#he is used to react fast so he speaks out first what comes to his mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vasito-de-leche · 1 month ago

Note

I love, LOVE your characterization of the Saja Boys, and while I know you’ve only written complete dating hcs for Baby and Abs, I was hoping if it was okay if I could request something with the Saja Boys (separately) where it follows the prompt “you're about to argue but you're so pretty that his brain short circuits”? If you don’t want to write for all of them, then maybe you could do Baby and Abs (separately)?

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS SAJA BOYS - "Too Pretty"

Saja Boys (separate) x Reader 2.5k words silly, fluff Being a demon's soft spot has its benefits. Who would've thought?

i'm so glad you like the way I write them!! this prompt sounded so fun, I just had to try my hand at it, thank you!

this also served as a way for me to slowly figure out how I'd like to characterize the other members o7 I tried to keep the relationship vague enough to be read as whatever people want, so hope that comes across well enough. also also, dont let these dramatic edgy idols fool you, all drabbles end up being silly and cute

JINU

"Are you even listening, Jinu?"

He is, of course. But he'd rather not, especially when you're getting worked up over nothing; so much for escaping an endless cycle of torture in the underworld, he now has to deal with a brand new mess, pacing behind him like a madman. By now, you've probably noticed the monotonous and non-committal answers he's been giving on loop.

"Uh-huh," Jinu's eyes never stray from the notebook in front of him, attempting to come up with a better verse for an upcoming song. And he knows he's fucked up when he hears you groan, stomping towards him.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I stopped listening abooout ... five or ten minutes ago, who's counting, but--"

Your hand comes into view, fast as lighting, and he can only look as you snatch the notebook away from him. Great, awesome.

There goes the perfect verse in his head. He remains frozen for a moment, the hand holding a pen still hovering over the now empty spot on his desk until your voice reaches him once more.

"If you're not going to listen, at least tell me so I don't waste my time talking to you."

Jinu slouches in his seat, raising both hands to cover his face, before sliding them upwards to slick back his hair in a feeble attempt at regaining his composure. You can't even see him from this angle, his back turned to you, but he still rolls his eyes.

You want to argue? Get it out of your system? Fine, he can give you the fight you want.

In one swift motion, his position changes; now he's straddling the chair, a powerplay he's come to master after bickering with his own band for so long, eyes closed as he prepares to deliver a devastating comeback to rile you up. But when he looks up, the golden glow in his eyes wavers--you're standing so close in front of him, looking down at his seated form with your arms crossed, as if daring him to speak.

He doesn't, and you tilt forwards, hair cascading over him so that the only thing he can focus is your face in this one-sided glaring contest.

Jinu has seen you at your best and your worst, but this is the first time he's found himself at the other end of your undivided attention and anger. It is as intimidating as it is alluring. What are you doing to him? Is this allowed? His neck feels hot, his face feels hot. The room feels like it's on fire, but not the same type of hellfire he's grown used to; it's a different sort of warmth, equal parts shame and pleasure as he takes in the sight. His lips part without him noticing, whispering ever so gently.

"Pretty ..."

"What was that?" Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Shitty. I said you look. Shitty. As in, you look like shit. Being angry isn't doing you any favors, you know? You should get some rest, okay. Byeee."

Without giving you any time to react, Jinu fumbles over his words, trips over your furniture and he stumbles out of your apartment in a rush, almost breaking into a sprint for the elevator. It's only when the doors close that he allows himself to breathe in and out, finally noticing the extra passenger inside with him. His bird companion chirps smugly, and Jinu groans into his palms.

"I don't want to talk about it."

ROMANCE

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Romance scoffs at your words, still refusing to leave his room. All the heart shaped decorations seem to mock him as he leans his full weight against the door, easily preventing you from entering no matter how hard you try to rattle the doorknob.

Both of you find yourself at the edge of an argument, and the decision to escalate things lies solely on his hands. He knows this because he can practically hear the affection in your words, even as you whine and tell him to get over himself to talk to you, face to face. That alone is enough to make Romance's chest tighten--no matter how many times he does this, this game of push and pull, you still make sure to chase after him time and time again.

Surely you must be reaching your breaking point; nobody is strong enough to withstand this much heartbreak. Maybe if he tries a little harder, you'll realize that there's nothing good in a future with him.

All he has to do is stay silent and wait for you to leave.

"Then what did you mean?" His voice is whiny, it always is. But you always insist that you love that about him, the way he feels so deeply about everything.

"You really want to argue about something like this?" You're right, you usually are--he's making things difficult when he's not even officially yours. "Well, I don't. So you can call me once you've cooled off."

And just like that, it's quiet; there's no more pressure pushing against him from the other side of the door, no more cutesy nicknames and attempts at coercing him out. Romance's heart drops, and he practically claws his way out, torn between cursing you out for proving him right and leaving, or begging you to take him back and sort everything out as if he hadn't been the one to start this. He's taken only a single step out of the threshold of his sanctuary when your smile greets him--you're leaning casually against the door frame, pretending to inspect your nails.

