every command, there’s no reason for you to be exposed to danger, and you won’t need any weapons.

Whenever Shuji is away, instead of leaving you at the penthouse, he prefers to keep you at your house in Akiruno. In this western part of Tokyo, he feels more at ease knowing you're there, surrounded by quiet streets, limited-access roads, and a tightly secured perimeter guarded round-the-clock by his most trusted men.

It’s a secluded place, and any potential threat can be tracked down easily.

Or so you thought.

You’re sleeping soundly on your king-sized bed when suddenly, you feel the urge to go downstairs. You don’t need the bathroom or a glass of water, they’re both inside your spacious room, but the instinct to go downstairs tugs sharply in your gut.

Something feels wrong.

So without hesitation, you get out of bed and walk toward the door.

Just as you open the door slightly ajar, a sudden clanging sound cuts through the silence of the home, then it goes quiet again. You think you’re still in a haze of sleep, that maybe your mind is playing tricks on you… until another sound follows, louder this time.

Footsteps.

Then the sound of rummaging.

Then a faint clang as thin metal hits the floor.

Not a dream. Not your imagination. Someone is in your house.

That’s your cue to get back inside and call your husband.

If someone has breached your home, it means the security system is compromised, because how the hell did someone get inside?

This is danger. The kind that threatens your safety.

Each slow, careful step you take is accompanied by the frantic beating of your heart. One wrong move, one sound too loud, and the burglar just one floor below will know you’re here.

You’re about to grab your phone to call Shuji when your eyes land on the pull-out cabinet tucked beneath the bed.

That’s when a sudden thought crosses your mind.

There are guns in there.

You remember your husband keeps weapons in case of emergency, so without hesitation, you crouch down, pull the heavy drawer open, and it reveals a metal case secured with a combination lock.

You’re sweating bullets now, glaring at the heavy metal case, the one thing that can save you, if only you knew the combination to the lock.

With a dry throat and trembling lips, your hands go for the first numbers that come to mind: Shuji’s birthday.

You squeeze your eyes shut when it doesn’t open.

You pause, heart pounding in your ears, straining to hear if there are footsteps nearing your door. One glance. Two. Then you try again, fingers fumbling with the dial, this time, your wedding anniversary.

You let out a quiet gasp when it doesn’t work.

You’re about to give up and just call your husband so he can alert security and send more men, when your hands, moving almost on their own, try one more combination—your birthday.

Click.

It opens.

There, lying inside the metal case, are three guns with three magazines. Exhaling, you pick up the one you're most familiar with, a SIG Sauer P365, and decide that if help will be late tonight, you have no choice but to help yourself.

You open the door and step out slowly, not bothering to close it behind you. The same hallway you were sashaying through this morning now feels eerie and unfamiliar. With your stomach lodged in your throat, you reach the staircase that leads down into the dark living room.

The sound from earlier becomes more distinct the closer you get, each step pulling you deeper into the shadows.

Just two weeks ago, you were teasingly talking about what if you ever found yourself in a situation where you'd be the only one who could protect yourself. You didn’t expect that situation to come this soon. And you thought, when the time came, you’d be brave and confident to fight for your life because there's a Shuji who's waiting for you.

Yet here you are, hands trembling tightly gripping the pistol, praying that whoever you come across in your home will be merciful enough to let you live.

Because you can’t leave Shuji like this.

Even if you end up regretting this decision to confront the danger alone, you hope this won't be the moment that becomes your last.

Your husband needs you.

You can’t leave Shuji. Not like this.

So, with a newfound determination, you cross the dark living room, your footsteps soft, your eyes straining to see. You keep reminding yourself: this is your house. And in your husband’s words, no one hunts better in a house than its owner.

When you arrive where the faint sounds are coming from, without hesitation, arms locked in and the gun raised, you open the kitchen door and fire.

The bullet cuts through the air and hits something, shattering it loudly, then suddenly, a voice booms in urgency and shock.

"Fuck!!"

A familiar one.

A voice from someone who isn’t supposed to be here until the end of a long-week mission. The one you should have called first when you felt danger earlier…

"Put that fucking gun down!"

The one you were thinking about before you risked your life, before you aimed at someone you should never be aiming at.

"Open your eyes and put that fucking gun down now.

It’s Shuji, baby."

With that, you open your eyes to see the love of your life—one hand raised, gesturing for you to lower the pistol, the trace of shock unmistakable in his golden eyes.

Your eyes sting with sudden tears, your voice cracking as you call your husband.

“Shu…”

Before your wobbling legs can betray you, Shuji takes two long strides to reach you. He gently takes the pistol from your hands, sets it aside, and cups your face. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line, but instead of anger, his expression is full of worry.

“Baby..."

“I-I thought… I-I… there w-was a burglar a-and the s-security… they breached it, a-and… Shu, I was scared.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace. Your frame is shaking, a clear sign of how terrified you were, thinking someone had broken into your home. If you weren’t crying, he might’ve found the whole situation funny and ridiculous, but instead, all he feels is pride. You were brave enough to collect yourself and confront a supposed threat without any backup, relying only on what you’d learned from him.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, baby doll,” he murmurs. “I didn’t tell you I was coming home ‘cause I thought you were asleep. Didn’t wanna disturb you, y’know?” his strong arms wrap around you as he kisses your head.

“Did I scare you that much?”

“I thought you were a burglar.” you sniff and bury yourself deeper into his chest.

“And instead of calling me or alerting security, you opened my cabinet, grabbed a pistol, and went hunting? That it?”

You nod sheepishly against his chest, your fists lightly gripping the front of his shirt. “I—I panicked.”

Hanma chuckles, a low, warm sound that rumbles through you. “Panicked, huh? So my sweet little wife turned into an action star the moment I stepped foot in the house?”

He leans back just enough to look down at you, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Goddamn, baby. You almost gave me a heart attack. First time you ever pointed a gun, and it’s at me.”

He’s only teasing to lighten the mood. He knows you’ve gone through all kinds of fear tonight—the kind that makes you tremble at the thought of losing everything.

“I didn’t know it was you,” you mumble. “I just used what I learned…” your cheeks are burning, partly from embarrassment, but more so from the sheer relief that you didn’t die tonight, that the supposed burglar turned out to be no one but your husband.

“And I’m impressed,” he grins, kissing your temple, then the corner of your lips. “Scared me and turned me on at the same time. How the hell do you do that?”

“Shu…” you say weakly, squirming in embarrassment, but he only laughs again, pulling you closer.

“You tryin’ to kill me or seduce me? ‘Cause I swear, I felt both.”

“I was scared,”

“I know, baby. But you were so brave, pulling shit like this. To be honest, I’m really proud of you. But...”

He pushes you slightly, just enough to level your eyes with his. The shock from earlier is gone. Now, there’s only love and worry in his gaze.

“Next time, though, text me first before you decide to go all John Wick on someone, yeah?”

And just when you think he’s about to ban you from ever touching a gun again, not that you want to, not after tonight, you feel another wave of fear crash through you. The realization hits hard: you almost hurt him.

You could’ve killed him.

With that terrifying thought, you cling tighter to him. Your voice trembles.

“I-I almost k-killed you, Shu—”

“Ah, ah.” He thumbs your cheeks gently, as he pecks your lips, one, two, three.

“Aren’t you a little too proud, Mrs. Hanma? You’re not that good yet to be able to kill me.”

And just like that, the fear dissipates, replaced by that warm feeling only he can give.

You were able to face your fear because the thought of being away from him was unbearable. The idea of leaving him was what pushed you to act. And if something like this ever happens again, you know you’ll risk your life all over again.

Even with shaking hands, even with tears in your eyes, as long as Shuji is in your mind, as long as the promise of spending more years with him lives in your heart, you’ll face any danger just to be with him again and again.

“I promise to learn more about guns so I can protect us, Shu.” you whisper, gripping the arm that’s always held you safe.

“Can’t wait to have a sniper wifey,” he grins. “But first, let’s go back to our room and calm you a little, yeah?”

And he will tell you too, again and again, that even if you become capable of protecting both yourself and him, he will still be the one to shield you, until the end of your lives.

Because in this life full of danger, you gave him a space to feel safe, too.

[bone-fanfiction]

being forced to neglect your own self care to appeal to your mother’s aesthetic of being an adult

[thebibliosphere]

if this is too heavy to answer that's totally fine and you don't have to but

how do you keep going when the world is as awful as it is? it's getting harder for me to find reasons to do that because the US government clearly doesn't want me to live and I can't go anywhere else because I'm broke and disabled and so I just feel trapped and I've been in tears about it for the last hour.

and you've had to deal with so much more health bullshit than I ever have but you keep going and I just... how?

I hope this doesn’t come across as trite but in all sincerity: because I know there are other people out there fighting to keep folks like us alive because even though they don’t know us, probably won’t ever know us, they care for us anyway and want us to survive.

They might seem vanishingly few right now, but you need to remember, hatred is loud because it’s the only way these dipshits can be heard.

The people screaming the loudest right now? Are not in the majority. They are afraid of the progress that has been made over the last few decades and want to drag us back to a world where they feel in control. And to do that they need to be as loud and intimidating as possible because they are not the majority, they know they are not the majority, and that frightens them.

They’re playing a fascist game of chicken, hoping the rest of us will blink first, and I don’t pretend to know what’s going to happen. I won’t pretend I’m not terrified. That the things happening all over the world right now don’t feel hopeless and lost. But I refuse to blink first.

For myself. For you. For everyone.

And I take comfort in knowing I’m not the only one. I know I’m not. And I’m so incandescently furious at the state of the world right now that even just hearing some people speak makes my blood pressure spike so hard I syncope.

The last time I heard the vice president speak, my vision turned literally red then black and I woke up on the couch with a thudding headache and a heart doing its best to escape my rib cage.

But I pick myself up because I have no other choice, I take care of myself. I do what I can to avoid that level of overload. I avoid the news if I have to because there is a fine line at present between being informed and being overwhelmed. And then I go out of my way to be kind and help the people I can because it’s something I have control over and by god if I can make the world better for just one person, it’s worthwhile.

Take comfort in your people. Protect yourself and your community as best you can. Even if sometimes that means letting others comfort and take care of you for a bit.

I’m sorry you’re struggling so hard. But I promise you are not alone 💖

[nyrasvoid]

The Cost of Duty

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: Gwayne Hightower, is summoned in Kingslanding during his wife’s first pregnancy. After giving birth to their son without him, she struggles to forgive Gwayne upon his return.

Warnings: lots of angst because our girl is alone but a good ending i guess ?

A/N: no use of Y/N and also included Daeron in the fanfic, he’s 7 yrs old and raised by Gwayne and his wife

- Word count: ≈2.9k

Your hand rests on your growing belly, feeling the subtle movements of your child. The babe is still small, just five moons along, but every tiny kick, is a reminder of the life growing inside you, a life you created with Gwayne. Yet, as the days pass, it feels like you are experiencing this miracle alone.

The door creaks open, and Gwayne steps inside, his expression tired as he pulls off his gloves. His face is lined with the exhaustion of someone who has been carrying the weight of Oldtown on his shoulders.

You watch him as he moves around the room, setting his things aside without a word. A part of you wants to let it go, to simply accept that he is busy, that he is doing his duty. But another part aches for his attention, for the warmth and closeness you once shared.

"Gwayne," you say, your voice soft.

He looks up, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks away again. "Yes, my love?"

You hesitate, trying to find the right words. "You've been so distant lately," you begin, trying to keep a calm tone. "I understand that your duties are important, but... I miss you. I miss us."

He sighs, rubbing his temple as he moves closer to you. "I know, my love. I know it has been difficult. But there is so much that needs my attention. With Father in King’s Landing, everything falls to me."

"But what about me?" you ask, your voice rising slightly. "What about our child? I need you, Gwayne. We need you."

He looks at you, with guilt in his eyes. "I am here now, am I not? I’m doing the best I can. But Oldtown... it doesn’t run itself."

You stand, unable to keep your frustration to yourself. "And what about me? Do I run myself too? I sit here every single day, waiting for you, hoping for just a moment of your time. But when you finally come, it’s like you’re not really here.”

You pause.

“You do not even look at me unless I speak to you first."

Gwayne steps back, as if putting distance between you would solve your problems. "I do not have the privilege of simply putting things aside, my dear. You knew this when we married."

"I didn’t know it would mean being ignored!" you snap, your hands trembling as you grip the skirts of your dress tightly.

He takes a deep breath. "I’m doing this for us, for our future. The child’s future. Can you not see that?"

Tears threaten to fall out your eyes, but you refuse to cry. "I just want my husband back," you whisper.

Gwayne’s face softens, and he reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away before he can touch you. “My love-"

"Don’t," you say, "Just... don’t."

He watches you for a moment, but he says nothing more, only turning and leaving the room, the sound of the door closing behind him, leaving you alone again.

Days pass, and the tension between you two only grows. Gwayne is present, but his mind is always on his duties. You feel as if you’re growing further and further away from him.

One evening, after a long day, Gwayne finally sits down beside you as you take your evening meal. You’ve been silent for most of the day, and now the sight of him so close yet so distant is almost unbearable.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence. "I have received a raven from King’s Landing today," he begins.

"And?" You replied unphased, not even looking at him.

"Father has summoned me," he says, "He needs my presence to sort out some political matters."

You place your spoon down. "King’s Landing?" you repeat, disbelief in your words. "That’s so far... and I’m already five moons along, Gwayne."

"I know," he says, his voice low. "But I will be returning as soon as I can. I won’t let anything keep me from being here for the birth."

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing. "You don’t know that. What if something happens? What if you don’t make it back in time?"

"I will," he insists, reaching for your hand, but you pull it back.

"You’re not listening to me!" you raise your voice at him, your frustration taking over. "You’re choosing to leave. You’re choosing your father over me. Over us."

He frowns. "It’s not a choice, my dearest. It is a duty. My father needs me."

"And I need you," you sob, your voice breaking. "I can’t do this alone, Gwayne. I shouldn’t have to. You are my husband before anything else."

He reaches out again, but this time you stand, moving away from him. "Please," he begins, but you shake your head.

"Don’t ask me to understand," you say, "Because I don’t."

After a long moment of silence, you hear him rise from his seat. "I’m leaving in three days time," he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. "Please, try to rest.”

You say nothing, you hear the door close behind him, and you break down crying, once again, you are left alone.

The night before he’s supposed to leave, Gwayne comes to your shared chambers, his expression softer than it’s been in weeks. He moves to sit beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your knee.

"I know you’re angry with me," he begins, his voice gentle. "But I don’t want to leave on bad terms. I love you. You must know that."

You turn to face him, your emotions a mix of anger, sadness, and love. "If you loved me, you wouldn’t be leaving."

He looks surprised, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his hand sliding up your nightgown. "Let me show you," he murmurs as he presses tender kisses down your collarbone.

But the anger and hurt are still too fresh. You place a hand on his chest, pushing him back firmly. "Not tonight, Gwayne."

He pulls back, surprise and hurt showing in his eyes. "My love..."

"I can’t," you say, "I’m still angry. I need...time."

He nods understandingly. "I am sorry," he whispers, pulling you into his arms despite your anger. "I am truly, so sorry."

You let him hold you, sobbing into his arms without saying a word.

Gwayne leaves at dawn, you watch from the window, your hand resting over your belly as he rides away. He turns once, looking back, but you don’t move. You don’t wave.

As the days turn into weeks, the loneliness only grows. Gwayne’s absence is a constant reminder of the growing distance between you. You try to busy yourself with tasks; embroidering blankets for the babe, reading, even taking long walks through the gardens. But nothing can fill the void he has left behind.

You spend time with Daeron, Gwayne’s youngest nephew, who has been staying in Oldtown under your and your husband’s care since he was born, and he had now seven years of age.

One afternoon, as the two of you sit beneath the shade of a large tree, Daeron looks up at you sadly.

You reach out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “What’s on your mind, sweetling?”

Daeron glances up at you, his blue eyes filled with a sadness. “Auntie… will you and Uncle Gwayne forget about me when the babe is born?”

The question catches you off guard. You shift closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a gentle embrace. “Forget about you? Never, Daeron. Why would you think such a thing?”

He shrugs, trying to appear indifferent, but his voice trembles as he speaks. “Because the babe is your child. He’ll be important, and I’m just… I’m just your nephew.”

You tighten your hold on him, your heart breaking at the thought that he feels so insecure. “Daeron, listen to me,” you say softly. “You are not just our nephew. You’re as much a part of this family as the babe will be. Gwayne and I love you dearly, and nothing will ever change that.”

His eyes fill with tears. “But… he’ll be your real son. Won’t you love him more?”

You shake your head. “Of course not, sweetling. I will love both of you equally, just as if you were both my sons. I promise you that. You and the babe will grow up together, and I will raise you both as brothers. Nothing will change how much I care for you.”

Daeron’s lip trembles, and he finally allows himself to lean into your hug, resting his head against your shoulder. “You mean it? You won’t forget about me?”

You press a kiss to the top of his head. “I mean it, Daeron. You are very dear to me. The babe will be your little brother, and he will look up to you, just like you look up to Gwayne. I’m sure you’ll be the best big brother anyone could ask for.”

He sniffles but nods. “I will teach him all the things I know. How to ride a horse, and how to climb trees…”

“And how to be kind and brave, just like you,” you add with a smile.

Daeron smiles a little. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

You hug him tighter. “I know you will, Daeron. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

He pulls back slightly, looking up at you with determination. “I’ll be the best big brother ever.”

You smile, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I’m sure you will be, my love. And the babe will be so lucky to have you as his brother.”

The boy’s expression softens as he looks at your belly. “Do you think he’ll be just like uncle Gwayne? Brave and strong?”

You hesitate for a moment, the thought of Gwayne filling your mind with sadness. “Perhaps,” you say gently.

Daeron nods, then his face brightens again as he looks up at you. “Can I help you pick out a name for him?”

Your smile widens at the offer. “Of course. Do you have any ideas?”

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. “What about Maelor? It’s a strong name, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head, considering the name. “Maelor…” you say slowly. “Yes, it is a strong name.”

Daeron smiles, clearly proud of himself. “I can’t wait to meet him, auntie. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

As the months drag on, you begin to feel your belly grow heavier each day. Letters from Gwayne arrive frequently, filled with words of love and concern, but you don’t care to answer them.

You feel alone, as the weeks turn into months and the baby gets more active. Every kick is a reminder that the time is running out and you can only hope that Gwayne comes back in time.

But as your belly grows, so too does your anxiety.

One evening, you feel a sharp pain. You clutch at your belly. It’s too soon, you think. Gwayne isn’t here. He promised he would be here.

The pain intensifies, and you know without a doubt that the babe is coming. Your maids rush to your side, their faces filled with worry as they help you to your bed. The midwives and the maester are summoned.

You grip the sheets, your knuckles turning white. “It’s too soon,” you gasp, tears streaming down your face. “Gwayne isn’t here… he isn’t here…”

The midwife shushes you gently, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Breathe, my lady. Focus on the baby. He’s eager to meet you.”

The labor is long, painful, and each moment is filled with fear.

At one point, you feel that you can’t go on, the pain too much to bear. “I can’t,” you cry out, “I can’t do this…”

“You can, my lady,” the midwife insists. “You’re strong. Your baby needs you.”

The room is full of faces, of whispers and encouragements, of hands holding yours as you push with all your strength.

Hours pass, and just when you think you have nothing left to give, you hear it. A loud cry that fills the room. The midwives wrap the tiny babe in soft blankets before placing him in your arms.

Tears stream down your face as you look down at your son cry. He’s perfect, you think.

“Maelor,” you whisper, “my sweet Maelor.”

Days pass, and the babe grows stronger, his cries filling the empty chambers that once were filled with silence. Daeron is overjoyed to meet his new brother.

“Can I hold him?” Daeron asks one afternoon, his eyes wide with excitement.

You smile, carefully placing Maelor in his small arms. “Support his head,” you instruct gently, watching as Daeron cradles the baby with surprising care.

“He’s so small,” Daeron whispers. “Will he be strong like uncle Gwayne?”

You nod, your heart filled with pride. “He will. But he’ll also have your kindness, Daeron. He’ll need you to show him how to be a good man.”

Daeron’s face lights up, and he nods eagerly. “I will. I promise.”

You watch as Daeron gently rocks Maleor, your heart warming at the sight. For a moment, the loneliness fades, replaced by the joy of watching your sons together.

But as the days turn into weeks, Geayne sends letters, each one more desperate than the last, asking about Lucerys, about you, about your health. But you can’t bring yourself to respond, the anger still too fresh.