"So, are you done brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

That playful grin renders Romance speechless; the contrast of your casual attitude against his frenzied panic is impossible to ignore, he's gone through all five stages of grief in under a minute while your trust in him never wavered. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder because there's a glint in your eyes that tugs at his heartstrings, wild strands of hair that he'd love to twirl in his fingers and kiss ever so gently. Romance knows that you'll let him if he asks for permission, and a knot forms in his throat, face flushed bright pink.

"No." It's all he manages to squeak out before closing the door once more.

"Rommie! Are you mad at me or not?!"

"I don't??? Know??? I need a moment! Just stay there!"

ABBY

"That's the last time I take you anywhere. You can't just pick a fight like that, Abby!" Abby sinks even deeper into the plush cushions of the couch as you continue to scold him, as if his sulking and his silence could single-handedly help him win this argument.

He's already found himself a comfortable spot, but you're still fussing about the living room, throwing your shoes to the side, sending your jacket flying onto the backrest of the sofa, pausing to drink and slamming the glass on the counter a little harder than necessary. Abby knows better than to try and stop you, so he stays put, waiting for his opening.

"What if anyone saw? Did you even think about that? The amount of trouble you'd be in?"

Those are all very good questions that he never bothered to consider; in fact, he still refuses to think about the consequences. There's no point in doing so when you managed to pull him away before he could do any damage to anyone, or to his own reputation as an idol.

"Like they'd even care," Abby huffs, trying to blow a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Just catching a glimpse of us outside is enough to make everyone turn a blind eye, it's almost too easy to work the crowd. One flex of these guns and any broken noses will be totally forgotten."

He makes an attempt to flex said guns, but he finds you looming over him from behind the couch, your grasp on his wrists as steady as death. There is a wild look in your expression, one he can't quite understand, but he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from you. Getting to play the part of guard dog for you comes as easy as breathing, Abby can't get enough of the little tells that give you away, letting him know that you enjoy his antics--but it never crossed his mind that the tables could be reversed like this.

"Fine, let me put it this way! What if you got in trouble or worse, what if you got hurt? Ever thought of that one? Just because you're an all mighty demon doesn't mean you're--"

"You're hot when you're mad." He blurts out.

"I--What?"

A chance to rectify his mistake is presented to him, and he immediately pivots away from it when you blink your pretty eyes at him in confusion. "I said that you're hot when you're--"

"I heard you the first time, Abby. It's just--were you listening to what I was saying?" Okay, this is his chance to steer the conversation back on track. It's very easy, he just has to--

"If I say no, will you scold me some more?"

"Oh my God. Abby. Nevermind."

MYSTERY

Arguing with you is a rare occurrence.

But so is speaking to you, or engaging in any sort of conversation at all with anyone. This is one of the many perks that came with his role as the cool, mysterious and aloof member of the Saja Boys; anything he didn't feel like addressing could be easily swept under the rug and left ignored for centuries. This had been Mystery's modus operandi for years, and he wasn't planning on changing it any time soon.

You, on the other hand, were the opposite, filling the silence he often sought so desperately, until your voice became background noise in his life, a constant, confusing and somewhat comforting presence that simply followed him around.

Mystery still remembers the first time he deigned himself to reply, something off-handed that didn't matter at all, and yet you clung to his every word and went the extra mile to include him in your one-sided talks. It took a long time for the demon to get used to this, and an even longer time to acknowledge the fact that he enjoys the sound of your laughter, way better than the miserable voices crawling in the back of his mind.

Which is why the claustrophobic and oppressive silence lingering in the room irks him to no end. You're supposed to be talking, not playing hard to get or ignoring him over a stupid argument; the way you brush past him, barely acknowledging his existence as you go about your day is getting under his skin in ways he never knew were possible.

And then, for a fleeting second, you meet his gaze--this moment lasts for an eternity in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, to seize the opportunity and break the ice, but before he can get a single word out, you turn around and begin to scroll through your phone. That's the last straw.

Mystery stands up and forces himself into your peripheral, hands firmly planted on the wall, trapping you in.

For the first time in forever, he wants to scream, to bark, to growl and give you a piece of his mind. But when he sees the way you awkwardly avoid his gaze, fiddling with your hands and standing at your tiptoes, Mystery relents and his frustration is replaced with something else; endearment. You're still wearing his merch, one of the very first shirts the Saja Boys released long ago with his name written on it, you're still attempting to hide from him despite knowing there's nowhere in the world you could go without him finding you.

Slowly, Mystery raises a hand towards you, enjoying your half-hearted attempt at shaking him off, pretending to bite the air near him.

And then he pinches your nose. "Cute."

After that, he leaves. You'll come around when you feel like it.

BABY

"You went too far this time, there was no need to get so personal back there."

"That's the entire point of dissing someone, duh. So, was it good? Did you like it?" Baby kicks his feet, hands cupping his cheeks to make himself look as innocent as possible. "I didn't know I could rhyme that many words with 'cunt' but it was soooo fun! Right, right?"

"Baby!"

Tsk. Guess it's the hard way today. That cute expression quickly turns into a scowl and he makes a bee-line for the fridge, if only to find something to drink and distract himself with.

He blows bubbles into the silly straw, sulking in the kitchen. "What? They got what they deserved. What kind of idiot would challenge me to a rap battle if they can't take the heat? Hellooooo, it's Baby Saja we're talking about."

"But it was a friendly thing, you turned it into a massacre for no reason."

"Heh," he knows he shouldn't, but he snickers to himself anyway. "Guess I did, huh? What, do you wanna have a go in their place?"

This is how Baby likes to play, to earn a reaction and entertain himself if only for a little--but you always know better than to play into his shenanigans. And you also know how to get a message through his thick skull, something that continues to astonish him to this day.

Baby continues to sip away on his drink as you busy yourself, fully believing himself to be the victor of this round. But dread starts to make its presence known deep in his chest as he sees you slowly gathering your things--this isn't how things usually go, you always stay the night at his place to keep him company, watching horrible romcoms, eating snacks and falling asleep at 5 a.m.

So why were you leaving?

"Hey, hey. Woaaah! Are you really going to ditch me because I got a little mean to some rando? That's so unfair." The look you give him is enough for his act to crumble, and Baby groans dramatically before hurrying to your side, tugging onto the hem of your sleeves. "Stay here! Pleeeeeeaase? I'll behave next time!"

It doesn't work; you pinch his cheeks and pull, stretching them like mochi. Your voice is stern, even after you let go. "You're old enough to know that what you have to say is 'sorry,' Baby. But if you want to beg for forgiveness, you'll have to try a little harder than that."

Shit. So much for being unfair, the tone of your voice and that look in your eye are more than enough to get all the thoughts in his mind twisted up--Baby hates when you don't indulge him, but even he has to admit that he loves that stubborn streak in you.

"What? Cat got your tongue? I know you well enough by now, there's no way you have nothing to say."

You never waver, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, running a hand through your hair. Baby's mouth turns into a fine line, followed by a pout. If he says anything right now, he'll most likely end up digging his own grave. You look SUPER hot right now, is that good enough to make up and get you to stay? Something like that would most likely earn him the silent treatment for a week.

"Sssssssorry ..."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it--"

"...for being soooo damn good at my job. Like it's my fault?"

"I'll see you tomorrow Baby."

"Aw, c'mon!"

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters saja boys #saja boys #jinu #romance #abby #mystery #baby #i write all of these in a dionysian frenzy i hope everyone knows this #excuse typos or weird wording

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illyrianbitch · 3 months ago

Text

Somewhere, There Was Love

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel meets you on a Saturday. He loses you on one, too.

Warnings: angst, some hurt/comfort, slow burn in reverse, bittersweet ending, love and everything broken it brings

Word Count: 3k

For @sjmxreaderweek Day 1: Beginnings/Endings

re-read one of my fav works of mine and got tempted to write in present tense again. enjoy this last min work <3

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Some poets argue that the greatest stories end in the same place they began.

Azriel is’t sure what he thinks about that— what he thinks about poets, and poetry, and pretty words in general.

He only knows this: He met you on a Saturday. And he lost you on one, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s evening when Azriel sees you for the first time.

He’s trailing behind his family, half-listening to Cassian grumble about something or other as they stroll through the River District. His wings ache, the sky’s too blue, and he’s already planning how to disappear before dinner even starts. That’s when his shadows twitch, a subtle ripple of attention tugging him slightly off course.

Your eyes lift at the same time his do. You meet.

You’re standing across the street, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. Your hair catches in the wind and your sleeves are rolled up past your elbows. There’s a smudge of dust on your cheek.

For one, suspended second, you hold each other’s gaze. There’s nothing dramatic about it, not really—no lightning bolt, no crackling bond. Just a glance. But it hooks something in his chest.

He thinks, absurdly, that you must be a dream.

He almost asks if you need help. Almost. But Cassian shouts his name, and by the time Azriel turns back, you’re gone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You arrive with Feyre a week later.

She introduces you as her friend. A traveler who’s decided to settle in Velaris—for now.

“She’s been all over,” Feyre says. “Autumn, Day, even parts of the mortal lands.”

“I like movement,” you explain. “The idea of not belonging anywhere.”

Azriel watches the way you speak. The way your eyes flick toward him sometimes, like you remember him from that moment in the street. Like it meant something to you, too.

After what feels like forever, Feyre steers you straight to him.

You smile at him like you know exactly what she’s doing. There’s amusement behind your eyes, mischief curling at the corners of your mouth. “Hi.”

Azriel’s shadows still. And his heart—traitorous, stupid heart—stutters. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling back until Cass elbows him.

“Azriel,” he says, holding out a hand. He’s never done that so naturally. “Nice to meet you.”

You shake his hand and hold his gaze. “I saw you when I was moving in.”

Azriel nods, caught.

“You didn’t offer to help.”

“I almost did.”

Your smile deepens. “Almost doesn’t lift boxes.”

He’s never felt his shadows this interested in anyone before. They lean forward, curious. So does he. He’ll think about this later. How simple it all seemed. How dangerous it already was.

He knows, deep down, that he’s a goner.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You start showing up more.

Azriel considers you a friend, even.

Dinner invitations. Walks. Late nights spent sitting near each other while everyone else is loud and laughing. You tease him, lightly at first, then with more confidence. Azriel isn’t used to someone challenging him like that. You laugh at his dryness, at the way he reacts. He finds himself smiling more than he ever has.

One night, you brush your foot against his under the table. A test. He doesn’t move away. You tilt your head. He mirrors you. There’s a private smile between you, and Azriel feels young. Reckless. Seventeen again.