Maelor grows, his tiny fists curling around your fingers, tugging at your hair, his eyes beginning to focus on your face. He’s beautiful, perfect in every single way, and yet every time you look at him, you’re reminded of Gwayne’s absence.

Two months pass before Gwayne finally returns. Word reaches you that he is only an hour away, but you remain in the nursery, rocking your son in your arms as you sit by the window.

Despite knowing Gwayne is coming home, you make no move to greet him at the gates.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later the door to the nursery swings open. Gwayne stands there, his eyes searching for you immediately. He takes a step inside, his gaze falling on you and the child in your arms. “My love…”

You do not look up, focusing instead on Maelor. Gwayne approaches you, dropping to his knees beside you. “Please, look at me. I am so sorry…”

You remain silent, unwilling to let your emotions show. Gwayne reaches out, placing his hand on top of yours. “I know I’ve hurt you. I never meant to be away for so long. I didn’t think it would be so… difficult.”

You glance up then, your eyes meeting his.

“I needed you,” you say quietly. “I went through the hardest moments of my life without you, Gwayne. And now… now you come back and expect everything to be as it was?”

“I do not expect that,” he says, “I know I’ve done wrong. And I can’t change what’s happened… but please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to be here for you, for our son.”

You look down at your son, your heart aching. “Maelor is already two months old,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “You’ve missed so much, Gwayne. His first smile, the way he grabs my finger when he’s hungry… you weren’t here.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and he finally touches Maelor’s tiny hand, his fingers trembling as they brush against the babe’s soft skin. “I know,” he whispers. “I am truly so sorry, my love. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. Please… let me be here now. Let me be the father he deserves, the husband you deserve.”

“We’ll see,” you say quietly. “For now, all that matters is that Maelor is healthy and safe.” You pause and take a deep breath, “But… I want us to be a family, Gwayne. For Maelor and Daeron.”

Gwayne nods. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your son’s forehead. “Thank you for giving me a healthy son, my dear. I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.”

You watch as he cradles the babe in his arms, the sight filling you with joy.

PS: I know I have to start writing for other characters, I just love this man so much 😔 So just a reminder that my requests are open 🥰🥰

[hrtwayne]

'tis the damn season || Alexia Putellas

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Goalkeeper!Reader

Summary: Where an Achilles tendon rupture takes you off the field for the rest of the season. Your teammates kept saying everything would be okay—but your insecurities refused to believe them.

Note: English is not my first language.

Warning: Mention of Achilles tendon rupture!

Woso Masterlist

The stadium was silent. A heavy, unnatural silence for a place that used to vibrate with the roar of the crowd, the sound of kicks against the ball, and exuberant celebrations. But now, all that could be heard was the agonizing echo of a scream— your scream. 

The field, once your sacred territory, had become the stage of your worst nightmare. 

A cross, a mistimed tackle, and then… nothing. The pain came like lightning, slicing through your muscles like a knife. 

Alexia was the first to reach you. Her eyes, usually so full of fire and determination, were dark with worry. 

"Don’t move! Don’t fucking move!" she shouted at the girl who had taken you down, her voice hoarse with urgency. 

You tried to get up, but your body wouldn’t obey. Your right leg felt like dead weight—a betrayal. Someone was already calling for the medics, but you didn’t even need a diagnosis to know. That kind of pain doesn’t lie. 

"You’re gonna be okay," Alexia murmured, more to herself than to you, gripping your hand with almost desperate strength. 

But you weren’t listening. All you could think about was time. The months of physical therapy ahead. The games that would go on without you. The suffocating, irrational fear that maybe… maybe you’d never be the same again. 

⚽️ 

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and despair. You hated that smell. 

The surgery had been a success, they said. "You’ll come back stronger." Well-meaning lies—you knew better. No one came back stronger from an injury like this. At best, you’d come back the same—and even that would be a miracle. 

Visits were constant in the first few days. Your teammates brought flowers, chocolates, funny locker-room stories to cheer you up. But as the weeks passed, the stream dwindled. The team’s life went on—training, matches, victories. And you? You were stuck at home, immobile, watching everything from afar like an unwanted spectator. 

Alexia seemed to be the only one who understood the storm inside you. She didn’t fill the silence with empty words. Sometimes, she just sat beside you on the couch, an arm around your shoulders, letting you rest your head on her lap while her fingers ran through your hair. 

"No need to rush," she’d whisper. "I’m here, no matter how long it takes." 

But you were in a rush. You hated yourself for feeling so… fragile. 

⚽️ 

It happened on a rainy night, weeks after the surgery. You were frustrated, in pain, and that day’s physical therapy had been especially brutal. 

Alexia came home after training, still in her Barcelona kit, her face lit by that smile you loved so much. 

"Hey, love. How was your day?"

You didn’t answer. You were sitting in the chair, staring at your immobilized leg, your knuckles white from gripping the armrests. 

"Hey…" She knelt in front of you, trying to lift your chin. "Talk to me, amor…" 

"What is there to say, Alexia?" Your voice came out harsher than you intended. "That I almost cried today trying to flex my foot? That I can’t even go to the bathroom by myself? That you’re out there, beautiful, strong, playing, while I—"

You cut yourself off, but it was too late. Alexia’s expression shifted, her eyes darkening with concern. 

"While you… what?" she asked, soft but firm. 

"While I’m useless!" you exploded, the tears finally breaking free. "I don’t want your pity, Alexia! I don’t want you staying with me just because I’m broken!"

The silence that followed was sharp. Alexia took a deep breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"Do you really think it’s pity?" Her voice was cold—not with anger, but with hurt. "After everything we’ve been through, you think I’d stay out of obligation?"

You didn’t answer. The weight of your words was sinking into your chest. 

Alexia stood up, but she didn’t walk away. Instead, she grabbed your crutches and threw them on the floor beside you. 

"Get up."

"What?" 

"Get up. Come on."

"Alexia, I can’t." 

"You can," she held out her hand. "And I’ll prove I’m not here out of pity. I’m here because I love you. And because I know you’ll come back—not for me, not for the team, but for yourself." 

You hesitated. But then, gritting your teeth, you took her hand and pulled yourself up, leaning on the player’s shoulders. 

Alexia smiled—a small, genuine smile. 

"See? Not all is lost."

And for the first time since the injury, you allowed yourself to believe—just a little—that maybe she was right. 

[ducksido]

Hi! First time requesting, so I don't know if I'm doing this right, but can you do the twst boys with a love-starved reader? Like, the reader is often put on a pedestal because of their innate intelligence, praised by teachers, admired by those younger than them, a topic of discussion at family gatherings, and basically ties their worth to their brilliance, replacing love with praise, admiration, and adoration. Because of this, their really clingy when they're given love and care without any focus on their mind. This request may be a little self-indulgent because I myself am dealing with being a gifted kid in this exact situation, my best friend can tell you how clingy I am.

Characters: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Vil, Idia, Malleus

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle assumes you just like rules—like him. You’re brilliant, composed, and always on time with flawless assignments. Teachers praise you in the halls and underclassmen whisper your name like you're already a legend.

But when you're alone together, and he gently offers you a cup of tea with no mention of your latest academic achievement, he sees it—the way your eyes widen, like no one's ever done something just kind before. You latch onto his sleeve when he pulls away, fingers trembling slightly.

Riddle’s heart clenches. You're not asking for praise. You're asking to be held.

So he pulls you in, letting you melt against his chest, whispering softly, "You don’t have to impress me. You don’t have to earn love from me. You already have it."

Leona Kingscholar

Leona can smell it on you. Not literally, but emotionally—he knows what it’s like to be seen as a tool, a trophy, a pride parade of intellect. So when you eagerly follow him around, asking if he needs help, if he wants notes, if he wants you to do something… he just lays back and pulls you down with him.

You squeak in surprise, his arms locking around you, your head resting on his chest.

“You don’t gotta prove anything, herbivore. Just… stay here. That’s enough.”

And when you cling tighter than you mean to, burying your face in his chest to hide how emotional you are, Leona pretends not to notice—just strokes your back with a quiet, protective growl.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was in awe of your mind, of course—but when he saw how you lit up when he called you wonderful just for existing in his arms, not for a contract or clever plan, he began to understand.

So he tried something new.

He brought you warm cocoa, drew you into his lap, and murmured nothing about grades or glory. Just,

“You deserve affection, even when you do nothing at all.”

You blinked rapidly, face crumpling a bit, and clung to him like he was a lifeline. Azul, blushing to his ears, held you tighter.

And you finally felt seen. Not as a prodigy. Just… as someone worthy of love.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is used to people admiring him for superficial reasons, but you? You’ve been told you're brilliant, so many times you've forgotten how to just be.

When you start spiraling, listing your accomplishments when he compliments your laugh or the way you hold his hand, he gently shushes you.

“Stop. You’re radiant, not because of what you’ve done—but because you’re you.”

You tear up. You don’t mean to. But you melt when Vil strokes your cheek and kisses your forehead like he’s worshipping someone who forgot they were worthy.

Vil doesn’t mind the clinginess. He holds you through it, letting you anchor yourself to the warmth he offers—real, honest, and not earned through perfection.

Idia Shroud

Idia… gets it.

He sees you like a character in one of his favorite games—so powerful, but with a crumbling HP bar when it comes to emotional needs.

You cling to him after the smallest “I love you” slips from his lips during a gaming session. You freeze up, then wrap your arms around him like a koala and refuse to let go.

He turns neon-pink. “Wha—Y/N—?!”

But he doesn’t push you away. In fact, he kinda… likes it.

“Uhhh… I-I can hold you while we grind EXP… If you want?”

You don’t say a word. You just nuzzle into his neck, and he lets you stay. Because he knows what it’s like to live off of praise instead of love. And he wants you to have both.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus noticed it immediately.

You’re adored by everyone… but loved by so few.

So he begins gifting you gentle moments—flowers that aren’t enchanted, walks that lead nowhere, holding your hand under the moonlight without a single mention of your intellect.

When you begin crying quietly in his arms, whispering, “Why do you treat me like this… when I haven’t done anything to deserve it?”—his expression softens.

“You exist. That is more than enough.”

And when you cling to him like a child desperate for warmth, he wraps his arms around you and lets you stay as long as you need. For as many lifetimes as you need.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Smut, p n v, first time together, "cute" boners, dry humping, making out, praise kink, very smutty lmao...

A/N: Is this 10 pages of basically teasing and smut? Idk go find out...

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Part 29: "Cute" Boner Touching

“How are you feeling?” Chris asks, pulling me closer into his side and planting a swift kiss on the crown of my head. 

The mattress below us shifts as I shrug my shoulders, one of them digging into the plush material as the other glides under Chris’ hand. His arm wrapped around me is tight—no doubt falling numb, but he refused to let me move.

A brief sigh leaves my lips, I close my eyes and inhale his familiar scent. “I’m okay.” I breathe. 

My eyelashes flutter as I lean further against him. Chris hums, tugging me impossibly tighter and letting the tip of his nose rest against my head. 

Something about him makes my heart feel like it’s coated in a thick layer of honey—soothing and healing, but it’s also warm. 

The type of warmth that transfers from his touch and penetrates my energy in every possible way.

I love it—I crave it. However, things have been a bit…distant. He’s not scared to touch me anymore or have sleepovers, but he won’t really touch me. And it’s not that I just want the pleasure, I want the intimacy with him. 

“What’re you doing, baby?” he puffs, laughing dryly. 

“Oh, um…” A blush covers my cheeks as I realize just how much my leg across his lap is tensing from just the mere thoughts of him being inside of me. “-yeah…fine, sorry.” 

God. I want that.

I want it badly. 

But he won’t touch me—not like that. 

“Chris?” I ask, my bottom lip getting caught between my teeth as I try to suck in a heft breath of air. I need to ask. It’s starting to make me anxious, giving me thoughts I know aren’t true, but sometimes it’s hard to just brush them off. 

I mean, why doesn’t he wanna touch me like that anymore? Was I undesirable now? Did he think I didn’t want it? Does he not want it?

Ugh. Too many questions that I’m sick of trying to answer myself. 

“Hm?” he hums, rolling over to lay on his side while pulling me even closer into his chest. I laugh as my nose smushes against his chest, placing my palm on the fabric of his shirt as I push off enough to pull back and be able to look at his face. 

He looks…peaceful. I almost don’t wanna ruin the calm aura with a question, but my heart aches in my chest at the thought of another restless night of overthinking. 

“I, uh—I feel like you’ve been…I don’t know…distant?” I murmur, my eyes trailing down to my hands on his chest as I fiddle with the material of his shirt. My body tenses as I feel Chris rumble with a soft laughter, the noise making my heart weigh a bit heavier as I try to take a deep breath. 

“Distant? Baby—” he keeps one of his arms cradling around me, the other shifting as he pets the stray hairs out of my face. My eyes flicker to his as he lightly holds my chin in between his thumb and his pointer finger. “-we’ve been having sleepovers for the past however many days, how have I been distant?” he huffs, a playful smile plastered on his face. 

My heart thumps in my chest. I swallow thickly, gnawing on the inner part of my cheek. “No, like…I don’t know…you haven’t like…touched-touched me. Am I…did something change? Do you not want to do those kinds of things with me anymore?” I ask, my voice cracking with humiliation. 

“What?” he asks, an airy chuckle making my body tense from embarrassment. “Baby, no—I…it’s not like that, I just…I don’t wanna push you. Trust me, I—fuck, I want those things really bad, but I just don’t wanna rush you.” 

A warmth crawls behind the back of my ears, flooding into my cheeks as Chris pinches my chin between his fingers to guide my eyes to his. He spares a soft smile, leaning down and placing a swift kiss on my lips before resting his forehead against mine. 

God. I love how it feels when our lips touch. It’s some sort of comfort that’s exciting—a feeling that makes everything seem so effortless, so carefree. 

“I love you, ya know that, right?” His tone is devious, the grin on his face growing as my eyes narrow playfully. 

“Guess so. I love you too.” I mention, my throat feeling tighter as I focus on the heat radiating between our bodies. “-I’d…I’d also love it if you'd touch me.” 

His eyes widen, squinting as his lips curl more. “Yeah? Now? You sure?” he asks, his voice making my stomach flood with butterflies as my lips seem to be plastered shut. I nod, unable to get any words out.

Chris brings a hand upward, brushing some of my hair behind my ear while licking over his lips. “Gotta tell me with your words, sweetheart. I wanna hear you say it—”

I don’t let him finish. My hand wraps around the back of his neck firmly, pulling him to meet my lips. The second our mouths crash together, he hums against me, his hand sliding down to my waist and giving a light squeeze. 

“Chris–” I gasp, pulling him closer by wrapping my leg tighter around his waist. 

He grunts, a low noise that makes an electric sensation crawl up my spine, forcing me to arch myself against him. There’s a slight hardness prodding at the heat pooling between my legs. I feel him swivel himself against me, a sharp moan erupting from my throat as I break the kiss out of shock. 

“See? See how bad I want you?” he husks, pushing himself harder against me as I grasp onto his shoulder with one hand, the other twisting in his hair. “-you’re insane for thinkin’ I didn’t want you, baby—fuckin’ crazy.” 

The dampening material of my underwear slides against my folds as he ruts himself against me. It’s slow—hard. Everything feels like fire and ice as his lips start to trace down my neck, nipping at my sweet spot, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. 

“Hey,” a voice sounds, the bedroom door shaking with a couple firm knocks, “-could you guys come help make dinner? Mia fell asleep and I don’t wanna wake her up, but I don’t know how to fucking do all this shit at once.”

Matt. 

Chris relaxes, panting and gasping for air as he holds me a bit tighter. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me.” he spits. 

Noticing his frustration, I pet my hands through his hair, watching as he melts against me, huffing in annoyance. 

“Um, hello? I’m kinda about to burn shit so like…can you guys—”

“We’ll be out in a minute.” I answer, letting out a brief laugh as Chris groans against me. 

I should be upset. My body is on fire, a desperate need for relief making my skin itch for more. But I’m not annoyed—well, maybe a little bit, but nothing compared to what Chris is feeling by the looks of it. 

“C’mon,” I urge, trying to get up, laughing as he holds me flush against him, shaking his head with his face in between my breasts. 

“Why…why…why…” he murmurs. 

It’s hard not to laugh. A swift giggle leaves my lips, my eyes bulging as Chris looks up at me with an offended expression. 

“This is funny to you?” he asks, his lips slightly pouting with disbelief. 

Shrugging, I give a slight nod. Chris unravels his hands from around me, standing up and offering me a hand. “Sorry, just…you’re cute.” I mention, shrugging while biting back a smile. 

His jaw falls, his lips puffing with a heavy puff of air. “I have a boner and you’re calling me cute? Wow. Okay…just—wow.” 

“Let’s go,” I say, shaking my head while tugging his hand in mine towards his bedroom door. 

It’s hard to be upset when my heart feels so full. He loves me, he wants me—he wants everything just as much as I do. 

It feels good. 

___

Helping Matt cook was fine. Jimmy was usually the one giving us directions in the kitchen, so it felt a bit odd, but overall it worked out. 

Pasta, some garlic bread, and even some cut up fruit. We were all pretty impressed with the end result—especially Mia. She felt awful for falling asleep, waking up in a panic that the house might be burnt down.

Jimmy would be proud seeing the end result. He was at a friend’s place, drinking and watching some sports game. He wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. It kinda felt a bit empty without his presence at dinner. I love his stupid dad jokes.

After eating, we all settled on the couch. Mia wanted us to all watch a movie together and honestly it’s hard to say no to her, she’s just so sweet—she wanted to watch a movie to watch it with me even though she’s already seen it. 

But, that didn’t last long. Mia was still tired, she fell asleep on Matt—and Matt fell asleep only minutes after her. 

And then it was like some sort of switch flipped. 

Chris pulled me onto his lap, shushing me as I gasped from the feeling of a bulge underneath me. I looked over to Matt and Mia, feeling guilty, but letting Chris drag me back to his room. 

Every item of clothing had been discarded. The heat between our bodies is making me feel dizzy, the tension in the air resulting in some sort of electricity that makes me absolutely palpable under his touch. 

And he was really touching me—the way I had been craving.

“Oh—” I gasp, clinging onto his shoulder as he hovers above me, his length sliding over my sensitive clit over and over again. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he coos, leaning down and placing his lips onto mine to shut me up as he repeats the actions, bringing his hand down between our bodies to press his dick firmly against my sobbing folds. 

My eyebrows knit together, my hips lifting off the bed in a desperate attempt to feel more. He’s been teasing me for what seems like hours, wanting to get me as wet as possible so there would be no discomfort—but it’s fucking torture. 

I can feel the slick leaking out of my entrance, sticking to my inner thighs and making everything echo with soft wet squelches. Even through the condom, I can feel the veins on his dick, the ridge of his tip as he uses my slick to coat his length meticulously. 

“Please, Chris—” 

My brain falls numb as I feel his tip prod directly against my entrance. I claw onto his shoulders, letting out a whine as I desperately try to roll my hips. 

“Are you—fuck, are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks, wincing as he slides in just the slightest due to my movements. 

Nodding dumbly, I swallow the saliva building up, my mouth watering with anticipation. “Yes—please, I—please.”

“You just…just tell me if you wanna stop, alright? We can stop anytime you want—shit,” he hisses, my legs clamping on either side of his hips as he just barely pushes into me. 

“Relax for me, okay? Ca–can you do that for me?” he asks. 

My body complies before my mind can even comprehend what he’s said. A brutal moan erupts from the back of my throat, hitching as my mouth falls open with silence.

Fuck, he’s big. 

The stretching sensation makes everything feel viciously coherent—his breath fanning across my neck, one of his hands planted on my waist, rubbing his thumb comfortingly along my skin as he slowly pushes himself further inside of me.  

Oh god. 

“Chris—” I whine, crying out as I feel his pelvis push against mine. I feel brutally full, the sensation overwhelming and intoxicating at the same time. 

“There you go, fuck—good girl, takin’ me so good, baby—oh—,” he hisses, his words making me clamp around him as I feel my bundle of nerves twitch from the stimulation of his pelvis slightly grinding onto mine. 

Holy fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good in my life. It’s not even just the physical aspect—it’s how connected I feel to him, how reassuring it all seems. 

I’m his, he’s mine. 

“Please—move,” I urge. 

My legs tremble as he pushes even further inside before sliding part of his length out, slowly starting to thrust in and out of me. “Oh—oh god,” I breathe. 