That night, he tells you you’re beautiful.

He means it like a prayer.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first kiss comes two weeks later. Azriel isn’t sure if thats fast or slow for him. Time doesn’t really exist when it comes to you, he’s noticed. It never feels real.

You’re sitting beside him on the roof of your apartment.

You talk about the world. About places you want to go, cities you want to see. Azriel listens like he always does—with everything he has.

“It’s fun,” you say, tipping your head to rest against his shoulder. “To think about all the places you and I can go.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. "It is."

He turns to look at you. Your eyes are already on him, and there's something soft there. Something he thinks might be meant just for him.

He kisses you then. Slowly. It feels like he’s beginning to learn the language of you.

And when you pull away, breathless, you whisper, “You taste like rain.”

He kisses you again.

You make a small noise of contentment and curl your fingers in his shirt. He thinks, for a terrifying, beautiful second, that he could love you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You redecorate all the time. Az thinks its funny—how unattached you are to furniture, how quickly your possessions cycle out of your hold.

He helps you carry a shelf upstairs, and you thank him with a crooked smile and a story about the city you lived in before this one. You always talk like you're halfway out the door, like everywhere is temporary. But still, you stay for now.

He flies with you one night. You giggle against his chest at the way the wind tickles your skin. You land on the roof of a nearby apartment, your knees brushing as his shadows curl protectively around your shoulders.

You talk about traveling again. How you want to see every court, every continent. You tell him about the sea-glass beaches of the Summer Court, the northern stars in Winter, the caves in the wilds.

You want to see everything. “Even the places no one thinks are beautiful,” you say. “Because I think they are.”

Azriel listens. Nods. Smiles when you do.

You don’t notice that he never once says he wants to go.

He doesn’t know if you’ll ask him to come.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say if you do.

It’s all a fantasy anyway.

So he just says, “Tell me where we’d go first.”

And you do.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He finds a small bag in your closet one night. Just sitting there. Like it’s been packed for a while.

“You going somewhere?” he asks.

“I always keep one ready.”

“For what?”

You shrug. “In case I wake up one day and the air feels wrong.”

Azriel doesn’t ask if you’ve ever done it before. He doesn’t want to know the answer. But it sits with him for days, like some sort of warning. Some sort of promise.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall asleep on the couch beside him. Head tipped toward his shoulder.

Azriel doesn’t move for a long time. Not even to breathe too deeply. As if the whole room might shift and you’ll wake. Or worse—vanish.

His shadows curl toward you and brush lightly against your hair. One of them flicks your wrist like it’s counting the beat of your pulse.

You don’t stir.

You trust him. That knowledge sits heavy in his chest.

Azriel gently reaches down, brushing a hand over your temple. He’s going to miss this moment. It’s already a memory.

He thinks—not for the first time—that he should leave. Walk away before it means something he can’t undo. Before you mean something more.

But his shadows refuse.

They’ve already decided.

And Azriel is starting to think he has, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall into a rhythm. Slow mornings. Rooftop evenings. Shared coffees. He reads journal entries you’re too shy to show anyone else. You sketch him once, from memory, and it unnerves him how well you capture the softness he tries to hide.

He tells you that you smell like smoke and sweet things. You kiss him in the quiet of his room. He starts keeping your favorite fruit in his kitchen. His nightstand looks like you.

“I’d like to disappear,” you say one night, sprawled across him. “Just pick a direction and keep walking until it feels like enough.”

“You’d get tired,” he murmurs.

“Maybe. But I’d get free, too.”

He falls asleep to your breathing, only to wake up an hour later. You’re still lying on his chest, fingers trailing across his exposed skin. His shadows are asleep and he can barely pry an eye open.

It’s funny how exhausted he is around you. In a good way. He’s never slept this good.

You trace shapes—stars, maybe. Then words.

“What are you drawing?” he murmurs.

“Nothing important.” He feels the pull in your cheeks as you smile against his skin. A teasing, little thing.

He tugs you closer, closes his eyes, and welcomes sleep again.

Before he succumbs to the darkness, he focuses on the pattern of your fingertips. You’re writing something. Words. He can’t help it. He decodes them.

I love you.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, afraid to breathe, afraid to say it out loud and shatter it. But he feels it. Deep in his bones.

And the feeling already hurts.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s an early morning when he says something dry and sarcastic. You roll your eyes and call him a liar. He doesn’t deny it. You lean forward and say, “You’re not nearly as mysterious as you want everyone to believe.”

And then you kiss him.

He smiles into this kiss, as he always does now, and his hands come up, fingers curling around your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His shadows wrap around you both like instinct.

Later, he tells you that being with you has made him afraid in a way he’s never been before. You frown and ask him why.

He tells you the truth. He’s never had anything of his own to lose.

You tell him, “Yeah. Me too.”

You make love that night and Azriel finds himself memorizing every part of your body— every sound, every movement. Like he knows, somewhere in his bones, he is bound to lose you.

Azriel has always loved like this—as if time is already running out. He holds joy like it’s a ghost.

That night he says, “Stay.”

You blink. “I am. I’m spending the night.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are wide and pleading. He’s sure he looks like a hopeful child. “No,” he says, “You know what I mean.”