Opening my eyes, I’m met with a heavenly sight. His eyes are squinted together, his lips parted while small moans puff through his lips. I claw onto him harder, his eyes opening and peering into mine. His hips twitch, a harder thrust making a sharp noise echo from my lips. 

“Ohmy—my god, feels so…” he shakes his head, biting on his lip as he drives himself into me with more intention. 

Oh.

Oh.

It feels fucking amazing. I can’t help but let my knees bend, my feet planted on the bed as I left myself to meet each of his movements. 

Chris groans at the sight of me so desperate to feel him—to feel more. His hand on my waist trails down to one of my legs, pulling it to hook around his waist as he lets himself rock against me faster. 

“Chri–chris,” I cry out, my mouth open as loud whines escape. I hear the subtle noise of him trying to shush me, his lips planting over mine as his tongue darts into my mouth while he tries to swallow all the noises from the both of us. 

My head jolts back into the pillow as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust. “Yes—yes—harder, I—fuck!” I screech, the embarrassingly loud noise accompanied by a loud, wet slap of our bodies meeting. 

It feels so fucking good. My body writhes underneath him, my thighs tensing as my stomach knots with pleasure more and more. 

“Fuck—please tell me your c-close, I–not-not gonna last—not gonna last much longer,” he seethes, his jaw tightening as he tries to keep himself at a steady rhythm. 

I nod, unable to say anything as I let out moans that get louder and louder. His hips start to move erratically, but the falter of pattern doesn’t make the bubbling euphoria any less apparent. 

“Shhh–fuck—gotta be quiet, baby, please—just—oh shit, gonna—cum,” he hisses, my teeth sinking into his shoulder as I try to muffle the noise into his skin, a tear of pleasure falling from the corner of my eye as a wave of pure bliss crashes over me, my body twitching and convulsing as I feel a warmth pool inside of me with his thrusts getting sloppier as we both ride out the highs. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, relaxing as he slowly comes to a stop. “Are…are you okay? Was that okay?” he asks, reaching a hand upwards and brushing the hairs sticking to the light layer of sweat on my forehead. 

“Mhm,” I mumble, exhausted. I wince as I feel him try to pull out somewhat. 

Chris halts his movements as he hears the noise of displeasure. “Hey, look at me,” I follow his directions, staring up at him as he spares me a sympathetic smile, “I love you, I…I really love you. I’m gonna pull out so I can clean us up and we can cuddle, okay?” he offers, smiling as I nod tiredly. 

My back arches as he slowly removes himself, the stimulation unpleasant and leaving me feeling empty. 

He stands up from the bed, peeling and tying off the condom with a confused expression scrunching into disgust as he accidentally dips his fingers in his own cum. 

“The fuck?” he tuts, his brows knitting as he hears me giggle from the slight mishap. He glares at me, clearly holding back a smile—and failing—as he tosses the condom in the trash. 

My eyes bulge, my jaw dropping as I watch him reach for a clean T-shirt folded on his desk, grabbing his water bottle and pouring it on the fabric. “Chris?!” I screech.

He looks at me with a shrug, “-I don’t wanna go to the bathroom and try to not get caught. Plus…I just really don’t wanna be away from you right now.” he mentions, stalking over to me, gently nudging my knee. 

My face floods with warmth, the endearment of his statement overpowering the disbelief. I shift as he tries to gently wipe between my legs, feeling refreshed after he pulls away to find the stickiness is gone. 

The T-shirt was probably softer than a washcloth anyhow. 

Chris wipes himself off, looking at his laundry hamper before his eyes drift to the trash. “Just wash it,” I huff, rolling my eyes as he nods, hesitantly bundling up the shirt and sticking it on top of the hamper

He turns around with a smile, coming back over the bed and crawling in without a second thought. I let out a laugh as he pulls me into his chest. 

“I missed you.” 

The statement from him makes me let out a small huff of disbelief, my lips curling into an unbeatable smile as I feel one of his hands comb through my hair, the other tracing patterns on my back. 

“You missed me for the two minutes you had to stand up and not touch me?” I question, laughing as he hums with affirmation. 

“I mean yeah,” he mentions, kissing the crown of my head before pulling me impossibly closer, “-I really like touching you. Thought that was clear by now.” 

My nose scrunches, my chest feeling lighter as my stomach swirls with warmth. “Well, in that case—I missed you too.” 

He clutches me closer, his breath  evening out as I feel his limbs relax. “I love you—s’much,” he mumbles, his voice groggy with sleep. 

I smile. “I love you.” I mention, my heart returning to a calm pattern as I feel him hug me even closer, focusing on how his skin makes my body fall into a state of bliss—pleasure and peace. 

“Hmmmmm, love you so…” he yawns, nuzzling against me as he struggles to stay awake, “-so much…s’much…” 

It’s hard to keep my eyes open. I let them flutter shut as I sink into the comforting sensation. Chris hums against me, attempting to mumble the words again. 

I can’t help but let myself drift off into my subconscious, a smile etched onto my face as I feel his hands mindlessly caress me while he struggles to stay awake. 

God, I love when he touches me.

[navybrat817]

Finding the Positive

Pairing: Chop Shop Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky didn't have the brightest outlook on life until you came along.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, bit of backstory, fluff, reference to smut, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by a sweet nonnie ask and part of my Jaded to Joy AU, which began with Double Shift. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics and gorgeous Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When you met Bucky, something slowly changed inside him. Before you came along he tried his best to stay positive for Becca, but seeing her struggles with her illness and the stress she was experiencing from medical bills still clouded his heart a little. She deserved a bright future, not a financial burden. Taking a job at the chop shop only darkened his outlook more, leaving him a bit jaded in the process.

A couple of the guys were in the same boat as him, doing what they could to get by or try to build a better life. The rest seemed to get off on taking advantage of others. It made him feel sick. And wasn’t he complicit to everything by working in a place like that? He wasn’t hurting people physically, but he worked with stolen vehicles and parts. It affected people. And he wasn’t that excited at the prospect of opening his own honest shop because why get his hopes up?

But then you showed up in his life like a blazing sun, radiating warmth and hope. You found reasons to smile on bad days, which made no sense to him. He knew you were struggling, that things in your life were far from perfect. So how did you carry yourself as if the weight of the world wasn’t weighing you down?

“I try to look for something positive every day,” you told him. “Even if it takes almost all day to find it.”

It may have sounded corny coming from others, but you said with such sincerity and conviction that he wondered why he hadn’t tried to do something similar. If Becca found reasons to smile and so did you, why couldn’t he? Why wasn’t it that simple?

“So, you don’t see the negative?”

“No, I see the negative and I allow myself to feel it because ignoring it won’t do me any good. I just don’t allow myself to dwell in it,” you explained, nudging his shoulder. “Being positive doesn’t mean I’m happy every single moment of every day. I’m still learning, still growing, and still looking for the sunshine even on the dark days.”

“And what happens one day if you can’t find the sunshine?”

You gave him one of your brightest smiles. “Then I’ll have to be my own sunshine, won’t I?”

It was inspiring. Life wasn’t easy for you, but you refused to let it get you down. Your attitude on your worst days was still better than Bucky at his best. While he would never see the world through rose-tinted glasses, your outlook made it look a little brighter. And while he allowed himself to vent or feel anger, he didn’t stay in that headspace. He took your words to heart and made sure to look for something positive.

You were in the kitchen when he got home from work and he was content to watch you at the stove with a soft smile on his face. The blend of spices made him smile more when he realized you were cooking one of his favorite meals. You were so thoughtful, so beautiful, and you saw the best in him. He’d never be able to give you a fancy house, but he’d give you a better home one day.

“Hey,” you smiled over your shoulder, his heart skipping a beat. He captured the image in his mind and tucked it away for when he’d need a reminder of the good things in his life. “How long have you been standing there?”

He strode across the room and rested his chin on your shoulder once he was close enough. Wrapping his arms around you, he turned his face and breathed in the sweet scent of your perfume. Soft yet surprisingly powerful, just like you. “Long enough to find my positive for the day.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me about it,” you said, resting a hand over his as he began to sway you back and forth.

“Well, work sucked and I’m pretty sure one of the guys tried to steal the lunch you made me,” he told you, smiling when giggled. He kept his hand over yours when you tried to grab a cooking utensil. “But I finally got that overtime pay and it was more than what I expected.”

He didn’t like working the extra hours if it meant being away from you, but the money helped, and he wouldn’t have to do it much longer. It was for a better future, a brighter future. One that he was building with you.

“That’s great!” His heart skipped a beat again when you turned your head far enough to brush your lips against his. “That’s a huge positive.”

“It is,” he said, helping you stir. He was a decent cook, but a novice compared to you and you always managed to put together delicious meals on a budget. “I started thinking about us working at the shop together. Me working on cars and bikes, you in the office making sure things are running smoothly.”

“And sneaking into the office for a quickie?” You pressed your hips back against his, making him groan and grit his teeth when you did it again. You were the best kind of tease. “I know you, Bucky.”

As tempting as it was to put you on the counter and feast on your delicious cunt, there would be plenty of time for that after dinner. “I know you, too, and you’d welcome that,” he said, nipping between your neck and shoulder.

You gasped, shutting the stove off. “I would,” you agreed as you leaned back against him. “I think that’s my positive of the day; thinking of us working together and creating more memories.”

He shut his eyes. Having someone so loving and uplifting wanting to spend time with him blew his mind. It seemed too good to be true, but it wasn’t. This was his life.

“I’m looking forward to it, baby,” he whispered.

He was looking forward to every moment with you, even on the days where it would take longer to find the positive.

No nickname yet for this reader, but I adore them. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cryoculus]

— the ephemeris of us ⟢

you try to divine a future where you’ll stay with him forever, yet the stars refuse to heed your call. but jing yuan doesn’t need forever. all he needs is you.

★ featuring; jing yuan x gn!reader

★ word count; 3.2k words

★ tags; reader works at the divination commission, the woes of mortality, short life species!reader, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

★ notes; as uze, crossposting here is late :p i've been told a lot by people that they like how i write jing yuan, and coincidentally i, too, like how i write jing yuan so here we are!!!! this is a bday fic for a dear friend over on x, but i thought to share with you as well :3c

READ ON AO3

The headache bloomed behind your eyes around midafternoon, but you ignored it like you always do.

You were supposed to log off two hours ago, yet you’re still transcribing the fourth permutation of Fu Xuan’s “minor” revisions to the celestial calibration doctrine. The ink is drying too fast on your sleeves and too slow on the sigils. Your stomach growls—loud enough to make your ears burn from embarrassment, even though no one’s around to hear it. Probably.

But just when glance over to check an astrological aberration in your notes, the light shifts in the doorway.

“You were meant to be home by the sixth chime,” comes a familiar voice, smooth and impossibly calm. “But instead, I find you composing a symphony of stress.”

You glance up to see Jing Yuan leaning against the doorframe, one brow slightly raised like he has all the time in the world. His hands are occupied with a dark-lacquered lunch box, and the scent of the food reaches you in delayed waves. Your stomach growls again, but you ignore it completely.

“I just needed to finish a few edits before the deadline.”

Jing Yuan hums. “You said that four deadlines ago.”

He’s not smiling. There’s an amused flicker behind his eyes, but the rest of his face is composed into something more serious. You press your fingers to your temples and try not to wince when he steps inside.

“Don’t tell me,” he says, now close enough for the warmth of his presence to register across your skin. “No lunch. Medication left at home. And judging by the clumsiness of your sigils—don’t pout at me—you haven’t had any water in hours either.”

You let your arms fall to the desk. “Why are you like this?”

He blinks innocently. “Like what?”

“Too perceptive. Too�� annoyingly attentive.”

He sets the lunch box down beside your elbow, brushing aside a curled slip of annotated paper. His fingers glance against yours—light contact, but enough to startle you out of your irritation. 

“I pay attention,” the Arbiter-General says simply. “Especially when the people I care for are trying to quietly ruin themselves under a mountain of work.”

Your breath catches. The words are too soft and direct, even for him. You’d been expecting teasing. Not this.

“I’m not trying to ruin myself,” you mumble. “I’m just… trying to keep up with work.”

“You’ve already proven yourself a hundred times over.” Jing Yuan crouches beside your chair, arms resting on his knees. “You don’t have to keep burning yourself down to ash just to stay visible.”

You look down. Away from the sincerity in his gaze.

“But I don’t want to fall behind,” you tell him stubbornly. “I’m not like you, Jing Yuan. I don’t have centuries to perfect everything. Every mistake feels heavier. Every year feels like it matters more. Like if I waste a single one, it’s already too late.”

He goes still.

You didn’t mean to say it. But once it’s out, it lingers between you like smoke.

A quiet hum vibrates in his throat. “You think I’ve perfected anything?” he says at last. “I’ve just lived long enough to regret more things.”

You glance at him sharply, but his golden eyes are somewhere far away.

“I’ve seen brilliance burn out young. And I’ve seen it slowly dim in silence. Time doesn’t make it easier. It just makes it… Bearable.”

There’s a pause. And then he exhales, like he’s pulling it somewhere deeper than his lungs.

“You always think you’ll have time,” Jing Yuan murmurs. “Until you love someone who doesn’t.”

That lands with more force than anything else. Because it’s not about deadlines or documentation anymore. It’s about the deep unfairness etched into the bones of your lives: that while his story stretches on indefinitely, yours will always have a final chapter.

“That’s your comfort speech?” you ask, a strained laugh escaping before you can stop it. “Outlive the pain, rack up regrets, and call it wisdom? You do realize that felt more like a lance to the chest than reassurance, right?”

“I am only as candid as I am with you because you’ve never needed sugarcoating,” he says softly. “You’ve always been strong enough to hold the truth, even when it hurts.”

Then, quieter: “Especially when it hurts.”

You laugh again, because what else is there to do?

As you rub at your aching forehead, you can’t help but marvel at the absurdity of it all—how a short-life species like you ended up falling for the man who’s occupied the Seat of Divine Foresight for nearly seven centuries. He walks through decades like they’re seasons. You count time in birthdays, deadlines, missed meals, and yet here you are. Tethered to him irrevocably.

But maybe the greater folly is his: loving someone fleeting, when he’s already weathered more losses than most hearts are built to bear. For all his calm and his poise, for all the wars he’s led and years he’s survived, Jing Yuan still chooses you—knowing exactly how little time you have to give.

“Alright, fine. I’ll eat. You win.”

“This is not about winning,” he says. “It’s about keeping you around long enough to make fun of me when my knees start failing.”

You blink. “…You know damn well that mine will go first.”

His grin fades, just a little, and it tugs at your heart more than it should. 

“I know,” he says softly.

Jing Yuan straightens and offers his hand, and you take it without hesitation, fingers twining with his like they’ve always belonged between the spaces. As you stand, the room tilts slightly—your knees stiff, your skull light with fatigue and hunger. He notices, of course, and he slips an arm around your back without a word, steadying you as you find your balance.

There’s nothing overbearing about it—just quiet support, the kind that says he’s done this before and he’ll keep doing it for as long as you let him.

“You always show up when I look like death warmed over,” you grumble as you grab the lunch box he brought.

“On the contrary,” Jing Yuan murmurs, guiding you outside, toward the hustle and bustle of the Exalting Sanctum, “I happen to think you’re at your most captivating when you let yourself be mortal.”

You bury your face in his sleeve, hoping he won’t feel how sharply your heart skips. But you suspect he already knows. He always does.

No one expected it.

Fu Xuan certainly didn’t—though she muttered she should’ve seen it in the stars, if you hadn’t constantly “disrupted the Omniscia’s celestial patterns with your interpretive nonsense”.

You’re a short-life species with a long-life temper. A fast-burning match in a hall of timeless candles. Too sharp-tongued, too stubborn, too hungry.

The youngest diviner in the Commission to ever draft a triple-thread predictive matrix all on their own, and the only one to do it while arguing with a senior archivist mid-simulation. Not quite a formal title, but “the most talented diviner with the worst sense of self-preservation” is what the Cloud Knights have taken to calling you.

You wear it like a badge. The stars have favorites, and so do you.

The first time you were in Jing Yuan’s presence, you didn’t even see him. You were too busy arguing with one of your superiors.

It was supposed to be a routine oversight meeting. You’d been summoned to explain why your astral forecast readings directly contradicted the Omniscia’s predicted trajectory for the Luofu. Which pissed you off beyond belief. Their trajectory calculations were wrong. The math didn’t lie, but the higher-ups refused to acknowledge it. They clung to outdated, comfortable visions of the stars as if they hadn’t already begun to shift.

So you stood there, voice sharp and rising in tempo with every slide projection you slammed into the air. You were sweating through your outer robe and still speaking in clipped, defiant tones that silenced the room like a severed thread.

You didn’t even notice when the most important man in the Luofu entered the hall.

Not until later, when a summons arrived in your quarters: Arbiter-General Jing Yuan requests a private follow-up regarding your methodological deviation. Please prepare a brief report.

You showed up an hour late with a half-eaten peach in one hand, and a stack of annotated star maps in the other. You didn’t bother bowing.

“These are written with love and care and excessive overtime,” you said, dropping the papers on his desk. “So please read them thoroughly.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing across his handsome face.

The Arbiter-General asked thoughtful questions. You gave him answers laced with just a hint of defiance that would probably get you fired. But he didn’t reprimand you. He just listened. Somewhere in the middle of it, when you were ranting about the inconsistencies in the astral convergence model, he smiled. Faint and brief, like someone recognizing an old constellation in a new sky.

You told yourself it meant nothing.

But when Jing Yuan asked for you back again—and again, and again—you started bringing two peaches instead of one.

Just in case.

Now, you're curled sideways on your couch back home—throat raw, sinuses aching, eyes gritty with exhaustion. Your star charts lie scattered across the floor, victims of an earlier outburst when the numbers stopped making sense and your patience finally snapped. Between the fever clouding your thoughts and everything else quietly unraveling, it’s fair to say the day has not been kind.

Nothing was lining up. Not the timeline on the prophecy Fu Xuan gave you yesterday, not the medication schedule you forgot to follow, and definitely not the part where you were supposed to eat hours ago.

The door to the living room creaks open.

You don’t look up. You just sigh.

“I brought soup,” Jing Yuan greets with a lopsided smile. “And medicine.”

“Fu Xuan’s been tattling again,” you mutter.

“No,” he replies, and you hear the soft clink of ceramic as he begins unpacking something from a bag, “your silence tattled all on its own. You haven’t contacted me in exactly twelve hours.”

You bury your face deeper into the pillow, equal parts mortified and moved. Your apartment smells faintly of incense and dried oranges, and now, of medicinal broth. It’s the scent of care wrapped in routine—something you’ve never been especially good at holding onto. The quiet comfort of being cared for without having to earn it, ask for it, or explain why you need it.

Jing Yuan sets the bowl on the coffee table and crouches beside you.

“You skipped the noon dose,” he says quietly.

“I was working.”

“You also skipped breakfast. And your charting shows signs of mental fatigue.”

You pull the blanket over your face. “Stop reading my patterns like they’re reports.”

“I’d rather read you than any report.”

You hate how fast your heart reacts to that. Because he always says things like this. Soft, steady declarations delivered like promises, like you’ll be around long enough to carry them with you.

But you won’t. And you both know it.

That’s the grief neither of you are brave enough to name. The quiet, inevitable sorrow that lives between your hours. He will still be here when your bones are dust. When your name is nothing more than a footnote in some archival file, tucked away on a shelf he’ll walk past for centuries to come.

You burn bright, and he endures. That’s the curse. The stars never lied. You just kept trying to make them.

Just last week, when the corridors had emptied and the Divination Commission was asleep, you broke protocol. Lit a soul-compass alone and trembling, laid out your personal threads with ink-stained fingers and a desperation that bordered on madness. You tried to divine a timeline—any timeline—where your life ran long enough to match his. Where you didn’t have to leave him so soon.

You whispered Jing Yuan’s name like a prayer. You begged the stars to show you something. A future where you grew old in the shadow of his smile.

But the threads refused to yield.

Or maybe they did. Maybe they answered you in a language you already knew—one written in silence, in absence, in the terrible stillness of a map with no road leading forward. You couldn’t finish the reading, couldn’t bear to see it printed in starlight. Because if you did, you’d have to admit what you already fear most:

That no matter how tightly he holds you now, he was never meant to keep you.

Jing Yuan brushes your hair back from your forehead, startling you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed he’d moved closer.

“I wish you wouldn’t push so hard,” he says, fingers warm and careful. “You are not a dying star. You don’t have to burn out to be brilliant.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you murmur hoarsely. “You have time.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes—like a candle guttering in a sudden rush of wind.

“That’s exactly why I say it,” he replies. “Because I know what time does. How it stretches. How it hollows.”

Jing Yuan brushes his thumb over your temple, a soothing pass of warmth and worry. “You think I don’t see it? The way you measure your days like rationed light? You’ve convinced yourself that every second has to be earned. That if you rest, you’ll fall behind. That if you slow down, the world will forget you.”

Your breath catches.

“But I won’t,” he says simply. “Even when time pulls you away from everything else, I will still remember.”

You shut your eyes.

Because how do you live with that? How do you carry the knowledge that you’ll fade—and he’ll carry what’s left of you? That long after your name is lost to history, he’ll still be here, meandering through centuries, with your memory folded quietly between each one?

“What if I could find it?” you whisper. “A future where we stay like this. Forever.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just lets the silence stretch between you, gentle and solemn. Then:

“I don’t need forever,” Jing Yuan sighs. “I only need you.”

You go still.

He shifts a little closer, his voice steady in that way that breaks you more than if he were shaking. It’s the kind of calm that comes from someone who has made peace with the things he cannot keep.

“If all I have is one year with you, or ten, or fifty… I’ll take it. And if you leave this world before I do, then I’ll remember you longer than any stars ever could. You’ll live in every breath I take, in the pauses between them. In the quiet where your voice used to be. That will be enough.”

Your throat burns, and this time, the ache comes from deep inside your chest.

“Even if I forget myself,” you murmur, “you’ll still remember me?”

He smiles—tired and fond. “You think I could forget the person who always acted like my summons were a waste of time, yet continued to bring peaches for me anyway?”

You huff a soft laugh, the tears threatening to spill over. He presses the cup of soup into your hands, wrapping his fingers lightly around yours.

“Drink,” he encourages. “Live.”

And you do.

Because even if love like this can’t rewrite the stars, Jing Yuan makes it feel like every moment might still be worth defying them.

You sip the soup slowly. You still feel like hell, but the tightness in your chest has eased—less from the broth, and more from the quiet way he sits beside you, steady and present. Across from you, Jing Yuan watches with an expression that always lingers on his face: a flicker of amusement dancing at the edges of his eyes.

“I should do this more often,” he murmurs. “Show up uninvited, bring food, get you to actually rest. It worked last time, too.”

You narrow your eyes at him over the rim of the cup. “You act like I’m difficult.”

“You’re infamously difficult,” he says smoothly. “Even Lady Fu agrees. I believe her words were, ‘that reckless little star-stain will work themselves into a coma if you don’t bribe them with food or a raise.’”

You snort. “She did not say that.”

“She absolutely did.”

You slump back into your nest of blankets, grumbling. “Bribes, huh.”

Jing Yuan shifts forward slightly, resting his elbow on one knee. His tone turns casual—too casual.

“Well. If bribes work... maybe I’ll make you a deal.”

You eye him warily. “What kind of deal.”

He holds your gaze, voice dipping just a shade lower.

“If you eat your meals. Take your medicine. Sleep when I tell you to…” He pauses, just long enough to let the implication settle. “You get a kiss for each task completed.”

You blink. Then squint at him.

“Is this supposed to be a threat or a reward?”

“Depends,” he says mildly. “Are you planning on misbehaving?”

You toss a pillow at him. He catches it with one hand, laughing, and for a moment, your small living room feels a little bigger—lit not by lamps, but by something gentler.

Something like love. Something like hope.

You don’t get sick anymore. Not like that, anyway.

Since that week, you’ve started taking your breaks when you’re supposed to. Eating proper meals. Sleeping like a semi-responsible adult. Fu Xuan nearly choked on her tea the first time you turned down an overtime simulation with the words “I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

It wasn’t easy—learning to slow down, to stop treating your life like a countdown timer you had to outrun. But it helped. You recovered faster than you expected. Stronger, even. As if your body had simply been waiting for you to stop working against it.

And true to his word, Jing Yuan kissed you for every completed task. Every dose taken. Every empty bowl he found in your sink.

Even when you got better—when you stopped updating him like clockwork, when you went back to managing your schedule without spiraling—he didn’t stop.

He still shows up.

Still kisses you when you hand him a used meal container or let him see your pill sleeve half empty.

Still presses warm, lingering gratitude into your skin for doing something as simple as taking care of yourself.

Which is how you end up outside Fu Xuan’s office, in full view of a handful of baffled attendants, with Jing Yuan leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth like you’re not standing two steps from the Divination Commission’s most sacred archives.

You jerk back, blinking. “Jing Yuan!”

“What?” he says, entirely unrepentant.

You glance around, mortified. “People are going to see! What are you even doing here?”

The Arbiter-General just smiles, slow and absolutely shameless. “I saw you eating your lunch earlier. Very good.”

You smack his arm, half laughing, half scandalized. “You’re unbelievable.”

But you don’t move away when he kisses your cheek again.

And when he slips a peach into your hand before vanishing down the corridor like he hadn’t just committed affection-based misconduct on government property, you can’t help the stupid grin that follows you all the way back to your desk.

You were never meant to last forever, but Jing Yuan seems like he’ll love you that long anyway.

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

"Caleb becomes a wet rat (and gets unpixelated?!)"

Chapter 3: Dumbfounded

Pairing: Caleb x GN Reader

Word count: 866

Genre: Reverse isekai, fluff, romance, comedy, supernatural, angst, slow burn

Rating: General Audiences

Triger Warnings: None

<< previous next >> Ao3 Link

---

You called out to the cat. “Hey.”

He didn’t respond, still fixated on the screen.

A sigh left your mouth. It was late, the cat was dirtying your counter after refusing to bathe, and you were tired from working all day.

You got up and walked over to him. Until now, he would’ve gone running across the room, but he didn’t even notice you while he was still staring at the trailer that had just finished playing on the TV. Or maybe he simply didn’t care about your presence. With cats, it was difficult to tell.

“Hey.” You tried again, poking his head gently with your index finger.

His eyes darted over to yours and he let out an annoyed “Mreow!”, as if to say, “What?!”

“Can we bathe you and go to sleep now?” You asked him slowly, hoping the cat is calm enough by now and maybe even understands you.

“Mreow,” he responded quietly, still looking distracted.

“..Okay..?” You scratched your head in confusion. “Uhm…”

Trying not to startle him, you slowly stretched out both your hands and gently touched both his sides. He didn’t give you a reaction, just staring off into the distance. You lifted him up and paused, looking for any sign of fighting back.

His limbs went slack and he blinked twice, looking dumbfounded. 

“..Meow.” He gave in.

You tried not to grin. You could finally, finally, bathe him and go to sleep.

“I guess cats really are liquid, huh?” You couldn’t help the smile forming on your face.

…

Bathtime (part 2) went surprisingly well. He just stood there, not doing anything or responding to your sentences, looking somewhat upset. So you bathed him as fast and as gently as you could, not wanting to waste the opportunity. 

Regardless of knowing whether or not he understood you, you found yourself talking to him through the entire process.

“I’m going to apply soap on you now.”

“You would’ve caught a cold if you stayed dirty with rain water in your fur any longer than that, you know? That would’ve been troublesome.”

“Is this okay? The water feels a little colder than before.. We’re gonna have to add more hot water to the bath.”

“You haven’t responded to me even once. Do you hate me that much?”

“We’re done now. Come here, let’s dry your fur.”

The only time he responded was when he got closer to let you wrap him in a clean towel.

“So you do understand me, you rascal!” You huffed. 

What a mean kitty. You thought to yourself.

You cleaned the bath while he was wrapped up in the towel, looking like a wet rat. You couldn’t help but laugh at the site and he glared at you, making him look even more like a rat.

…

Caleb’s mind was reeling with questions too fast for him to keep up with. He couldn't think. Or, rather, he was thinking too much.

That was me.

No, it can’t be me.. Am I seeing things?

But this doesn’t feel like a dream. I’m not..

This isn’t Linkon. Or Skyhaven. Or any other place I’ve been to.

This isn’t a human body I’m in. Why am I a cat?

I’m not going insane again, am I?

No, no I’m not. This is real. I am a cat. And I just saw myself on TV, in my uniform, in places I’ve been in. 

And this person picked me up. Wait, this person-

He looked at you. You were asking him to come over so you can dry him.

They speak a lot.

…

He sat near the radiator and watched you clean dirt from his paws off the kitchen island. Warm lighting from the mood lamps illuminated your figure and lit the dining and kitchen area. You had turned off the lights of the rest of the apartment aside from the hallway in preparation for sleep.

“I have a half day at work tomorrow, since it’s a friday. Once I’m home, we can get you the items you need while you stay here.” You talked as you slouched and rested your head on the freshly cleaned counter top, facing him.

“Meow.” His highness replied, acknowledging you.

“What should we name you?” You wondered out loud. “How about making “wet rat” official?”

“Mreow!” He said no.

“Aw, okay. Then..you seem to like Caleb, no? Or you were at least interested in him.”

His ears perked up. Hearing you say his name so naturally like you knew him was something he wasn’t used to.

I am him. He thought.

“Now that I think about it, your eyes..” You paused. You straightened up and walked over to him, wanting a closer look.

He stayed glued to his spot, watching you.

You crouched next to him.

“Your eyes are kind of similar. To Caleb’s, I mean.”

Both of you stared at each other for a moment. Like you were trying to understand what the other was thinking.

You chuckled to yourself, muttering,”..wouldn’t it be weird to name you after an otome game character?”

He was still staring at you, eyes unblinking.

“Caleb it is, then.”

He blinked.

It was decided.

“Time to sleep.”

---

Taglist: @roseapov @mangooes @zukini-01 @browneyedgirl22 @mavix @staristoo @hohoooowhy @pirana10 @lunia-likes-pomegranet @bertieorangy @heyimseli @xxnessinessiellexx @mcdepressed290 @mentaltrouble2201 @stardustsunflowers13 @I-lover9 @destheoren

A/N: You can DM me or comment if you want to be tagged in this series and it'll be done in the future parts !! hope it was a good read <3 i'm still learning how to characterize him as a cat :')

[raven-dor]

illicit affairs

in which you distance yourself from bucky barnes, and he won’t rest until he knows why

PAIRING: congressman!bucky barnes x fem!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, morning sickness, pregnancy, miscommunication (but ig it's more like refusing to communicate), given last name! (Clark), arguing, ANGSTY ANGSTY ANGST, more arguing, kissing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

🎶 : illicit affairs - taylor swift

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - this is like my favorite angsty fic of all time, like it's up there with me and my husband (gwayne hightower) EEEK HAPPY READING!! also i might write a part two where they use the house she bought if that's something you guys would be interested in

the unofficial pt.2: tying you to me

The sun shone through the curtains, yellow and bright. You stared at the man dead asleep beside you, a contented smile creeping on your lips. He looked so peaceful, not at all like how he looked awake, always stressed, always worrying over something. If it wasn’t Congress or the team, it was you. Worry was Bucky’s main emotion, you would say when you teased him. He worried over your safety the most, often trying to convince you to stop working in the office, practically begging you to work from home. 

You glared at him every time. 

You could never bring yourself to stay angry, though. He was caring, more than most had ever been with you. You were fragile, something he cherished. 

It made you feel valuable; your cheeks warmed just thinking about it. 

He grumbled, burying his face further into your torso. His arm was lazily wrapped around your waist, and he smiled in his sleep, pulling you closer. You hadn’t wanted to wake him, but he had a meeting in forty-five minutes, and he still needed his routine cup of coffee. “Buck. You have to get up.” 

“Five more minutes.” 

“Bucky…” You laughed, running your fingers through his hair. “You’ll be late.” 

“I could run there in five minutes.” You knew from the look on his face that he was considering it. Thanks to his super soldier serum, he really could run around the entirety of Washington D.C. in less than an hour. 

“You could, but your hair would be a mess.” You frowned, reaching down to run your fingers through the sleep-tangled tresses. “A lot like it is now. Besides, think about the people who voted for you, who elected you to this office. They wouldn’t exactly enjoy learning that their congressman was late to a meeting.” 

“I hate when you’re right.” He groaned, rolling over and walking toward the bathroom, leaving the door open as he fixed his appearance. “Have I told you how lovely you look this morning?”

“No.”  You playfully glared. “And if you did, you’d be a liar.”

He scoffed. “You’re timeless, Doll. Would’ve took my breath away even in the ’40s.” Your heart fluttered from his compliment. “Are you coming into work with me?” 

You shrugged, biting your lip as you admired his back muscles. “Dunno. I think I’ll take a half day. Probably go on a walk, find a nice cafe to get some work done in.” 

He frowned. “What am I going to do without you?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll be just fine. The world will turn without me running the office while you’re gone.” 

“I don’t know.” He was rather dramatic in the morning. “My executive assistant is important-” 

“We can’t go to work together.” You hissed. “You know that. The press would have a field day-” 

“I don’t care.” He sat on the edge of your shared bed. “Don’t you think it’s time the office knows?”

“Bucky. Think of your career, your position. It would look like an abuse of power, I would have to stop working-” 

“Perfect.” He looked terribly pleased with your last statement. “I’ve been trying to get you to stop working in the office for months.” 

“I like working.” You glared. “And I thought we’d finally gotten past that.” 

“We have.” He smiled, reaching out to hold your hand in his. “I just want you to be-” 

“I know.” You sighed. “But I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can.” He leaned in, lips brushing against yours. “Doesn’t mean I can’t worry.” 

Your eyes welled up, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You love me too much.”

He shook his head, eyes darting to your lips. “Not such thing as too much, Doll.”

You leaped up, pulling him down to you, his eyes wide as you kissed him senseless. “God, I love you.” You murmured against his lips. 

He grinned, kissing down your neck. “I love you more.” 

He’d been late to work. You had to peel yourself away from his touch and practically push him out the door, waving goodbye until his car had vanished from your sight. 

His townhouse was perfect, warm and inviting. When you first started dating, it was empty, with only the bare necessities. You’d laughed when you’d entered, insisting that he let you take him shopping. He’d agreed, and you would later find out he would agree to anything you asked simply because he loved the way your eyes lit up when you were determined.

 Your stomach lurched, and you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut to try and quell the nausea. Finding your way into the kitchen, you grabbed your favorite mug, one that Bucky had bought with you in mind, and made yourself a cup of peppermint tea. Another wave of nausea, stronger than the last, hit you as the steam hit your nostrils. You realized that this was not something you could solve with a couple of deep breaths and a cup of tea; your stomach once again grumbled as you rushed toward the bathroom. 

Denial. 

That was the first stage, right? 

You stared at the tests on the bathroom counter, too shocked to cry. There was no possible way this was real. You’d been safe, you’d taken extra precautions. The science behind the super soldier serum coursing through his veins was something neither of you understood, and so you decided you’d rather be safe than sorry. 

Apparently, you thought as you stared wide-eyed at the positive pregnancy tests in front of you, your extra precautions had been for nothing. This was horrible timing, plain and simple. He’d finally made a name for himself other than the ‘Winter Soldier’. He was finally coming into his own, and you’d ruined it. 

You had to resign. You had to leave before the press found out. 

No, you reasoned with yourself. No one knew you were dating; if you simply pretended that you were pregnant by some random man, the office would believe you. 

There was one major flaw in that plan. What would Bucky think? What would he think if his girlfriend of almost two years suddenly broke up with him and showed up to work a week later, visibly pregnant? 

You decided to stick with your original plan, resigning from the office and fleeing DC. You ran up the stairs, shoving everything you’d accumulated into the two bags you kept here. Your drawer would be empty by the time he came home.

He would eventually understand that you were saving his job, saving what you’d both worked so hard for him to achieve. Besides, who knew if he even wanted that with you, a child, a domestic life? This was James Barnes, the World War II veteran, Avenger, and congressman. He had no time for trivial things like that. 

Anger. 

Your life was exactly what you’d wanted, perfect in every way that counted. Your relationship with Bucky was perfect.

At least, until now.

He had been the first man to truly love you, to care about you. You weren’t some object, some underling. You were his equal, his great love, his partner. 

You’d finally achieved your dream. You came to DC to head an office, to become a political weapon. You’d done that, you’d seen the potential in Bucky, and you had gotten him into office.

This wasn’t fair. 

You loved him, you loved him so much that it hurt. He was a gentleman. He held the door open, he respected you, he was- Angry hot tears ran down your cheeks as you lugged the bags over your shoulders, locking the front door behind you, leaving your key underneath the mat. 

This really sucked.

You hailed a taxi, smiling gratefully when the driver helped you with your bags. “Where to, Miss?” 

“Doll?” Bucky called out, shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t show up to work! Something wrong?” 

No response. You were probably upstairs, too tired to call back out to him. He set the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, shrugging off his sports coat. “I brought Indian food from your favorite place down on 8th street.” 

By this point, you were typically barreling down the hallway, jumping into his arms and peppering kisses over his face. He frowned, the house much too silent for his liking. “Baby? Are you home?” 

The hallway was dark, too dark for his liking. You were known for leaving the lights on, too scared to walk around his house in the dark. He laughed when you’d told him, but he’d never judged. If it made you feel safer, then he was all for it. 

He’d checked every room, every possible place you could be, but you were nowhere to be found. It was like you’d never even existed. His mind began to cloud, dark and poisonous. 

His first thought was that someone had taken you. That they, whoever they were, had followed the pair of you home one day, found out where he lived, and taken you as collateral. He began to dial Sam’s number when he pushed your shared bedroom door open, frowning at the sight before him. 

Your drawer was open, empty of all the things you’d brought over. He shut the door behind him, pushing the bathroom door open to find that even your products in the mirror above the sink and the shower had disappeared. His heart stopped, hands shaking as he deleted Sam’s number to make way for yours. It had rung two times before you picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Thank god.” His voice was quiet. “Came home and you weren’t here. Thought something had happened.” 

“I um…” You felt horrible, horrible that he had thought you’d been taken. You almost gave in, almost told him the truth. He loved you, and you knew he would be excited. “I-” No, you shook your head, you had to do this for him, for his future. He loved you, and you loved him, which is precisely why you had to do this. “I think we should stop seeing each other.” 

This was his nightmare; this was infinitely worse than someone taking you. That he could fight, he could win; this was uncharted territory. His heart clenched, on the verge of breaking clean in half. “What?” 

“This has been on my mind for some time now.” Lie. “It would be best, for both of us, for your career-” You willed yourself not to cry, not to break from the sound of his voice, more anxious than you’d ever heard him. “I’m sorry, but-”

“Where is this coming from, Doll?” He sounded desperate, broken. A tear ran down your cheek. “Did something happen? Did I-” 

“Bucky.” You cried, the tears you’d tried so hard to hold back breaking free. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I am going to make this harder than it has to be, because I love you."

Bargaining. 

His voice broke, desperate for an explanation. “Just tell me what happened, baby.” 

“I’d like to take the rest of this week off, please.” He would be better off without you, without this whole mess. This was for the best, you tried to convince yourself. “I’ll be back to work next week.” 

“Where are you?” If he could just see you, he would know. He was sure of it; he could read you like an open book. It was for that very reason that you did not want to tell him where you were. 

“I’m-” It was only a matter of time before he found where you were. Hell, he’d had your location in his phone since before you started dating, for safety purposes, of course. You’d laughed when he'd asked, giving him yours in return. It had been sweet, the way he nervously bit his lip. You remembered your cheeks flushing, stomach fluttering at the action.

Now it made you want to cry.

“I’m at my apartment.” 

“Your apartment?” He felt like he was dying, his heart clenching so tightly he thought he was having a heart attack. Maybe he was. You hadn’t been to your apartment in months, spending virtually every waking moment at his place. He’d even persuaded you to move in last week. “Thought you were moving in with me-” 

“Things change, okay?” You snapped, slapping a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- to snap like that.” You wiped your face clean of tears. “We were never going to last forever.” Lie number two. “Please, just let me do this.” 

“No.” He shook his head as if you could see him. “I can fix this, we can-” 

“I’ll see you in a week, Congressman.”

True to your word, he hadn’t seen or heard from you all week. The radio silence made him jittery, and he began to lose focus in meetings, his peers growing more and more annoyed by his apparent lack of care regarding the nation’s interest. 

He wished he could tell them that his life turned upside down on a random Tuesday, that the love of his life had left him out of nowhere, but he knew better. 

They wouldn’t care. 

He’d been counting down the days, staring at his door for some form of life, for your familiar frame. 

Your desk was right outside his office, and he often found himself watching you through the glass wall. Now he just stared at nothing, at the empty desk that turned his mood sour. He frowned, dropping his face into his hands, wallowing in misery.

“Congressman?” 

His heart skipped, head whipping up. “Ms. Clark.”