Your brow furrows. You still. Think. Then answer, “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Just—stay.”

You stare at him for a long time. Then nod.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The cracks start small.

You ask him where he’s going. He says he doesn’t know. Just a lead. Just a hunch. You tell him that it worries you. That he can’t expect you to be okay with these constant missions.

He says, “I’ll be fine.”

You say, “You don’t know that.”

He tells you he’d never leave you. You say, “You do. Every time you walk out that door. And I’m not always going to be here when you come back.”

Azriel pretends he doesn’t hear it. For both of your sakes. He goes on the mission anyways.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Still, you stay. Because when it’s good, it’s so good. Azriel cooks you breakfast. You read to him while he sharpens his blades. He writes little notes and slips them into your journals.

You teach him how to write poetry. He never lets anyone else read it.

One night, Azriel props himself up on one elbow.

“Okay,” he says, grinning proud and pink-cheeked. “I think, if we had a daughter, she'd be dramatic. Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Tiny. Stubborn. Would boss me around.”

“She sounds amazing,” you say, a little breathless.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I’d marry you, you know.”

You swallow hard enough for Az to track the movement.

“I’d marry you tomorrow.”

The wine is burning in his chest. He doesn’t look away. “We could do it barefoot. Somewhere stupid. I wouldn’t care. I just want—”

You kiss him before he finishes. Az keeps his eyes closed, floats in this dream of a life, as you murmur against his lips, “The Autumn court has beautiful chapels.”

You’re happy like this, Azriel thinks. Even when there’s a slight fantasy to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You don’t go to dinner with his family. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t realized it before Rhysand brings it up.

Azriel asks, “Are you coming tonight?” while pulling on a jacket.

You don’t look up from the book in your hands. “No, I’m alright.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for you to feel it settle. Then—

“You don’t like them,” he says. Not a question.

You sigh. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

You close the book. “They’re your people, Azriel. Not mine.”

“I thought you were friends with Feyre.”

“I’m friendly with Feyre.”

He frowns. “That’s different.”

“I know.”

Az studies you. “I’m not trying to be cruel,” you say. “But this isn’t my home.”

Something shifts in him — not all at once, but a tilt. A slow dawning. He realizes, maybe for the first time, that you don’t want it to be.

Later, in bed, he turns toward you and whispers, “I used to think I liked being alone, too.”

You smile at the ceiling. “You don’t.”

Silence again.

“I need them,” he says eventually. “I need my family.”

“I know,” you whisper.

He wants to ask if you have anyone like that. Wants to ask why you don’t need anyone the way he does. But he already knows you won’t answer. Not out loud.

So he doesn’t ask. It’s probably some answer about how you’re bound to leave, anyways.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re concentrating awfully hard,” you muse, propping your chin in your hands. “It’s just a silly report, baby.”

“It’s not just a report,” Azriel mutters, still focused, his eyes never leaving the paper. “And you’re in my light.”

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “In your light? And here I thought I was the light of your life.”

Azriel doesn’t respond, eyes narrowed as he shifts the paper to the side. But his lips twitch, just slightly. He likes when you say things like that. When you acknowledge that, maybe, you have an important place in his life. Somewhere you fit.

You shift closer. “It must take an incredible amount of focus,” you muse, “I mean, what if you get distracted?”

“Won’t happen.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head, considering. “You don’t get distracted?”

“Never.”

“Even if I do this?”

You lean in, tracing your fingers over the ridges of his spine. Your fingers wander further, brushing over the sensitive base of his wings.

A slow inhale escapes him, but still, he doesn’t falter.

You lean closer, close enough that your lips nearly graze his ear as you whisper, “What about now?”

Azriel’s movements still.

Without warning, he turns, his wings flaring slightly, blocking your view of the table as he cages you in with his body.

His duties are long forgotten as he pushes you back onto his bed and devours you for the night. The way you say his name makes him shiver. Tonight, though, it also makes him sad. He’s mourning, he realizes. He’s preparing himself for a loss.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Az traces the beginning of the end back to a stormy Thursday night.

It’s two in the morning when he comes back home. To your apartment. Not his. He stops in the doorway. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket still on, staring at the floor.

You don’t look up. “Were you going to tell me?”

Azriel hesitates. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“It was a suicide mission.”

“I knew I’d make it out.”

“But what if one day you can’t?”

Silence.

You let out a quiet laugh. “How can you be so sure of yourself and still hate yourself like this?”

He flinches. He doesn’t think that’s a fair thing to say. “You’re angry.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then come to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I’m not that kind of tired.”

Azriel kneels. Reaches for your hand. You pull away.

“You keep doing this,” you say. “Throwing yourself into these dangerous missions, acting like it’s no big deal.”

“It’s what I’m meant to do.”

“No. It’s what you’ve convinced yourself you’re only good for.”

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at you like he’s hearing it for the first time.

“Love’s not enough if you don’t want to stay alive for it. What's the point of staying for a ghost?”

Azriel apologizes. You send him on his way and, for the first time in months, he lays awake in his own bed. Alone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There’s a lull. You try. You both do. He brings you dinner. You sit on his lap and kiss his cheek and he murmurs that he loves you before making love to you like you’re something holy, something divine, and he’s desperate for salvation.