You hadn’t wanted to go back to work, but you couldn’t just quit over the phone. 

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You could have, probably should have, but your heart craved him, your eyes had to see him once more. 

Then you could hand in your resignation letter. 

You waved hello to the office as you walked toward your desk, almost laughing to yourself at the sight before you. There sat Bucky Barnes, in all his glory, with his head in his hands. If this were normal circumstances, if you hadn’t just broken up with him and were planning on moving across the country, you would have laughed. 

You draped your coat over the back of your chair, pulling your resignation letter out of your bag. “Congressman?” You cleared your throat, heart thumping hard against your chest.

“Ms. Clark.” His head whipped up, eyes wide as he stared at you. “You’re back.” 

“I am.” You reminded yourself that you were in the office and thus had to behave professionally. Placing the letter in front of him, you mustered up the weakest smile known to man. “Here is my resignation letter.” 

“Resignation letter?” Bucky rubbed his eyes, like you weren’t real, a figment of his imagination. “Ms. Clark-” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, not having the strength to look at him any longer. “For understanding.” 

“Wait just a second-” He stood up, practically racing toward the door to shut it before you could leave. “Don’t thank me for understanding.” His cologne threatened to overpower your senses. “Don’t thank me because I don’t understand.” He looked miserable, hands twitching like he was forcing himself not to touch you. “You haven’t given me any real reason.”

“Bucky.” Your voice was like a warning, a plea not to escalate things.

He didn’t happen to care, because he couldn’t let you go. Not without a fight, or at the very least, a reason for your sudden end of an otherwise happy relationship. 

He whispered your name so faintly you could have sworn he’d never said it. “I can’t let you go.” 

“This is highly inappropriate. We are at work, anyone could walk in at-” 

“I don’t care.” He hissed. “I love you? Do you know how much I love you?” 

“Of course I do.” You whispered, scared of someone overhearing. “And I- I loved-” 

“Bullshit.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it. “We were happy. You were happy. You told me you loved me that morning. What happened in nine hours?” 

“If there’s nothing else you need…” You straightened your posture. “I’ll be just outside.” 

“I need you.” He said it like it was a fact, like it was certain, etched in stone since the beginning of time. “You might not need me, but I need you.” 

Oh, how you wanted to correct him. You needed him like air, like the very oxygen that filled your lungs. You’d been in love with him for so long that you’d forgotten what it had been like before him. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hear you reject him one more time. Not when he knew that you still loved him. He knew it, even if you didn’t. “That will be all.” 

“Fine.” You nodded, turning on your heels like you hadn’t just broken his heart. Like you hadn’t just broken your own heart.

Depression.

You were actively fighting through it, fighting against crumbling into ash and letting the Earth swallow you whole. You’d been to a total of two doctors’ appointments, and even that had done nothing to improve your mood. 

If anything, it made it worse, knowing that Bucky would never be there, holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. He would never see her first steps, her playing in the front yard, her first dance recital. 

And that was fine, because he would be doing great things, he would be changing the world. 

You didn’t even know if it was a girl or a boy. You had a feeling that it was a girl; your feeling was more of a wish than intuition. You’d always known you’d have a girl; it was something that had been part of you for as long as you’d loved playing with dolls. 

Your hand fell to your stomach, caressing it gently as you whispered. “Hello, my darling.” It was too early to tell if it was a boy or a girl, too early for kicking, too early for most things. 

You felt crazy when you talked to your baby; it wasn’t like she (or he) could hear you or show you that it could. “You’re going to be so loved, so deeply loved.” 

The bed in your apartment was comfortable, but you missed your bed, the one you’d been sleeping in for almost a year. Bucky’s bed. You missed his smell, his warmth. You slept in the one shirt he’d left over here every night, pretending as if nothing had gone wrong, that you hadn’t broken the one thing that kept you sane. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered again, eyes tearing up as you thought of him. “I miss your father.” 

Only two more days until you leave DC. 

Technically, one and a half. 

It felt surreal. You’d come here with such big dreams, and now, here you were, leaving with your tail tucked between your legs.

It was fine, not everyone was made for this life. 

You thought you had been. 

You’d already put a down payment on a modest house in a small town somewhere in Pennsylvania. It was pale blue, with three bedrooms, two stories, and it took everything in your savings. 

The front yard was perfect for playing in, for growing up. The large oak tree that shaded the house was perfect for climbing, even a tire swing. 

Maybe this was it, acceptance. 

It felt like it, in some horribly strange way. You’d finally reached the last stage of grief, of mourning your past life.

Mourning your great love. 

The office was relatively quiet, a nice reprieve from a normally chaotic environment. You’d decided to make the most of your last two days to finally organize the file system, hopefully enough so that his next executive assistant had an easier time finding things than you had. 

You wondered as you flipped through a folder labeled ‘The Superhero Support Act’ if he and his next assistant would fall in love, if she would make him forget about the pain you’d caused. 

You hoped she did; he deserved happiness.

By noon, you’d already organized all the digital files, your desk, and Bucky’s office. It was time for the white whale - the file closet.

It was dingy in here, the one hanging light doing nothing to brighten the space. You groaned, knowing that this would take longer than you thought. The files were dusty; they had obviously been neglected since the invention of the computer. Deciding to organize the files chronologically, you began your last mission.

 “Thought I’d find you here.” 

You cursed at the sky, wishing that Bucky would just leave before either of you said something you’d regret. You continued to face away from him, still sorting through the files as diligently as before. “Just doing my job.” 

“Mhm.” You imagined he was leaning against the doorway, looking as handsome as always, his jacket unbuttoned. “I see that.” He didn’t speak for a while, simply watching you organize. You wished he would leave once more. 

Wishes, apparently, are not granted on Capitol Hill. 

“I love you.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t call me that.” He frowned. “C’mon, Doll-” 

“Don’t.” You stood up, finally facing him. “We are at work.” He raised an eyebrow, stepping forward and letting the door fall shut. Your eyes widened, and you stepped forward, trying to open it. “If someone finds us in here-” 

“What will they do?” Bucky laughed. “You're leaving, as you love to remind me.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” 

“Funny.” He took in your face, trying to memorize it before you left. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You whispered.

“Like what?” He whispered back.

“Like you still love me.” 

“Of course I still love you.” He scoffed, following after you as you walked backwards, desperate to put distance between the two of you. “I’ll always love you.” 

Your eyes welled. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Stop telling me what I mean.” 

Your back hit the file shelf, gasping. “I-” 

He was barely a breath away from you, eyes darting toward your lips. “When will you understand that I love you? That I’m here, and I’m not leaving. That I’ve loved you since you walked into my campaign office, all frazzled, barking out orders?” His hand came up to your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen against your will. “That I wake up in the middle of the night, and the first thing I do is look over to make sure you’re still there, that you’re breathing, that you're real?”

“Bucky-” You were sobbing, fighting every instinct that screamed to let him in, to tell him the truth. “Stop.” Every time he spoke, it softened your resolve, made you want to tell him what you’d been carrying by yourself. 

He shook his head, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m not going to leave you alone. I know you love me, I know-” 

You place one hand over his mouth, the other on his chest. “It’s for the best, trust me. You said you love me, so just let me do this. Let me do this for you.” 

He raised an eyebrow, delicately peeling your hand away from his mouth. “Do what? What’s going on, baby?” He grew more and more worried every second you sobbed, every second you refused to open up to him. “Did someone-” 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Bucky, I love you so much-” 

He grinned, a glimmer of hope breaking through his otherwise melancholy face. “I love you too-” 

“But this is for your own good.” Both of your hands were on his chest, pushing him away like he was temptation itself. “You’re meant to do great things, and you can do those, but I can’t be the person who slows you down.” 

“Is that why you broke up with me?” He laughed. “I appreciate you looking out for me, really I do, but you can’t make that decision for me.” 

“Too late.” You cried, his shirt wrinkling under your hold. “It’s too late.” 

“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, his hands holding your face like it was precious. If you had asked him, it was. “You’re scaring me, baby. What’s got you so upset? Talk to me.” 

“I- I can’t-” 

“You can-” 

“You don’t get it-” You sobbed. “I-” 

“C’mon, Doll.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m right here.”

“I’m pregnant, alright?” You sobbed. “There you go, there it is.” He staggered back, staring at you in disbelief. You felt jittery, manic with fear from his reaction, or lack of reaction. “I’m sorry, I just-” You hugged yourself, rambling as you tried to explain the reasoning behind your decision.

“I found out after you left for work, and I-I couldn’t live with myself if I slowed you down. You’re amazing, you’re really making a change for these people. And I’m so proud of you, so so proud. You’re my finest achievement, and I-I couldn’t see it all go to waste. I knew if I told you, you’d drop everything, and I couldn’t have that. Because you care too much, and it scares me. It’s horrifying how much you love me. I’m not used to it. You’re supposed to be more selfish, you have to be more selfish, especially in this-” 

You tilted your head, glaring at the man in front of you. “Are you even listening?” He had that same glazed-over look in his eye, still staring in disbelief. “Are you serious? I know I messed up, but the least you could do is say something.” Bucky slowly walked back toward you, like a predator stalking its prey. “I’m sorry, I really am. Just please, say something, say anything-” You gasped when his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you carefully into his hold. “Bucky-”

His lips dove to yours, your eyes fluttering shut as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. He grinned, your teeth momentarily clashing, neither of you wanting to let up. Your knees weakened, glad that he had an arm around your waist, holding you up with ease. “We can’t-” 

“Are you sure?” He pulled back, breath heaving as he spoke. “Are you sure that you’re pregnant?” 

You nodded, smiling timidly. “Eight weeks yesterday.” 

“Eight weeks?” His eyes welled with tears as he stared at your stomach. “Oh, baby…” 

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to-” 

“I love you.” He grinned, peppering kisses all over your face, your laughter bubbling in waves as you squirmed under his attack of affection. “I love you so much, and I-” He fidgeted with something in his pocket. “This is horrible timing, I know that.” 

“What?” Your heart dropped as he lowered himself onto one knee. “Bucky-” 

“Before you say anything, just let me get this out, and then you can scold me or kiss me, whatever you want.” He smiled, pulling out a small velvet box. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to say this, and now seems as good a time as any.” The ring inside was old, simple, but elegant all the same. “This is my mother’s ring. Rebecca still had it.”

“Bucky-” 

“I want to marry you. So badly it hurts. Marry me, and I swear you’ll be happy as long as you live.”  

“You know my answer is yes.” You cried, leaning down to kiss him. “A million times, yes.” 

He smiled, placing the ring on your finger. “Thank god. If you tried to leave again i was just going to blurt it out, and I didn’t think that-” 

“This is perfect. You’re perfect.” You grinned, staring at the ring as he stood up. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, Doll.” He kissed the back of your hand, smiling when he saw his mother’s ring. “I do have one request.” 

“Yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?” 

“Next time you’re pregnant…” Your heart skipped at the way he so casually said ‘next time,’ like it was inevitable. “Tell me before you do anything rash.” 

You nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. “Sounds reasonable enough.”

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UNRAVEL ME - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: A slightly shorter chapter, but an important one. 😉

Song Inspo: “Please Me” by Bruno Mars ft. Cardi B

Word Count: 5.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, PTSD/trauma, smut (v. fingering, oral – m. receiving), romantic fluff, the big ultimatum…

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Part 5: Amor Prohibido

(Forbidden Love)

You pull up to your grandmother’s house and open up the trunk of your old Camry to start grabbing the groceries. Ben doesn’t let you, however. He loads up both arms, shooting you a wink.

Is this his way of hitting you with some old-fashioned chivalry? Does he think it’ll get him closer to slipping you a little something after he takes you out tonight?

You raise a brow, but you unlock the door for him and follow your pack mule to the kitchen. You put away the groceries while Ben stalks off to grab a shower. You’ll do the same, you suppose. You don’t want to look grungy while he’s looking all coiffed and smelling all good and…

Fuck, you rake a hand into your hair. Okay, it’s just one night hanging out. A couple drinks, maybe a little dancing, and we’ll come home at a reasonable hour so this man can get his rest, because even if I have to drive him to the airport and shove his ass on that plane myself, he’s getting the fuck out of here.

Because the longer he stays, the more you find yourself conflicted. He’s cut as hell, sure. He’s got a jaw that could break some glass, as well as your spine. Big hands that could probably handle you every which way—but no. Fuck no.

The man was insufferable. Dangerous. He’d literally taken someone out in front of you, even if it was to save you (and himself from being caught).

Still, you pick out a dress to wear. You take an “everything shower,” exfoliating, shaving, cleansing, moisturizing, and even brushing your teeth. You style your hair and pick out your best bra for the little red dress, plus something lacy to match underneath.

You’re still doing your makeup with a painstaking hand when your grandma slips inside your room. She finds you in the bathroom, surrounded by bottles and products, combs and makeup brushes, eyeshadow and lipstick. She raises a brow.   

“Hmm, and what’re you doing in here?” she asks, with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “You’re going out? I’m making dinner, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna show Ben around town after dinner,” you reply, though you pause. “Or, I mean. I guess he wants to take me out. Whatever.”

Sofia spies your little smile. You can’t quite hide it while you smooth out your eyeliner. She gives you a softer look through the mirror. You hesitate again when you notice her.

“What?” you ask. 

“Ay, mija. If you love him, you should just tell him,” she says.

Your head quirks in confusion and a recoiling expression of fuck no. You open your mouth to set her straight, but then you remember a key tidbit: she’s supposed to think he’s your boyfriend.

And that look on her face says even more. Her smile evokes the wrinkles and laugh lines in her cheeks, a certain impish gleam. Your eyes narrow slightly as you begin to realize…

“You really think I wouldn’t recognize ese Soldier Boy when you brought him into my house?” she says in amusement. Her arm gestures wide, and in the direction of the guest room where Ben is also presumably getting ready for tonight.

The rest, she says in Spanish. “I’ve grown up watching his movies since I was a little girl. He was more clean-shaven back then, but the beard isn’t so bad, no?”

You splutter laughing, covering your face with both hands to hide your embarrassment. You really should’ve known better than to try pulling a fast one on your grandma, of all people. Despite pushing her late seventies, the old woman’s memory is still sharp as hell.

“And your boyfriend let the cat out of the bag himself this morning when he couldn’t remember your last name. After four months? Pfff,” Sofia says, waving a dismissive hand. Her face then shifts, becoming more stern. “What I don’t know is why you lied to me, eh?”

You lower your eyes contritely. “Sorry, Mamá.”

“Mhmm,” she says wryly. “Why don’t you tell me why he’s here, and I’ll fix your hair.”

You frown. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

She just shakes her head and guides you to sit on the closed toilet lid.

“Eh-eh. Sit down, I’ll fix,” she insists.

“I mean, I spent a lot of time…” you start to say, but at one sharply raised brow from your grandma, you pipe down. “Okay, well, I guess I just gotta start from the beginning.”

So you do. You tell her the whole story, from the moment you ran into Ben in that alley, him forcing himself into your car and into your apartment, how he threatened you, though he never actually hurt you. You glide over some of the more intense parts of your buddy comedy road trip, namely all the murder and dumping Webweaver’s body into a lake—type shit, but at least you and Ben (and your car) made it here in once piece.

“And now you’re going out with him tonight?” your grandma asks, with a knowing smile.

“Out of everything I just told you, that’s what you focus on?” you snip. She tugs at your hair, earning a yelp out of you. She shushes you for good measure while she continues styling you.

“It’s not like that between me and Ben,” you say, after a beat of hesitation. “He’s just…arrogant. He’s annoying. He’s old-fashioned, and he’s such a…a man.” When Sofia steps back, fluffing your hair one last time. You reach for your perfume and spray all the key spots: both sides of the neck, elbow creases, wrists, and a quick one down your cleavage. 

Sofia’s lips once again twitch at a smile.

“He’s also, uh, kind of funny. In his own way,” you admit, thinking of the time you two watched The Princess Bride together. His frustrated commentary at Buttercup had been fucking hilarious. “And you know, he likes it when I cook for him. Doesn’t think it’s too ethnic or too weird. He told me I shouldn’t give up on my art.”

You pause when catch your own reflection in the mirror, realizing that your face is warm just thinking about it. About him. 

“And what do you think that means?” Sofia asks. She meets your gaze in the mirror. 

You turn away though, blinking those dumb, naive thoughts away. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “Even if he stayed, he’s not the kinda guy who settles for the little brown girl. His life is bigger than mine. More dangerous too.”

“Dangerous,” Sofia echoes, her eyes narrowing. “The way you’ve gotten in trouble with the law because of him?”

“Yeah, exactly,” you sigh. You take her hand with both of yours. “Mamá, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bringing all this to you.”

“Ay, mija,” she says. My daughter. She brushes your hair back and kisses your forehead. In those two words, you know what she means.

Nosotros somos familia.

We’re family.

We protect each other. 

“The way I see it,” she says, “he’s our only hope of stopping Homelander. Or else, this country will end up just like Cuba. With a tyrant, a madman, destroying everything we’ve built for ourselves.”

You hold in a sigh as your heart sinks, measure by measure.

You don’t have it in you to tell her that Ben’s not that guy. He’s already checked the fuck out on being a real hero. He probably never was to begin with.

After dinner with your grandmother, Ben insists on driving when the two of you go out, even though you’re not really in the mood to have a good time anymore. Let alone with him.

You smile politely when he says, with actual sincerity, You look beautiful.

Though you do have to fight a blush at the way he looks at you, his green eyes roaming up and down your body from the shade of read on your lips, down to the tall, strappy heels on your feet, like he’s trying to commit each of your curves to memory without even touching you.

You can’t allow yourself to enjoy the way he hums along to the radio, or the way he fights Miami traffic like an old man, yelling obscenities through the closed window. You can’t see the point of allowing yourself relax or smile, or even let him touch you. Because eventually, he’ll have to leave. 

When he pulls up to the nightclub you told him about, you try not to let yourself react to his hand guiding you inside by the small of your back, or the way that hand moves around your waist to keep you close in the throng of warm bodies and pulsating music. 

He wears one of the black button-down shirts you bought him, along with some dark brown slacks. You gave him one of your grandfather's old flat caps to help hide his face from potential street and building cameras. He didn't seem too concerned about the exposure when you two left the house, but you know that he's on edge.

This scene probably isn’t what he’s used to. Even if it was, it's been literal decades since he's been in a club, so you know you have to do some leading too. You can feel him tense up every time someone else brushes against him. He’s frowning, thick brows knitted together as he looks around.

“What the fuck is this music?” he asks in your ear, so you can actually hear him.

You realize then that this might be a little much for him. If you can feel the bass of the rap music in your chest, you can only imagine what this is like for him.

You think of that night, when you had to wake Ben from what was likely a horrible nightmare. You chew your lip in concern, noting the way his eyes flicker across the room. You need to pull yourself out of your funk for now.

“Let’s get a couple drinks, then we can go dance!” you suggest, giving him an encouraging smile. Ben relaxes, just slightly. He allows you to guide him with your arm wrapping around his.

You two sit at the bar for a little while, thought admittedly it’s too loud to hear one another. And even after two glasses of scotch, he’s still reluctant to get up and dance with you.

The truth is, this whole place is grating on Ben. It’s too fucking loud, and he’s already regretting the way he let you talk him into coming here. He should’ve followed his instincts and taken you to a movie or something.

“Well, what do you want to do, sit here all night?” you ask. He doesn’t appreciate the testiness already creeping into your tone. The pulsing lights and deep thump, thump, thump of the bass is setting him on edge, catching in the edges of his vision.

The gleam of camera flashes, Crimson Countess’s fake fucking smile, a mask falling over his face, the gleam of sharp silver and whirring sounds, smoke rising from his own flesh.

“If that’s what the fuck I feel like doing, then that’s what the fuck I’ll do,” he snarks, without even really looking at you. He keeps his gaze firmly ahead on the rows of taps on the bar, as if that can stop him from gripping his glass tighter. He sets it down on the counter, so he doesn’t shatter it.

“Are you serious? That’s your idea of a good time?” you ask incredulously. You slide out of your seat and stare at him with your hands on your hips. “Why did you want to come out with me then if you’re not even going to hang out with me? Maybe I’ll just go dance with someone else.”

“Go right ahead and fuck off then, sweetheart,” he snapped. He tossed back a big mouthful of his third scotch.

You begin to bristle in anger, about to tell him where he could fuck off to while you were busy actually trying to have fun…until you catch that look in his eyes, glazed over and unresponsive.

Your brows furrow. “Ben?”