But he’s always leaving. And you’re always waiting. Azriel knows it can’t last. Waiting is not in your nature. Not really. You’ve been inching toward the door for weeks. He’s been pretending not to notice. Pretending not to feel it.

Until one day, you sit across from each other, knees barely touching. And neither of you has the energy to lie about it anymore.

You say, “This isn’t working.”

He nods. There are tears in your eyes and he’s not sure if he’s allowed to wipe them when they fall.

Azriel says, “But I love you.”

“I know,” you say. “I love you too.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because love wasn’t enough. Because it was love. So much love. And still—

He thought heartbreak would be louder. More cinematic. Shouting or slamming doors. But it’s this: A quiet room. Your knees touching. And the terrible understanding that you both meant it—all of it.

Azriel doesn’t cry.

He just sits there, blinking. Wondering why his chest feels cracked open and hollow and free, all at once. How grief and relief can sit beside each other like old friends.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s Saturday evening when Azriel sees you again.

It’s been weeks since that night.

He’s walking beside his family—shoulder to shoulder with Cassian, wings stretched and taking up space as they pass through the River District. The sky is a perfect, boundless blue. His shadows drift lazily in the sunlight.

He’s already smiling. It's a family dinner night. They’re having his favorite —Nyx’s favorite now, too. The boy has begged to help make it, and Azriel is going to let him, even if half the sauce will end up on the floor. Az is excited for his hands to smell like basil and roasted garlic for the rest of the night.

Then his shadows stir—not with warning, but recognition.

Azriel glances across the street.

You’re standing there, sleeves rolled up, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. There’s a smudge of something on your cheek. You laugh at something someone says, head thrown back in that way he used to love. Still does, maybe. A little.

Your eyes lift and meet his. A quiet ache settles in Azriel’s chest. Not the sharp kind it used to be. Not grief that grips the ribs or hollows him out. Just something soft. Lingering.

For one suspended second, he sees you as you are — happy. Free. You smile at him, and he breathes through it. He smiles back.

Cassian calls his name. Azriel turns, says something back, distracted. And when he glances over again, you’re gone. Just like the first time.

He never sees you again.

Eventually, he stops searching for your face in crowded streets.

But sometimes—when the air is quiet and the night feels like a memory—he lets himself think of you. Wonders where you are. If you found a place to settle. If you're happy.

He hopes you are. And he hopes he never hears about it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: it feels diff when i write in present v past tense. like past tense is my usual writings, fun little stories with fun lil plots. present tense always makes me sad and nostalgic, strangely enough

i'm a bit scatter-brained rn bc of some family issues, but yall best believe ill post all my random wips soon!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻

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@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @yesiamthatwierd @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@feyretopia @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna

@anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

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#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader fluff #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction

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girlfromflor · 4 months ago

Text

part 5 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

after you shared your first kiss with johnny and kyle, things started to shift within the group. it was clear that physical displays of affection were a thing now, but it was more than that. they all started to act more affectionate with each other in front of you – you knew they shared these moments, they just never really explored that in front of you.

you were grateful they did, because now you could relish on watching them rather than being watched. you liked that they were attentive to you, but you liked this natural flow of things better. they stopped worrying about what you'd think and simply acted according to what felt better – and probably that was the closest to seeing what they were like before you, that you'd ever get.

you walk freely around their house now, and they come and go from yours. sleepovers started happening, you catch them cuddling each other on your bed and you casually fix the blankets around them tighter. you started seeing soap give ghost a peck on the lips through the mask, john's hand on kyle’s thigh under the table during dinner, ghost hugging kyle by the waist while whispering things in his ear – things that were very imaginable considering the way you felt arousal building inside you out of nowhere –, and john pulling johnny to sit on his lap using the excuse that “there's no place in the couch for everyone”.

john and johnny were a special duo. maybe it was because johnny has too much energy and john is more responsive to it than ghost and kyle, but johnny truly acts like a needy puppy around the captain. you've seen johnny act like that with simon and receive a groaned “you're such a needy mutt” enveloped with lust and want, and you could feel johnny’s satisfaction at having such attention. but john clearly scratched a deeper part of johnny's mind. you were proved just that when you walked past the hall of their house unannounced on one afternoon. you could make out some murmuring from the kitchen, busy taking your shoes off which gave you enough time to make out john’s voice, you don’t know who he’s talking to – but you could imagine.

“would you like that?” it's low and seductive, and you've never heard john speak like that. there's no response, but given his next words the man had either nodded or shaken his head, “then be a good boy and do as you’re told, yeah?”

“yes, sir,” you hear johnny's voice and your stomach is completely taken by butterflies. johnny was breathless and for a second you’re afraid of stepping inside and disturbing an intimate moment, but you heard them moving and decided to do it anyway.

they are standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, john is staring at soap like he's a five course meal and johnny looks almost flustered – that's new.

“uh… hi, guys,” you whisper and the response is immediate – john moves too quickly for you to react, fast and determined.

“baby!” he greets you with a bright smile – the one he usually has when he's up to something –, pulling you by your hand to stand closer to him. “be a sweetheart and give your captain a kiss, aye?”

you turn to look at johnny, to take a hint on what to do – he's too quiet, what were they talking about? –, but john moves faster and holds your cheeks with one of his big hands.

“ah, ah, tha’ what i told ya to do?” he asks, still smiling – condescendingly so – and you shake your head as an answer. “that's right, love,” he places both his hands on your hips, pulling you closer – and you have to put your hands on his chest to ground yourself. “now, what was it that you were supposed to do? huh?”

you're not sure if he wants a verbal response. maybe he does but doesn't want to push you too far, because you stay silent as you stand on the tip of your toes to kiss him and he accepts. you barely acknowledge the fact that this is the first time you're going to kiss john as he hums and moves down to brush his nose on your cheek. you close your eyes, then soon enough the feeling of his lips on yours overtakes your senses – but is johnny's moan that wrecks you. you gasp and john's tongue finds its way inside your mouth, his own sound of pleasure echoing in your mind.

the first thing that you do when you pull away from the kiss is search for johnny’s eyes – only to see him shamelessly palming his cock through his sweatpants while watching the two of you –, and that results in a hard squeeze of john's hands on your hips. you whimper in surprise, and you can hear johnny mimic the sound from where he stands – and fuck, you want to look at him so bad, but john is completely taking over you thoughts.

“sorry,” you blurt out instinctively, not actually guilty but it's a way of showing you're not disregarding john for johnny.

“‘s okay, love,” john answers and gives your lips a brief kiss, lovingly. when he lets you go he turns to johnny, “think you can behave?” johnny nods and is funny how he does it like his life depends on it. but then john tsks and orders, “words, johnny.”

“yes, sir,” soap answers, soft and pliant and so attractively, your thighs press themselves together.

“c'mon, then,” price motions his head for johnny to come closer and the scot doesn't hesitate to obey.

as soap approaches the two of you, john pulls him by the waist for him to step between you. then he whispers in johnny's ear “go on,” in the most unbothered tone, and johnny – with his back pressed against the captain’s chest – bends down to kiss you in a heartbeat.

the kiss is a mess. it makes the two of you breathless too fast but it's too good to stop. johnny's hands touch your waist, your neck and your face before dropping to your hips and you can't help but squeeze the muscle of his arms underneath your palms. john pulls soap further back in his chest as a warning and johnny pulls away from you with a whine. you blink slowly watching the men in front of you – john presses a kiss to the scot's cheek before saying, “good boy.”

johnny blushes at the words, his eyes on you like he's half expecting you to laugh at him. you bite your lip and decide to break the silence after a moment, “i thought you were out grocery shopping…”

johnny smiles and john chuckles saying “simon and kyle went. they should be back in an hour.”

later that day, you found yourself in their kitchen again. john was the only one there finishing dinner when you arrived and he said, “sweetheart, can you go get the lads?” you answered with a nod before making your way upstairs.

you had gone back to your house, taken a shower and done some of your chores. simon and kyle came back after you left, so you hadn't had the chance to talk to them. ghost's door is the first one in the hallway, so naturally there’s where you go first, not even bothering to knock because it was already wide open.

“simon, john told me to—” you stop mid-sentence as you walk past the door frame, stunned at the sight in front of you – a maskless simon, flushed and panting, caging kyle in between his arms and the dresser.

he turns his face to you slowly, clearly having trouble breaking eye contact with the younger man. “yes, luvie?” simon voices out, nonchalantly like you hadn't just caught him and kyle in the middle of something.

“you're– you don’t have your mask on,” you deadpan, failing to address kyle, who's still pressed against the furniture and looking at you.

“very attentive of you to notice,” he smiles, and is like he's taking pleasure in your surprised expression.

“shut up—” you take a few steps forward, but halt halfway – what were you going to do, kiss him? – and instead of going to them you whisper, “you're beautiful…” only to be met with a smirk and a look that says ‘i know’, so you do your own playful teasing. “well, not as much as kyle—”

“oi! you little shit!” he laughs and lets kyle go to move in your direction – probably to grab you and do god knows what – but you take a step back.

nervously laughing, trying to stop staring at simon's handsome face, you look at kyle, blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind, “were you two making out?”

“why?” comes kyle’s voice instantly, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second – what a dummy. “would ya wanna join?” kyle adds, moving to you much like simon is.

you step backwards once more, answering defiantly, “as if, i've kissed you already,” but it's more of a gasp than anything – it's also a mistake with the way simon’s eyes darken, he took it as a challenge. “i don’t want to be scolded by john,” you say, remembering that you were supposed to be calling them for dinner.

“i think you’d quite enjoy his punishment, love,” simon states, and he's too close for this conversation to be considered appropriate. so instead of facing them you turn on your heels and sprint to johnny's room in the end of the hallway, the sound of their feet thudding behind you as they follow.

you open johnny's door fast, not bothering to close it before throwing yourself in the bed where he was laying, watching tv. johnny doesn’t have time to question what's happening before simon and kyle come barging in, laughing.

“what did ye do, bon?” he asks then, side eyeing you.