He slightly flinches at the clink and shatter of a glass when a man nearby stumbles on something sticky on the floor. Ben blinks hard, his jaw working.

Something’s wrong. You know it in your blood.

So you act. You call his name more insistently, earning his attention. You circle your arm around his and lead him off the stool. “Let’s go.”

“…Where?” he says, belatedly.

“Just follow me,” you say with a wink, adopting a more flirtatious smile. You don’t know how much of him is actually in this moment with you, but maybe that’ll get his attention. You shift your hold on his arm and take his hand instead.

You lead him away from the tight crowd on the dance floor and around the bar, and into a dark hall near the bathrooms. It’s still loud though, that baseline dropping as the DJ’s sirens go off in the club. 

Ben stumbles, his left hand shooting out to smack heavily against the wall. He dents the plaster. You quickly move in front of him and rest your hands against his chest.

“Ben, you with me?” you say in a measured tone. “Hey, you okay? You hearing me?”

His brows furrow in answer, but you can tell he’s not all there. His breathing is growing ragged. You feel his chest getting warm, and then hot. 

Oh, fuck, your blood runs cold. Is this the strange new explosive power that nearly crumbled Vought Tower? Is this club about to get wiped off the map, like that building in Midtown? Are you about to get blown sky high along with it?

No. Fuck that. 

You grab his face in your hands. “Ben, you focus on me, okay? Before you blow your cover. Before you hurt someone.”

He blinks at that, and even begins to push you away.

“Fuck off,” he grunts.

Run, is what he thinks. Instinct tells him to push you a way, literally. Before you get yourself fucking killed. Before he…

Again, you’re not having it.

You raise yourself up on your toes and give him a forceful kiss. 

He breathes sharply through his nose. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his lips. Piece by piece, he’s able to ground himself and realize where he is, the feeling of your hands cradling his face, your breasts pressing against his chest. 

Then he grabs a hold of your waist with an iron grip, dragging you to him and holding you flush against his body. He slowly begins to respond, sucking your lower lip into his mouth. The warmth in his chest cools to embers, but the heat between you two shifts. He sinks his fingers into your hair and squeezes the flesh of your hip, then your ass.

He presses you against him, and you moan at the firm planes of his body against yours. His semi-hard cock already strains against his slacks, trapped between you and pressing against your stomach.   

You two end up stumbling into the women’s bathroom, where he clears the room of a few 20-something girls retouching their makeup. 

“Get the fuck out,” he growls.

Gasping in fear, the girls pack up their little purses and scatter.

You laugh breathlessly, earning the edge of Ben’s smirk, before he hefts you up onto the bathroom counter by your hips. A yelp escapes you, but you recover quick, gripping his shirt and pulling him down to you for a rough kiss. His tongue invades your mouth and plunders where he sees fit, all while those big hands smooth down the gentle slope of your back, along the curve of your waist, and finally squeezing your ass cheeks again. A low hum resonates in his throat at the feel of you, soft and pliant under his hands.  

You giggle in response. “An ass-man, huh?” you whisper against his lips.

Ben chuckles. He blazes open mouthed kisses along your jaw, takes your earlobe between his teeth. When he speaks, his voice is full of aroused grit in your ear. “Call me a connoisseur. You’ve got the most delectable fucking ass I’ve seen since before I went under.”

Before you can even shudder in reaction, he grabs your thighs and pulls you right to the edge of the counter. You pay him the favor of wrapping your legs around his hips and grinding your core against the growing bulge in his slacks. He groans.

“Fucking soaked already, sweetheart? I’ll bet you are,” he grunts. “Let’s fucking see.”

He bunches the skirt of your dress up to the tops of your thighs and drags your panties down. The lace burns across your skin when the fabric tears. You gasp, provoking his grin. He pulls them off your thighs and tucks them into his back pocket. He considered ripping them right off you, but he wants to save them for later.

While one hand winds into your hair and grabs the back of your neck, the other slips between your legs and brushes long fingers through the slippery folds of your pussy. You whimper at the first brushing contact, grabbing his shoulders tight. Your nails bite into flesh through the fabric when he finds your weeping channel, a smirk already spreading across his face.

“Oh, yeah. Fucking soaked,” he murmurs. Two deft finger pads carry some of that wetness up to stroke your clit, and you utter his name with abandon. Your thighs clench, and he tightens his hold on your hair while he works you over with his fingers. First just circling your clit, then shifting to his thumb, increasing the pressure. His ring and forefinger slip deeply into your pussy and curl inside your walls; the sensation raises you half off the counter as you whimper in his ear.

“Ben,” you say, broken and needy. Your hips buck against his hand desperately. 

“That’s it, baby. I gotcha,” he says. His voice is both rough and smooth in your ear. And when you finally come, your inner walls fluttering tight around his fingers, he swallows your cries with a ravaging kiss. He strokes you through your shuddering orgasm. His thumb continues to firmly circle your clit, until you whine into his mouth and squeeze his hand again.

“Oh fuck…” Your thighs tremble hard as a second wave of sensation emanates deeply from your core. Your fingers are scraping through his hair, then holding onto his strong arms tight as you heave for breath.

He finally withdraws his hand and strokes your back as you come down. His smirk presses against your temple.

“That’s a two for one, sweetheart. You’re fucking welcome,” he says.

You roll your eyes at his self-satisfied tone, but a blush still warms your face. He certainly knows what the hell he’s doing.

You thank him with a thorough kiss; it’s slow, but no less heady when you sensuously lick into his mouth. For a moment, he loses himself in you with a groan of pleasure. He squeezes your waist on reflex.  

Your hand slips over the buttons and wrinkled fabric of his shirt, a nice olive green that you picked out for him. You brush past his belt and stroke his thick, hard arousal through his slacks. Already it’s bigger than you thought. Jesus.

You pull away though, making Ben raise a brow at you.

An amused smile twitches at your lips. “I’m gonna return the favor, don’t you worry. But I’m not getting on my knees in this dirty fucking bathroom.”

You manage to slide off the counter on your legs now somewhat turned to jelly. Ben grabs your waist again when you nearly lose your balance. You smile in thanks, slipping your hand into his.

“Come on,” you whisper.

You lead him out of the bathroom, and out of the club entirely.

If there’s one thing Ben won’t miss about Miami, it’s the cocksucking motherfucking traffic.

It’s backed up for a mile cross the bridge leaving Miami Beach, and even heading to the island is a narrow two-lane bridge packed with cars.

It’s almost midnight, for Christ’s sake!

Once again, your music is playing in the car speakers, though this time at least it’s at a moderate volume.

You notice him tapping the wheel with two fingers. The same fingers that made you come twice in under ten minutes. You shifted in your seat, your thighs subtly rubbing together. Ben is too annoyed staring out at the traffic not moving in front of him to notice you eying him. You’d had an idea of where to go next in order to give you two some privacy, but you figure now is as good a time as any to make good on a promise.

You unclip your seatbelt and finally earn Ben’s attention with furrowed brows. He watches you bite your lip, the briefest hesitance before your smile peeks through. You turn up the radio, a little Bruno Mars giving some perfect mood music.

Then you’re leaning over to unbuckle his seatbelt as well. It’s in the way of his actual belt, which you work open with slow movements.

Ben’s smirk overtakes his face.

“What’cha doing, sweetheart?” he asks, despite knowing full well.

He spreads his muscles thighs a bit wider to make room for you while you unzip his slacks and slip your hand past the band of his boxer briefs. His eyes darken when you get a full hand of him and pull him free.

“Just thought this ride needed a little more entertainment,” you tease, swirling your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock. Already it was swollen and weeping for you. You lower down and licked up the salty beads, smiling when he swears. He shifts against the seat.

“Just don’t crash my fucking car,” you say, just before you take his cock into your mouth. It takes some work to get him all the way down. It’s not just the length, but the girth that you can barely wrap your whole hand around. You suck just the tip first, literally just getting a taste for him. You salivate around him, not just because the guttural sounds he’s making turn you on, but because it lets you slip your way down his cock easier.

Eventually he hits the back of your throat, making tears spring to your eyes. But you take your time and breathe through it, starting again at a faster pace. The tempo of the song works perfectly.

His grunts and heavier breathing, along with his hand falling into your hair and clenching tight let you know how well you’re doing. You begin to quicken your pace, sucking him hard and sloppy.

“Fuck—” he groans. His hips buck into your mouth on reflex and make you choke. You slip halfway off of him as you cough.

“Aw, shit,” he grunts. He forces his fingers to relax in your hair. “You’re good. You got it.”

You squeeze his thigh in retaliation, but you can’t help but choke out a laugh.

“Maybe try not to kill me with your cock, okay?” you reply.

He smirks. “There are worse ways to fucking go.”

“You would say that shit,” you roll your eyes. But you’re serious about what you’re doing, and you take him more firmly into your hands. You work him back up with slow, sensuous strokes before you grace him with your talented mouth again. By the time Ben’s able to drive away from Miami Beach, he’s narrowly avoided causing two fender benders and sending a bicyclist over the fucking bridge.

But you finally sit back in your seat, catching your breath and wiping the remnants of his spend from the corner of your lips. He eyes you, now more relaxed and amused while catching his breath. You wear a self-satisfied smile of your own.

“Ooh, park here! Hurry before someone takes it!” you point out a parking spot in excitement. Ben has circled the packed, narrow parking lot three times, but you’re here. You’ve led him to Bayside, the downtown area in the mainland.

There you take his hand and lead him to the outdoor music venue. A Latin band is playing tonight, and a trio of trumpets joins the melody of an enthusiastic pianist and the rhythmic beat of conga drums. 

It’s much more relaxed and not so overwhelmingly loud as the nightclub, even though there’s just as many people. Bayside is also just a big string of kiosks and outdoor vendors.

Ben buys you ice cream, raising a brow, but not commenting at your three giant scoops. You don’t play when it comes to ice cream, you tell him. 

Though he’s amused when you give yourself brain freeze, as well an ice cream mustache. He kisses it off the corner of your mouth with a quick swirl of his tongue. You blink up at him, laughing a little like you can’t believe he just did that.

Ben smirks and pulls you in by your waist, there in the middle of tourists and locals alike, shopping and eating and talking and laughing. Ben bows his head to claim your lips with his own. He tastes rum raisin and coconut on your tongue, and you taste rich Rocky Road on his. 

After a while, you break away slightly to rest your forehead against his. His heart gallops under your palm.

“What’re we doing?” you whisper.

“Making tonight count,” he says, slowly smirking. “As many times as we fucking can.”

The band on stage shifts into the next song—a more sensuous bachata.

Biting your lip, you toss your empty ice cream cup in the trash and return to Ben, grabbing his hand.

“Dance with me then,” you ask him. You implore him with your eyes.

He takes a breath, but he nods and allows you to guide him closer to the band. You stop on the edge of the bigger cluster of people dancing, keeping on the outskirts.

“Remember what Mamá taught you this morning?” you say, guiding his hand to your waist and the other in your hand. “There, just like that.”

You start slow, even slower than the music itself. It takes a bit of time for Ben to relax, but when he does, it’s because he’s finally remembering the steps he learned. He leads more often than you do, even if he does get distracted by that freeing look in your eyes, and the sway of your hips.

When the music slows, so does Ben. He holds you closer and moves in a simple two-step. Your gaze meets his for a moment. That silence between you is charged with things that won’t be said.

It’s near two in the morning when Ben pulls the car into the driveway of Sofia’s house. As much as you would like to continue this strange new world between you two, you feel like you’re adrift at sea, lost in the swell of his tide, and everything you didn’t want to feel rising to the surface.

“So, this has been fun, but…” You take a breath. “Ben, are you really leaving, or not? Be honest with me, what are we doing here? Are we just fucking around or…”

After after tonight, is that really all this is? What does he want from you? 

Ben hesitates, but he tucks a few stray curls behind your ear, even though most of them don’t obey him.

“Come with me,” he says eventually. “We can make it a vacation for two.”

You’re surprised by his offer. Your insides flutter, but the hard reality checks back in. 

“Ben—”

“Just think about it,” he says, looking away. His gaze casts to the throng of people, dancing, eating, laughing, living. The difference between him and them, is that Ben knows he’s on borrowed time. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

For a moment, you actually do consider it. You shake your head though.

“Ben, I can’t. My family’s here. My life is here,” you say.

His eyes begin to dim. Then, he frowns.

“What life?” he says. “You’ve got no fucking job, and you’re moving back in with your grandmother. You’ve got even less going for you here than I do.”

You gape at him. Your disbelief turns to anger, but you leave the car without a word—just a huff of exasperation.

Ben shuts off the car and follows after you just as steamed up, even as he watches the sway of your hips in that dress when you walk. You stop abruptly on the walkup to the door, and you spin around on those impressive heels.

“You know what? You’re right. I am a hot fucking mess,” you snap. The beginnings of tears well up in your eyes, halting him where he stands. “But you know what? The difference is I have a family to hold me down until I figure it out.”

You gesture at him widely with both hands. 

“But you…you don’t even know the meaning of the word. Family. Lover. Friend. You don’t have a fucking clue!”

Ben’s face tightens into a glare, but his reaction only spurs you on.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you spit. “You don’t have anything or anyone. If you did, maybe you wouldn’t have spent 40 years on ice, and maybe you wouldn’t have needed me to hide your ass like a fucking refugee.” 

He grabs your hand when you try to walk away from him, and he forces you to turn around. You find yourself staring up into his darkened eyes.

“I’ve warned you about that fucking mouth of yours,” he growls.

You scoff in his face. “I think we both know what you think of my mouth.” 

With that, you rip your hand out of his grip. He actually allows you to do it, which surprises both of you. 

You turn on your heel and walk into the house, leaving him to brood for a while. God knows he’s good at that.

You enter the house as quietly as you can. You realize just how loud you were being outside, but hopefully you didn’t wake up your grandma.

You find her passed out and snoring on the living room couch while the TV blares. Your smile of amusement lightens you from the stress in your crunched brows. You go to her and fix the throw blanket she’s half-covered herself with, making sure it covers her feet, up to her shoulders. She’s a plump lady who gives the best hugs, but she’s short. The blanket covers her just right when you settle it the right way.

You grab the remote and turn the TV down by half the volume. She must have taken her hearing aids out.

Hearing Ben’s clomping steps behind you though, you still turn to shush him over your shoulder. Ben rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores you. The two of you part ways into your respective bedrooms. 

It’s not the way you thought this night would end, but maybe it’s for the best. You slip out of your heels and take off your hoop earrings while the entire night goes through your head again. The club, his near meltdown at the club, and the way you successfully distracted him…

So fucking annoying, you think, when you picture his stubborn, arrogant face.

But then, you remember his hands on your body, and his rich, sinful voice in your ear.

You think you paid him back pretty well though. It gets you hot again just thinking about the sounds he made, his hand clenching in your hair. He’d had to grip the headrest of your seat to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you, digging his strong fingers into the plush foam. You couldn’t help but relive how satisfied it made you to get those reactions out of him, but also, just how he’d unraveled you with a practiced hand. 

You don’t regret anything you said, but…maybe it’s okay to let yourself want him.

Just for tonight. 

You leave your room, closing it behind you. You pad across the hall on bare feet and knock lightly on his door. You know his hearing is sharp enough to have heard it.

A few short moments later, he opens the door and regards you with nonchalance. There’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes, though. 

“Can I come in?” you ask.

His bows furrow. “What, here to chap my ass some more?”

To your surprise, however, he actually lets you in. You smile slightly at his wording, but you go to him. You’re not sure what he sees when he looks at you, but you don’t try to hide what you feel, or what you want when you look up at him. 

“Look, I don’t wanna fight anymore,” you say. Hesitantly, you reach out a hand and touch his chest, still warm through his shirt. Again, you’re reminded of what happened in the club, and all the scars he tries to hide.

“So what is it that you want?” Ben asks, but, his tone has a shade less sharpness in it.

“I want to make tonight count,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands slide up his arms and squeeze tight on his biceps. “I want you to touch me, and make me come until I can't remember my fucking name.” 

You whisper the words against his chest, pressing a kiss there. 

“Let me feel you too, and I’ll help you let go for a while,” you promise. 

Ben’s hands slip around your waist. His eyes darken with a desire that never truly left. He bows his head to begin, but you hold a finger to his lips. 

“But then, I need you to make a decision,” you say. “If you stay, you stay, and we can figure out how to get your life back. Both of our lives back.” You pause, just to heave a shaky sigh. “But if that’s not what you want, then you have to go. You leave in the morning, and you don’t come back, because I can’t take this shit anymore—”

Ben kisses you hard, cutting off your words. He drags you tighter into his embrace and turns you around, guiding you onto his bed. Your head falls against the pillows with a huff.

His body comes in to cage you, but you welcome his weight as he wraps his arms around you. You kiss him back more fervently, and there’s an underlying desperation here. You just don’t know if it’s yours, or his. 

You help him yank his shirt off, ripping buttons as you go. You finally get to feel his warm, bare skin and kiss wherever your hands explore. His fingers tangle into your hair, in a way he seems to like doing. He yanks your face up to his for a ravaging kiss, all teeth and tongue and sloppy wet. 

“Ben, wait,” you pant for breath. You hold his face in your hands. “Just…please, don’t break me.”

Ben pauses, blinking down at you with kiss-swollen lips. 

He has a moment of gentleness, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. His lips curve into a grin. 

“Don’t you fucking worry, Chiquita. I’m about to take good care of you.”

AN: 😘 The best is yet to come (lol)...

Next Time:

In the morning, you wake to a firm chest beneath your cheek. The fuzz of his chest hair makes your nose wrinkle.

You move over a little, so you can bury your face into his neck instead. You stretch yourself out long, before sinking boneless against him. He chuckles deeply, sinking his fingers in your wild hair that tickles his cheek and his neck.

“Well, good morning,” he says, his voice rasping with sleep and heady in its meaning. 

You hum in contentment. You begin to press small, lazy kisses under his jaw, down his neck. He cups your cheek with his large hand and guides you back, so he can see your face and greet you properly. 

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[lilousmustaches]

In the Shadow of the fifth floor

Warnings: Bruises, violence, virginity, smut, Hogwarts Legacy spoilers.

Notes: My first ever smut with Sebastian Sallow? Hmm.. sounds about right. I'm obsessed with Hogwarts Legacy and I just needed to get this out of my system!! I didn't finish the game yet and the story follow the storyline (Level 27). Let's just imagine they were a little older in the fifth year.

Summary: Sebastian is mad that you keep getting yourself hurt on missions. He knows exactly how to help you.

Sebastian walked fast through the dark corridors towards the Slytherin Dungeons, with a hard expression and a millions thoughts running in his mind. He was so fucking done with everyone taking advantage of your good will when he knew exactly what type of rumors were flying around the castle about you. The weird new fifth year with the strange magic, that hangs out with the blind one and the poor boy that lost his sister. It was incredibly short the list of people who really cared for you and he was sure on the top of it. 

Thanks Merlin that he bumped into Poppy Sweeting in the way, who tolded him exactly where to find you. 

He quickly went down the Slytherin’s common room stairs seeing that it was almost completely empty due to the time. Sebastian ignored all the curious stares from the few remaining there and went straight to the couch facing the dark lake, knewing that it was your favorite place to be. 

He found you laying there with eyes closed and one arm covering them. Sebastian sighed at the view noticing that your clothes and face were still a little dirty from the adventure and could notice several parts of your skin scratched. He knelt down infront of the couch and saw your eyebrows frowing. 

“Seb?” You asked with a small confused voice and he opened a small weak smile. 

“Did you call me madame?” Sebastian answered with a ligh tone seeing you lowering your arm and finally opening your eyes to stare at him. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, confused, leaning on your elbows, unable to hold back the grunts of pain.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He said sitting next to you when you set up trying to compose yourself. “Ominis told me that he sensed you arriving weirdly back in Hogwarts. He said you were limping.”

“Has he now?” 

“Yes (Y/N), he has.” Sebastian said hardly. “Where the hell have you been?” 

You sighed finally looking away from the giants windows to the lake to stair Sebastian’s hazel eyes.

“I was…” You began cautiously. “Helping a girl out. She needed some things from… well, from the forbidden forest.” 

“Of course she needed.” Sebastian said with a humorless laugh. “And was she, by any chance, missing her legs so she couldn’t go herself?” 

“Sebastian…” You sighed tired knowing exactly where this discussion was heading.

“What?” He shot back. “You know I’m right here. I know you love getting yourself into trouble. Believe me, darling, we got that in common.” Sebastian continued, making you roll your eyes. “But you have to stop getting hurt for those cowards! They are not worth it.”

“It’s not like they’re the only ones making me put myself in harm's way to achieve something that doesn’t concern me!” You snapped before realizing what you’d said, immediately regretting it. Sebastian was taken aback, surprised by your words. He knew, deep down, that he was just like the rest of them. He knew you were still upset about the whole Crucius situation in the Scrythorium, but that was entirely different! You were best friends; he’d shown you all his life and secrets. You’d done it for Anne, too. “I’m sorry, Seb,” You said softly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t (Y/N)” Sebastian replied with a bitter tone. “Because if you meant it, you would be telling me that my sister mean nothing to you and i refuse to believe that.” 

“Of course Seb…” You said softing your expression putting your hand on top of his. “We’re in this together now.” 

“Absolutely we are.” Sebastian said turning his hand that was resting on the sofa to interlace fingers with you. “I know you care for Anne and you know that i worry about you. You already have enough on your shoulders trying to figure out your powers for some nerds out there be occupying your time with their nonsense.” 

You let a weak laugh out by his words and finally seemed to notice your hands still glued to each other. You could feel his thumb slowly, almost imperceptible, carresing your skin. 

“It’s true that…” You gulped trying to take your mind out of the sensation of his touch that it felt like it started to burn. “I am a little done of people always asking me the most random favors.” 

“I know.” Sebastian continued satisfied that he was able to begin to break those walls of yours  and it was giving space to one more vulnerable side. “Because I know you. And because… we already had this conversation that time you got super drunk on butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks”

“What?” You asked indignant seeing Sebastian laughing at your face. “We did not.”

“Oh love I assure you we had.” Sebastian said feeling a sudden cold in his belly when saw your cheeks turning red from the little pet name. “You get quite talkative when you’re wasted.”

“And whose fault was that?” You snapped raising your eyebrows remembering that he was the one that offered you a little sneak out to Hogsmeade after a boring Potion’s class a few weeks ago. 

“Guilty.” Sebastian said licking his lips having fun with the memories of you tripping your way back, singing and dancing in the streets. “My point is… stop being Miss Perfect. We both know that’s not really you. Those lazy students wouldn’t do half of the things that they ask for you in return if you needed. They don’t care about you, not like… I do.”

Your breathing was cut short by the honestly in his words. You would be dumb not to admit that you didn’t notice Sebastian’s over protection towards you. He was always around, always wanting to be included, always bossing you to do things for your sake. Strangely bothered when he learned you would pass an evening with another male friend. Even if it was Ominis…. Who, by the way, had gave you hundreds of little remarks on how he never saw Sebastian acting so jealous over someone before you.  

But… it was hard to think about that sort of stuff when you were so busy trying to stop a wizard war. When he was acting desperate over a cure for his sister. And let’s not forget he did crucied you. 

So why your hand, that still was intertwined with his, was on fire? 

“How much are you hurt?” Sebastian asked not giving you time to answer his last speech. 

“I’ve been worse.” You shrugged making he roll his eyes. “A few bruises and scratches, really. No big deal.”

“Ah yes? Then prove it.” He said finally letting go of your hand to fold his arms infront of his chest. He saw your confused expression and pointed for you to stand up. “Prove it.”

“Is this really necessary?” You asked tired but saw that he wouldn’t let you go of this. You huffed trying to stand as normally as you could, but as soon as your feet touched the ground an electric wave of pain traversed your body making you grunt, shutting your eyes and grinding your teeth. 

“I bloody knew it.” Sebastian exclaimed shaking his head in disapproval. “Where?” He asked simply and with some seconds of hesitation, you ended up turning around, lifting your shirt showing an enormous bruise that started middle back and ended just above your butt. 

“For Merlin’s beard, (Y/N).” Sebastian cried fighting the urge to touch it. “Did you fall from your hyppogriff? It looks awful. Ominis always says that you are my Karma in this life.”

“Wow thank you very much Sebastian!” You said ironically and turned to face him. 

“C’mom I know what you need.” He said getting up. “Can you walk?” He asked sweetly offering you his shoulder to lean. 

You two walked calmly to wherever he was taking you. It was already late and practically no one was wandering around the castle anymore. With a few comments here and there, you finally stopped infront of the door to the prefect's bathroom in the fifth floor making you frown. 

“Why are we here?” You asked following him inside seeing it was empty. 

“You need a hot bath to ease those bruises.” He exclaimed pointing excited at the giant luxury bathtub in the middle of the room, that looked more like a pool. 

With a shake of his wand, he locked the front door to avoid disturbance and opened the taps to fill the bathtub with boiling water and bubbles. 

“We shouldn’t be here.” You said. Sure, it was reserved to the prefects. This didn’t really bothered you but the tension of the situation made you freeze. Just the two of you… taking a bath… together? The thought excited you in the same amount that scared you. 

“Please. We have done much worse.” Sebastian laughed it out not noticing right away your anxious expression. 

“Oh… ” Sebastian exclaimed when noticed what was happening, finally realizing he didn’t think this through. “Look, I can stay outside making sure no one comes. You take the time you need. You’re sore, you need to relax.” 

“No-“ You answered quickly, surprising him. Surprising you even. “I mean… it’s a giant bathtub.” You shrugged. “Filled with bubbles. You can turn around, I will enter. I will do the same for you.” 

“You sure?” Sebastian asked suspicious not expecting this behavior from you. He really did act on best thoughts to help you feel better. But the possibility of having you completely naked just a few steps away from him, drove him mad. He was scared that you would noticed his bulge growing just from the thought. 

“Yes.” You said with an unknown confidence and Sebastian immediately turned around not being able to think of any usual smarts comebacks. He was too busy trying to keep it together when he started to hear your clothes falling to the ground, one after another. Finally he heard the water moving, meaning you entered the bathtub, followed by your soft voice. “You can turn around now.” 

He looked at you, practically covered up by bubbles and repressed an adoration smile before you yourself looked away, and he took the hint that it was his time to undress. Sebastian took a deep breath trying to control his erection from growing and got in the water as fast as he could. 

“Aren’t you eager to caught a glimpse of me naked?” Sebastian joked when you turned to look at him before he could say it was ok. 

“Very funny.” You smiled ironically throwing some water in his face making him laugh. But the little war was quick over when you moaned of pain because of the movements. 

“Is the water helping?” Sebastian asked more serious when saw your discomfort. He couldn’t stop himself from getting closer to you, that lead him to see a lot of bruises in your collarbone also. 

“It is… this was a great idea. Thank you.” You gave him a weak smile and he copied you. Indeed the temperature of the bathtub was making your muscles relax. It seemed like for the first time in weeks. 

Sebastian gave one more step closer making you stop breathing. His eyes were locked up in yours and the tension was making you shiver. He slowly lifted his hand, hesitantly touching your collarbone, so carefully like he wasn’t even there. You closed yours eyes, breathing out. He was so close. If you extended your hand, you would be touching his very naked torso. 

“You know… Ominis has been asking about you. He’s worried. Imagine if he would saw like that, all hurt.” Sebastian said making you smirk. 

“Then in this case I have to be thankful that’s it’s you seeing me right now, not him.” 

He also smirked with your clever answer, distancing himself from you once again. Sebastian knew that was why you worked so well together. He took care of you, acknowledging your power. Not treating you like you were made of glass. And in return, you backed up his crazy ideas, not being afraid of doing the wrong thing. 

“Do you find him pretty?” He asked mentally cursing his tongue for letting that insecure possessive thought slip out. 

“Who, Ominis?” You asked confused for the sudden change of subject. “I guess he’s ok.”

“Not much your type?” Sebastian chuckled and you copied him. 

“Something like that.” You answered. “Though Garreth it’s pretty cute…”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Sebastian said almost nauseated with jealousy. “That moron.”  

“And what’s your type, Sallow? I would bet galleons that it’s Imelda.” 

“Though you knew me better than that, brat.” He said enjoying the surprise in your face because of the insult. “I despise her, really.” 

“I’m glad that we have that in common.” You said making him laugh. “Have you…” You started hesitant making him frown. “Have you ever had someone?”

Sebastian was astounded by your question. The drip of innocent, the curiosity in your voice… it was rare hearing you sound so unsure like that. He had to breathe to calm his nerves down and remember that you were best friends. It was only normal you wanting to know things like that about him.

"Before Anne was sick…" He started seeing you moving to lean back against the side of the ‘pool’. “When I had time to think about these stuff… I started to hang out with this Ravenclaw girl. I was enjoying the company but definitely not the love of my life. It happened once.” Sebastian chose his word carefully not wanting you to interpret badly. “Well, not once. But just this one girl.”

“I see.” You answered simply, appearing lost in your thoughts. 

“I imagine I know your answer if I ask you the same question?” Seb tested the waters, slowly approaching you once more, seeing you roll your eyes. 

“I’m focused on my tasks Sebastian. Don’t need any distractions…”  Sebastian chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. His suspcious being confirmed.… nobody had touched you the way he wanted most. 

“Distractions, huh? Is that what you call it?” He teased, inching closer. The bubbles between you started to dissipate, leaving little to the imagination.

“There isn’t very much of a time to loose your virginity in the middle of a wizard war, is there?” 

“There is now.” Sebastian said making you snap your eyes back at him in shock. 

Hell, he knew you knew. He knew everyone knew. It was incredibly obvious how he felt about you. Sebastian was so lost after Anne’s curse, feeling alone… and in a glimpse of a second, there you were. The mysterious gorgeous new fifth year, with a remarkable power, trusting him. Helping him in no matter what. Fighting along him. 

How he could not develop feelings for you? 

“Seb, I-…” You started flabbergasted not expecting to hear him being so straight foward. His hazel eyes you adored were almost desesperate. But he wasn’t backing down. “Are you serious?” 

“Deadly. ” Sebastian said without hesitation and it was like the wind knocked you out for a second. Seeing your reaction, he chuckled looking away suddenly a little shy. His hand passed through his hair, wetting his chocolate curls and you could pratically see his internal battle in his expression. 

“You know we make a hell of a good team, love. I’ve always admire your strength, seeing you battle is a sight. But these moments…” Sebastian pointed to the two of you. “The vulnerable ones… I just… I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you.” 

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The determination in his eyes was unmistakable, and it tugged at something deep within you. The room seemed to grow smaller, the air thicker, as the weight of his words hung between you.

"Sebastian," You whispered, your voice barely audible. "I... It’s true that we make a good team."

You ended up admitting like you were taking off a giant height from your chest and saw the lips of the boy infront of you slowly turning into a smirk with the confession. It was the green flag that he was waiting for. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked taking one more step forward in a way that your bodies were practically touching now. You knew that he could have a perfect vision of your bare breasts now that the bubbles dissipated, but you couldn’t care less. 

“More than anyone, Seb.” The amount of truth in those words scared you. His face was close enough that you could almost count every single freckle in his face. 

Sebastian finally closed up the distance, putting his hands in each side of your face. He shivered with the feeling of his chest pressing up yours breasts. And ending up that agony, he finally kissed you. 

It was slow, intense and desperate. A fire that had been simmering for too long finally bursting into flame. You could feel his arousal, hard and ready, poking in your tight and excitement made your stomach flip. One of Sebastian’s hands gripped the side of your waist that wasn’t hurt, while the other one  careered you gently in the back, avoiding the bruises, his touch sending waves of warmth through you.

His kisses started to go down to your neck, kissing softly your bruised collarbone. Just like he was fulfilling his wish to take care of you. 

"You've not idea for how long i wanted to do that." He whispered making you shiver. Because as much as you have tried to figh it, you felt exactly the same way. When the realization hit you, you hold his face bringing him back for a desesperate kiss.

His fingers found the way up to your breasts, cupping them gently, his thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened beneath his touch. You gasped into his mouth, your body arching into his. He pulled away just enough to stair into your eyes, before moving his face straight to your left boob. His tongue swirling around your nipple before taking it fully into his mouth. You moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to you.

Sebastian’s hand slid down your stomach, his fingers lingering between your legs. He found your clit, his thumb circling it gently, making you gasp and squirm. 

“Sebastian…” You started having trouble to breathe, feeling a whole new sensation that you had experience only with yourself before. 

“Shh.. I’ve got you.” He whispered in your ear, leaving slow kisses there. “I’ve got you”

He slipped a finger inside you, then another, his thumb continuing its torturous circles. He continued to touch you bringing you closer to the edge. Just as you were about to explode, he stopped making you groan in protest.

“Impatient, are we?” Sebastian teased, chuckling at your reaction. He grabbed your tights wrapping them around his waist, placing his hands in your butt. “We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know.” You nodded staring at his preoccupied eyes. “I want you. Please”

This time it was him that moaned impatient, the effect you had on him. 

“This might hurt a little, okay? Specially cause we are underwater.” He explained soflty as he positioned himself at your entrance. He looked into your eyes, seeking permission, and you nodded. He began to enter you slowly, his eyes watching your every reaction. You gasped as you felt a sharp pain, your body tensing making him stop immediately. "Breathe with me," he murmured, his voice calming.

You followed his lead, your breath syncing with his as he continued to fill you up. The pain began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

"You feel amazing," He murmured, his voice strained with effort. "So tight for me.” 

“Don’t stop.” You whispered with your eyes closed enjoying the new sensations and sensed his little smirk, followed by a kiss.

“I won’t.” Sebastian promised. 

And he didn't. He moved slowly, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was driving you both mad. The sound of your combined moans and gasps filling the air. But it was when he started to move faster, that you felt it for the first time…. electric sparks building up the tension. Your magic. Based on his reaction, surprised and pleased, you could see that he sensed too. 

Sebastian never thought he would feel something like that. It was like the pleasure of the act was doubled by an electric wave that was passing through the both of you. He could practically taste his magic mixing up with yours, and in that moment, he knew he was going to be addicted. Sebastian never felt so powerfuld, so strong. 

"Seb." You cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "I'm close."

"Me too," He nodded, his hips moving faster. "Together," He murmured. "We'll go together."

His hand slipped between you, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, the dual sensation sending you spiraling towards the edge. And with one final thrust, you both shattered, your cries of pleasure echoing around the room. The world went white, your body convulsing. Sebastian held you tight, his body trembling due his own.

“Are you okay?” He whispered after a few seconds, getting out of you. 

You started to laugh, silly, still high in the post orgasm sensation, soon being followed by Sebastian. 

“I’m guessing this is a yes.” He said giving you one last chaste kiss, before getting out of the pool. 

“We will need to stop practicing spells and start focusing on the practice of this particular skill set.” You said lazily making him laugh. He wrapped one towel around his waist and got you one as well, retourning to the edge of the pool. 

“Oh don’t worry darling, i’m planning to enjoy as many opportunities we have.” He said smirking seeing you slowly starting to move. “We might need a stress relief after our adventures.”

You chuckled shaking your head in denial. You surely didn’t think your night would end like this when you’re fighting spiders in the forbidden forest. 

"Come on, let's get you dried off and back to your room. You need to rest." You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. As you stepped out of the bathtub, the cool air hit your skin, making you shiver. And sure it was still new the sensation of being completely exposed infront of your best friend. 

“Oh (Y/N)…” He said frowing his eyebrows with a pained voice making you look up confused. From that angle, Sebastian could see throught the mirror next to the towel rack and saw, once again, your whole back purple from bruises. 

“You know, i don’t break easily Seb.” You said looking at your reflection. 

“I’m painfully aware.” He said wrapping the towel around you, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "Better?" 

“A lot.” You replied with a little smile. He hugged you from behind, making you both face the mirror and your own reflection. 

“That was incredible.” He said leaning his head in your shoulder that wasn’t hurt. 

“It really was.” You agreed breathing out. Sebastian always seemed to understand you better than anyone. It was always been so obvious that your relationship would reach this point, but now that the moment was there, literally infront of you, it was hard to believe. 

“Are you sore?” 

“Yes.” You answered. “But not from the bruises.” 

“My fault.” He said with a smirk, understading what you were reffering to. “(Y/N)… have you felt that?” 

You sighed, your lips turning in a fine line. Of course you knew what he was talking about. The strange enhancer you felt during sex: your magic. You slowly turned to face him looking straight into his eyes.

“I did.” You started. “I don’t know what it was, there’s so much i need to understand about this yet.” 

“It’s okay.” He reassured you with a small smile, passing his hands up and down your arms. “We will figure this out together, love.” 

You nodded entering the hug he was offering you with his arms wide open for you to nest there. Sebastian kissed your forehead protectively still looking at your reflection in the mirror. 

His whole body frozed when he saw a quick flash of a blue light spark from his eyes. 

Not even trying dark magics gave him half of the power he felt inside of you. It fucking terrified him what he could do with that information. 

[deepspacedandelion]

Kissy Face, Kissy Face (NSFW, 18+)

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Summary: You beg Caleb to let you test a few lipstick colors on him, trying to see if they’re transfer proof, his jealousy makes an appearance, but he knows exactly how to fix it (freaky ass🤣).

Warnings: Smut (25% other, 75% smut be aware), P in V sex, cumming (male) inside (female) (wrap it before you tap it yall), fingering (fem receiving), mentions of female genitalia, mentions of male genitalia, mentions of panty sniffing, mentions of masturbation, one mention of pubic hair, cursing, a little dumbification (if you squint real hard), Lots of dirty Talk (Caleb a freak), slight yandere Caleb (if you squint real hard), mentions of jealousy, possessiveness, and indirectly mentioned manipulation.

Word Count: 4.3k (A little long? Maybe not.)

*picture from Pinterest (though I did add the kiss marks myself!), full credit to the lovely creators!❤️*

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — It’s not Caleb’s fault that he could never say no to you.

Really.

He just can’t fathom the thought of those two letters leaving his mouth and seeing the heartbreak painted on your face at the mere sound. He knows that half the things he allows you to do will always leave him with the bad end of the stick, but he doesn’t mind that.

He never does.

It’s all worth it in the end because he gets to spend time with you and hear your angelic voice as you blabber about whatever. He gets to inhale every sweet scent that flows from your frame, always seeming to float their way into his vicinity and permeate his nostrils; body wash, lotions, perfumes, shampoos, you name it, he loves it, craves it even. Every scent has him paralyzed momentarily, ignoring the rest of the world and honing in on you.

But what truly makes it all worth it is the smile on your face and knowing that smile is all his doing, no one else's. It’s one of the best feelings in the world to him. He's a fiend for seeing your teeth gleam from a smile laced with joy, so when you came to him, big puppy eyes pleading with him to help you with this trivial matter, how could he ever say no?

“Please, Caleb! Please!! It would only take a few minutes!”

His teasing nature was so irresistible, he was so tempted to say ‘no,’ just to rile you up, not because he’d ever truly mean it, just because he wanted to see your pretty pink lips pout at the utterance of his refusal.

“Why should I? I don’t think I want to sit here and be covered in your lipstick smudges, Pipsqueak. You know how long that’ll take to scrub off? Absolutely not!” He scoffs, faux annoyance playing at his words.

There it was, a 'no,' Indirect, but present nevertheless. He’d give in soon, though, the pressure simmering beneath his skin. You knew it and he knew it, all he needed was a little… push, something that would strike a nerve, and you knew exactly how to do that.

Your hand extended to the left end of the couch where, right next to it, lay your makeup bag. Reaching inside, you pulled out one of the many red lipsticks huddled in the pouch, speaking softly as you popped the cap and coated the silky red paint on your lips.

“C’mon, Caleb. I want to see which of these lipstick’s is transfer proof. I don’t want to go from Marilyn Monroe to Ronald McDonald after kissing a guy just cuz I chose the wrong one. So, be a doll and help a girl out, will you?~”

Oh, you’ve done it now. You can see the grimace that spreads across his face, the clench that positions itself in his jaw, and if you squint your eyes hard enough, you can even see the slight twitch in his nimble fingers.

Unmistakingly, Caleb loved to tease you, a little too much, but boy, the man cannot take what he dishes out. You were well aware that the fastest way to get to him, the path to the fulfillment of all your desires, was to travel through his jealous nature. He’d tried working on it, he really did, but it was futile. He couldn't bear the thought of you with another man, let alone kissing him! If another guy so much as breathed in your direction, he’d get overly jealous; why is he trying to get you to notice him? Why is your attention needed elsewhere? Is he not enough for you? Isn't your gaze only for him? His brows furrowed as his mind ran rampant imagining the sight of someone's disgusting lips kissing what is his. The thought clear torture to him.

No!

He won’t stand for it.

Your lips are only for him. No one else. His fingers curl into a fist as he caves, the thoughts brought on by the delayed approval a result of his own mistake.

“5 minutes.” His eyes burned into you, he wasn’t mad, no, never that. Just jealous beyond compare.

The smile that spread across your red lips practically split your face in half.

Bingo.

You jumped into his arms, kissing his cheek as you did so.

“Okay, so, not this one! I didn’t like it anyway, too much of an orange undertone.” You remark, noticing the reddish kiss mark on the side of his face.

���Sit,” you demand, wiping the color on your lips off with the back of your hand and fetching another out of your bag. He complies, wordlessly, eyes peering into your soul.

“That one was… Flirt Alert, nice, nice. Next one is… Cherry Pie.” You straddle his lap and coat the new lipstick on, softly planting another kiss on his cheek after your done. The jealous tension falls from his face, welcoming your lips with a newfound lax expression.

“Not this one.” You say again, tossing it back into the makeup bag.

“How about… Vampira?" Absentmindedly, you pull the collar of his shirt to use as a rag to wipe off the Cherry Pie that's on your lips, an odd habit for you, but he doesn't object, opting to stay quiet as he studies every ethereal feature on your face, especially as you coat the Vampira on and lean to the side to kiss his jawbone. "Ooh, bold, I like it! But, unfortunately, she's another dud.” Much like the previous two, this one transfers as well. Caleb tries, but his mind can't seem to focus enough to be a good little guinea pig for your experiment right now, too hazy after inhaling the sweet smell of your perfume. To out of it after feeling the soft sensation of your kiss, large hands resting snugly on the small of your back as you shift through the makeup bag once more.

“Wine stain?” You ask, holding it up for Caleb to see. He hums, hearing your words, yet unable to decode their meaning. His eyes softer now, staring at you with an unknown twinkle glimmering in his irises. The twinkle thats doing it's best to conceal the tent pitching in his jeans, his tip chafing against the soft fabric of his briefs, creating tiny shocks of pleasure that make him grow.

That’s right. Caleb is loving this. Why wouldn’t he? You’re right above him, so darling and beautiful, kissing his cheeks, his jaw bone and littering kisses along his neck. He’s trying his best to hide it, carefully adjusting the uncomfortableness in his pants every time you look away to grab another lipstick, but it’s getting too much to handle. He’s so close, yet so far, from feeling oh so good.

“Too purple under-toned.” You say, wiping off the Wine Stain on Caleb’s shirt. “Hey,” You call, noticing that you’re beginning to run out of space to litter more kisses. “Take off your shirt, I need more space. We still have a lot more to go.” Your fist thumps playfully against his chest, a silent urge for him to follow your command.

A devious smile overtakes his features. “Just kiss me on my lips then.” He uses the index finger of his free hand to tap twice on his bottom lip, his tantalizing stare enticing you and sending a tingle right down to your core.

“N-no,” You can’t help that your confident demeanor falters, he’s just so… bold and so… handsome. You’d never admit it out loud, but you never noticed it much until now, his large frame under you and his face so close to yours. “That’d make it too weird…”

“Oh and me stripping down and you kissing me so softly doesn’t?” He doesn’t mean to inch his face closer to yours or to inch closer to making his feelings known, he just can’t hold back anymore. He’s waited so long for you… to be this close to you. Waited so long for your kisses, and your touch. It’s making him… feel something.

You don’t answer, instead, you use your finger to trace over the toned muscles of his torso. He’s so… sexy. You can’t even meet his eyes again as you paint on the fourth lipstick; Seductive Scarlett.

It’s a pretty, ruby red. Not quite the look you’re going for, but when you kiss him again, it’s pretty flush against his skin. You can’t help but plant a few more kisses down his body, you just want to feel it a little more, to get the tiniest hint of what he tastes like.

He’s relishing in the tenderness of your kisses, smile and boner growing. Using his free hand, he reaches over into your makeup bag and pulls out a tube.

Bringing your face level to his, he cups your cheek, tauntingly waving a lipstick in front of you. "How 'bout… Candy Apple?"

Goodness, he’s so sexy. You can feel a warm sensation pooling between your legs, the soft friction of your panties teasing you as they rub against your sensitive clit.

“O-okay… yeah, let’s try that.” Is all you can muster up as the pad of his thumb swipes across your lips, removing the previous lipstick. He paints the new color on you so gently, holding your face as he does so. Oh, how he wants to ravish you in this moment. You look so pretty, all dolled up, just for him.

“Kiss me on my lips this time,” He whispers, his breath hot against the skin of your neck.

You want to hesitate, to think to yourself ‘No! This is Caleb, my best friend since childhood!' but that doesn’t come. All that sits in your brain is the sight of his pleased face as your lips crash against his.

The taste of his lips is sweet, like apple flavored chapstick. They’re so soft and malleable as you bite down lightly on his bottom lip, eliciting a low groan from him.

His hand pushes your body towards his, and you moan into his mouth as the tent in his pants grinds against your covered clit.

Oh, how he loves this, his hips bucking up in between your legs as he moans in your mouth.

You thought about kissing someone else tonight? No, no, no, dear. You’re his to kiss. Only his.

He holds your body tight against him as he flips you over, your back hitting the couch and him hovering above you, ravaging you with his kisses.

This is what you wanted right? To make him jealous? Well they’ll be no more of that. He’s determined to show you why he’ll never get jealous again. He promises this time. Because, why would he ever be jealous again when he’s going to make you his? Right here, right now. No more following you around like a little puppy, waiting for you to see that he’s the right one—no, the only one— for you. No more giving random men the scare of their life if he so much as catches them with you—no wonder none of your dates ever texted you back. It was all his fault—. But you don’t need to know that, a secret just for him.

His kisses trail down your neck and collarbones, imitating the way you did him earlier, leaving the pretty red lipstick that you so generously left on his lips decoratively over your skin. His soft fingers hook into the thin straps of your dress and glides them down your shoulders, bunching the floral fabric of the ensemble at your waist. His bulge is in between your legs, grinding oh so deliciously right where you need him most. Straightening his back, he takes in the beautiful sight of your desperate form. Don’t worry, he’ll give you just what you need.

“You know,” He begins, swiping his thumb across his lips to remove the remaining lipstick. “Candy Apple is so perfect on you, baby. I think that’s your color, yeah?” His vocal tone is so taunting, knowing exactly how wet its making you.

Half of you is screaming, 'What a slut!' As the wetness between your legs drenches the midsection of your panties, but the other half of you is so desperate to feel him inside you. This is what you wanted. Your plan, albeit a bit unpredictable, worked. You’d riled Caleb up enough, feigned innocence at the mention of kissing another man, knowing that would be just what tipped him over the edge. There would never be another man. How could it when someone as perfect as Caleb was relentless about you? Pining after you day and night? But you couldn’t dare to give in too easy, you couldn’t let him know just how much everything he did affected you. Because then, then he’d have won. No can do, you needed to be the winner of this game. You needed to get him to break first. And who knew, with a plan so simple, you'd do just that.

“Caleb,” You call, urging him on as you place your hands on his toned biceps.

“I know, baby, I know,” He coos, unzipping his jeans and taking out his erect cock.

Oh my, it was so fucking pretty. Just the perfect length and a perfect width, accompanied by a small patch of short, wispy, black hairs resting at the base, scrunched under his tensed hand that smeared milky pre cum from his muted soft pink tip all the way down his veiny cock, only making your pussy wetter.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, hm? You want that, don’t you, Pipsqueak? That’s why you’re soaking wet for me, yeah? I can tell.” His head cocked to the side as he poked the tip of his length right at your clothed entrance, rubbing it so slowly up and down your sopping cunt. Oh, he was such an asshole.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment. Yes, fuck, yes, OF COURSE, all you wanted was his pretty cock to fuck your brains in, since you must’ve been out of your damn mind mentioning another man around him. But dammit, you didn’t want to give in, give him the upper hand at teasing you. But that’s too bad, cuz that’s exactly what he wanted. He would stop being jealous, he promises, only, ONLY, if he could make you his. And what better way to do that than to fuck your pretty pussy full of his cum. Surely that’d be good enough right? Good enough to remind you who you belong to? Who you’ll always belong to?

You tried to turn you face, avoid his eyes, but he roughly cupped your cheeks before you could, ensuring your eyes met his, filled with malicious intent.

“Go ahead, ask me so sweetly, baby. Ask me to fuck your pretty pussy so good, and I just might, yeah? I just might let you cum all over my cock. Make it yours, hm?”

Shit.

How could you resist? A pulse of ecstasy washed over your clit, causing you to gush out another wave of wetness. You needed him. You needed him inside of you now.

“Please, Caleb, please fuck me. Please fuck my pussy so good.”

That was all the confirmation he needed; you wanted this just as much as he did. A proud grin flashed across his face as he slowly peeled off your panties.

Fuck him and his stupid snail speed.

But don't blame him, he needed to savour this moment. If it was gone too soon, where's the fun in that? No, no, no, he can't have that.

His fingertips dance across your stomach, tracing intricate patterns as they made their way down, halting at the top of your thigh. He watches you, like a lion watches a gazelle, making sure your eyes are fixed on him as he brings his middle and ring finger up to his mouth. His fingers push past his lips, slathering them with a large glob of saliva. Slowly, he slips them out and lowers them down to your clit, careful not to waste a drop. Your breath hitches as he plunges his saliva coated digits in your slick, rubbing it up and down your pussy, mixing it so lewdly, getting it so messy for him.

"You're so pretty, you know that? Your pussy's so pretty." Oh damn, his voice was so low and sensual, reverberating straight down in your core.

You nodded your head, reeling from desire and embarrassment. You tried to trail your hand down to direct his hand, to silently urge him to touch you more, make you cum so hard, but he stopped you, interlocking your fingers with his.

"Tsk. No, no, baby. I’ll make you cum soon. Right when I want you too.”

Feather light circles were traced on your clit, over and over, making your head spin. It was so subtle, not enough to make you cum, but just enough to get you wetter for him. He enjoyed this, seeing your body unravel before him.

It’s only right.

Your body is his and his only.

Carefully, his middle finger slides down from your clit and penetrates your entrance, enticing a loud moan of yours to fill the room.

His fingers feel so foreign, yet so familiar.

Did you fantasize about him when you masturbated, dreaming that his hand could replace your own and get you off at lightening speed? Of course, but you never thought that those fantasies could come to life.

Warmness trickles down your spine and engulfs your wet cunt as he adds another finger, your pussy squelching loudly at the intrusion.

“Hear that, baby? She wants me. That why she’s so fuckin’ wet for me. She wants me to fuck her like she deserves. She's such a pretty pussy.” The lewd way he personifies your pussy turns you on even more, practically making you cum on the spot. But you maintain your composure, you have to, you have a reward to claim; Caleb told you that you could cum all around his cock, ‘make it yours’ he said. And that’s exactly what you plan to do.

He curls his fingers inside of you, fingertips grazing the soft sponginess of your insides, lightly presses against your G-Spot, causing your body to tremble. All the while, he never takes his persistent eyes off of you, maintaining deeply intimate eye contact as he watches your face contort in pleasure.

“Fuck,” You breathe, eyes screwing shut at the waves of pleasure that roll over you. “When are you gonna fuck me, Caleb?” Your voice is delicate, laced with pure need. You don’t mean to be so direct, so adamant about what you want—no, what you need—, but it just feels too good. If this is the way he makes you feel from just his fingers, imagine how good his cock would make you feel. He can sense it. It’s so evident; how you want him to ravish you in a way only he can. He absolutely loves it. This is way better than jerking off with your panties, stroking his cock so achingly slow as he draws in a deep exhale, chasing your scent. It always made him cum so hard, the dulled scent of your pussy like a pheromone to him. But now, he doesn’t have to do that anymore. Now he has the real thing, the real scent, the real taste of your pussy as he slowly pulls out his fingers and sucks the wetness from them, eyes practically rolling back in his head at the taste, sending him into a frenzy.

Fuck. This was so much better, a thousand times better than sniffing your panties. This was you, the real you, and that’s exactly what he needed. He can never go without it again.

“You’re so impatient, baby.” He chuckles, sliding the head of his cock up and down your slick cunt. He leans in close, covering your face in butterfly kisses as he lines the tip up with your hole. If this is what you want, he’ll give it to you. He’ll be the only one to give it to you. “Don’t worry, baby,” He says, pushing it in so slow, stuffing you full of his fat cock, your mouth parting in ecstasy. “Fuck, I am too.” He tries to keep a gentle pace for you, he can’t fuck you too stupid yet. No, you’re not ready for that. But it’s so difficult to keep his promise to himself; the promise that WHEN—not ‘IF’, but 'WHEN'— he finally, finally got to fuck you, he’d take it so painstakingly slow. Draw it out so long, cherish every second. Spend hours and hours making you feel so good, make love to you. But damn, was that difficult. Right here, in this moment, on this couch, all he wanted to do was claim you as his.

He gives you the quickest second to adjust to his length, stopping momentarily after pushing in inch after inch until he bottoms out, hips reluctantly stuttering to a stop. He just has to catch his breath for a second, get used to your tight pussy sucking him in, clenching around him and begging to be fucked, any way he likes.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He groans, panting into the crook of your neck, littering kisses and red and purples flowers along the area. His hips rock steadily into your squelching pussy, and goodness, does he moan like a pornstar.

He doesn’t care who could hear him, all he cares is that you hear him., loud and clear. Hear how good you’re making him feel, how good he’s making you feel.

Your nails claw at his broad back, trying hard to restrain yourself from letting your orgasm take over. You just want to feel him for a bit, let him fuck your pussy real good, like she deserves.

Missionary is a favorite for him, seeing your pretty face as you try so hard to contain your pleasure, but it’s not his absolute favorite.

No, that comes when he places his large hands on the back of your thighs, pushing up until he’s sure your knees are touching your shoulders.

His teeth gleam under the dim lighting, he’s such a smug bastard about this.

“Just wanna get as deep as I can, baby. You want that right?” His veiny cocks pushes deeper into you, stretching you out oh so good. The feeling incomparable to your own feeble attempts at fingering yourself. His hips take on a faster pace, thrusting into you with impatient desire.

He tried the best he could, to at least try and slow down, but he just needed to cum as soon as possible, needed to make YOU cum as soon as possible.

He loved teasing you, but while doing so, he was indirectly teasing himself.

Your legs, knees still hunched up to your chest, were thrown over his shoulders, his body weight pinning you down, making sure your tight pussy can’t escape the brutal bullying of his needy cock. He couldn’t have that, no, not after you begged him so sweetly to fuck you so good.

His fingers interlocked with yours, pushing them above your head.

Even his lips were pinned on yours, nipping at the soft flesh and moaning into your mouth, raspy, desperate moans.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum. Feels too good baby. Your pussy's so fuckin' good baby.” His cock pulsed inside you, stroking your soft walls with the strained flesh, alerting you to his forthcoming release. You felt so full, so cockdrunk as he pounded into your cunt, claiming it as his once and for all.

“Tell me it’s mine and I’ll let you come,” He panted, over and over. His jealous nature slipping through the cracks, but you didn’t care. This is what you wanted. You wanted him to stop all the bullshitting. Stop all the restraining and fuck you dumb. Any girl in her right mind knew that lipstick was going to transfer. The only way to be sure to get a set lip color, one that wouldn't transfer, is by using a lip stain, that way, you can kiss, suck, and lick all you want and still have pretty red lips at the end of the night. Every girl knew. But not Caleb. No, he didn’t know that this was all part of your plan. All just a scheme to get him to lose control of his jealousy and fuck you like a man, and that he did.

“Yes! Yes! It’s yours, Caleb, this pussy is yours,” You moan, your orgasm bordering on the edge, and when you feel the thick spurts of Caleb’s cum painting your walls, your body trembles uncontrollably as a powerful orgasm rips through you. Your toes curl as you finally get to cum around your new possession. The arch in your back is almost painful the way he has you cumming so good. Deep, guttural groans from him sing in your ear as your tight pussy clenches and pulses around him, sucking him in deeper and claiming what’s yours.

Chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm, his hips rut into you, determined to pump you full of his cum, careful not to spill a drop.

“You know, baby,” Caleb begins, running a hand through his ruffled black hair that had fallen over his face in the heat of your passion. He pushes against the couch, drawing away from your body, yet he doesn't pull out. Why should he? When he's nestled deep in what's his, plugging it full of his creamy, possessive cum. Beads of sweat form on his forehead when he raises himself to hover above you. He reaches just above your head, picking up the lipstick tube that rolled over to the corner of the couch and twists it around in his fingers, examining the design. “I think we have a winner.”

Unbeknownst to him, they were all winners in your heart.

Stepping stones that brought you to this moment.

“Candy Apple it is,” You pant, breathlessly, as you prop yourself up on your elbows and take the tube from him.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Caleb's too freaky, I thought of at least 5 other freaky ideas to write about him just writing this. The freakiest of the 5, fr. Anyways, sorry if there's any spelling/grammar errors, I gave up trying to find em halfway through, but you get the gist.

Next up is either Zayne, Rafayel or and OT5 reaction/headcannon!❤️🫶🏽

Please feel free to send requests!💜🫶🏽

[docrobinavitch]

wip wednesday

hello there, figured i'd give you all a snippet no one asked for on the thing i'm working on. i think it'll be a bit until it's finished so!!

Once outside in the oppressive humidity, you shook his hands off you, “You know, I could have handled that myself.”

He nodded, smiling, “I have no doubts on that front.” He gestured down to your heel-less boot, “What happened to your boot, you get in a brawl with a condescending horse?”

You snorted, “A doctor and funny. Though, I guess unsurprising since you work in an ER. If anyone’s gonna be funny it’s emergency medicine doctors. How else do we cope with the horrors?” He frowned at you in silent question, “Oh. Sorry. I should have said, I was at the conference, I saw your talk. Though your name is slipping my mind at the moment.”

He raised his eyebrows and you saw the way his eyes traveled down your legs and back up again, “You were… Here for the conference?”

“What, so, because I wore cowboy boots and booty shorts to the airport you think they’re gonna take my medical license away?”

He laughed, “You’re right, I apologize. Of course you can still practice medicine in booty shorts.” He held out a hand for you to shake, “I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You could also just call me Robby, if you want, that’s what I go by in the ER.”

You shook his hand and gave him your name, “I’m an R3, I work at UPMC Presbyterian.”

“Huh, what are the odds?” He ran a hand through his hair, “So you knew who I was and still refuse to get in a car with me?”

You started rolling your suitcase towards the Dunkin’ across the street, hobbling as you went, “Just because you’re a good doctor doesn’t mean you’re not also a deviant. People are layered and nuanced. And sick.”

His mouth was twitching towards a smirk again as he followed after you. Something about you was very intriguing to him. “Nuanced like how you’re an R3 wearing booty shorts and cowboy boots to the airport?”

“Yes, exactly.” You looked both ways at the crosswalk in front of the Dunkin’ before stepping into traffic, “Besides, I need an iced coffee if I’m about to endure fifteen plus hours in a car with a stranger.”

Robby continues to watch you from behind, eternally amused by your uneven gate, “Don’t you have other shoes?”

“Yes, well, I’ve hardly had the time to dig into my suitcase to find them now, have I?” You turned and walked backwards so you could look at him, “Do you criticize all your residents like this?”

He frowned, “That wasn’t a critique, you just look uncomfortable. Do you get this defensive with your attendings?”

You turned away from him and he watched your shoulders heave with a sigh, “No. Believe it or not, I’m not normally like this. Must be something about you that gets under my skin.”

“Well,” He smirked and held the Dunkin’ door open for you, “You have about fifteen hours to figure out what it is.”

***

“When was the last time you drove stick?” Robby was holding the keys up just out of your reach. You knew he was trying to see if you would jump for them, but you would not be humiliated. You crossed your arms and glared at him instead.

In the last half hour you had changed your shoes and drank half your iced coffee while Robby filled out the rest of the paperwork for the car.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, more than ten years ago?”

He scoffed, “Okay, you’re definitely not driving then.”

“What, like you drive a stick super often?”

“Yes, actually, the car I own at home is a manual.”

You laughed, “Oh, okay. You’re one of those guys?”

He blinked at you, still smirking, “What does that mean? One of those guys?”

You walked around to the passenger side door, opening it, and standing on the step so you could look over the roof at him, “You know, one of those guys who only drives a manual and thinks they’re better than you for it. And like, probably owns a fucking motorcycle or something that he works on in his garage with his own two hands and talks about like it’s his child.”

You watched with glee as his face reddened, “Oh my God, you do have a motorcycle, don’t you? And a leather jacket?”

“Get in the car,” He said, still blushing as he opened the driver’s side door.

Very pleased with yourself, you ducked into the car.