“she owes me a kiss,” simon answers for you and motions his head in your direction, exchanging a glance with johnny.

johnny moves instantly, sitting up and holding your arms, pulling you to press your back against his chest with you sitting in the middle of his legs – shit, you're fucked. kyle sits down first, by your side, hand stroking your cheek. and then comes simon.

he finds his place between your legs, parting them to fit himself more comfortably. “word is you kissed everyone but me, luvie, that correct?” simon questions as his face grows closer to yours and you squirm in johnny's arms – you can hear kyle chuckling by your side.

you nod regardless, before saying “in my defense, your mask worked like an imaginary wall between us.”

“yeah? what about now?” he whispers, breath fanning over your nose. you stay silent, not knowing what to answer. he chuckles, “no excuse now, huh?”

you pout, lips involuntarily moving and it catches his attention. he moves down to brush his lips on yours and you move forward trying to press them together. he backs up with a smile, “ya wan’ a kiss, luvie?”

you nod, and maybe you do it a bit too desperately because kyle groans from where he's watching and johnny places his hands on your hips. simon hums, moving to peck your lips – and it's supposed to be just a peck, but you can't help yourself. you launch forward, lips pressing more vigorously on him and he groans. one of his hands cup your cheek to move your head, guiding you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing yours in a passionate caress.

when he pulls away, you take a moment to ground yourself. you are too drown in your arousal and simon’s – and also johnny and kyle's. the amount of horniness taking your senses makes you want to hump yourself in johnny's legs until you're crying and the four of you have to forcefully think of something else to try and balance it out since john is not there to help shift the emotions, and that's when you gasp,

“fuck, john is going to kill us.”

series masterlist a/n: is it weird that i've posted three days in a row? | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda @imthatone-annoyingfriend @night-shadowblood-writes2 @z-wantstowrite @kentuckyhobbit @supernova2205 @thatghostlykid @reggiesslut @reap3erslov3

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chrattho1 · 7 months ago

Text

your number.

one shot:-

summary: you and chris meet at a wedding,but your second interaction is not much like your first.

warnings: unprotected sex (nuh uh dont do that),p in v,smut,idk what else to add

a/n: do not copy my work,use it as inspiration idm,english is not my first language.

“you’re the groom’s sister right?” asked chris,to whom you were introduced to just about a minute ago.

“yeah,also one of the bridesmades” you nodded

“i noticed the dress code-that dress really looks good on you by the way�� chris compliments awkwardly,not knowing what to say especially when he found you so breathtakingly beautiful.

“thank you! i will see you around after the ceremony?” you ask

“yeah-definitely” chris replies

you’re currently in the bathroom after the ceremony,wiping off tears and fixing your makeup when the door creaks open

“fuck-i must’ve walked into the wrong bathroom sorry” you watched as chris was stepping out immediately

“its a general bathroom stupid” you let a chuckle through your teeth.

“oh” chris pressed his lips together before walking in.

“you okay?” he comes closer to you,now standing in front of the mirror with you.

“yeah just a little overwhelmed” you smile at him.

“you know you’re the prettiest girl at this wedding” chris whispers out of nowhere,you let out a scoff.

“i am sure there are prettier girls here chris”

“no but you dont get it-the way this dress fits you,the way it makes your ass look so fucking delectable in it” chris lets out a small breath,kind of afraid of what you might reply with.

“yeah? and what else do you think makes me so pretty?” you look straight into chris’ eyes,making him harder than before (he has been bricked since he shook hands with you) chris’ breath hitched before he could answer the question.

“fuck-your tits-your fucking tits oh my god” chris groans before completing his sentence.

“looked so perfect when you were dancing” chris got closer to your face,both of you can feel each others breaths on your faces.

“fuck it” you said before smashing your lips onto his,both of your mouths tasting like the champagne being served at the wedding,your lips moving fast enough for chris to catch up smoothly,hungry for something more.

chris groans into the kiss,because this was better than he imagined and trust him-this is all he has been thinking of since he walked into this wedding.

your hand swiftly goes over to the lock on the bathroom door,clicking it and locking the both of you without breaking the kiss,chris felt your action take place and was quick to react. he pulled you up by your thighs and placed you on the bathroom counter effortlessly. a whimper leaving your mouth.

chris wasted no time and found your lips again,his hands roaming all over your body with desperation,over the silk dress you’ve worn. your hands drop from his hair to the straps of your dress,pulling each down with no efforts.

chris’ hands were all over your tits,and once the straps were off he could see that it would be easy to get them out of the dress you’ve worn.

“can i?” chris pulls away and asks tugging the neckline of your dress,you nod hastily between breaths .chris pulls the neckline enough for your tits to pop out on their own.

“fuck” chris groans before he leans down to kiss you all over your neck and eventually reaching to one of your nipples. your head thrown back,eyes fluttering,and the ache between your thighs becoming harder to bare with each one of his actions.

you pull on the tie wrapped around chris’ neck and bring him to your face “now fuck me” you speak,feeling impatient than ever.

chris could cum at your words and the way you said them,but he held his calm before wrapping one arm around your waist and putting you down from the counter and swiftly turning you around.

your ass in the air,just right at his dick level. he rolled your dress up to your abdomen now looking at your baby pink laced panties-soaked. a grin forms on his face and he looks up to the mirror to see your face in it,bent down,eyebrows knit.

he quickly unbuckled his belt and dropped down his pants and boxers,his tip leaking pre cum. he puts two of his fingers on the wet patch on your panties slowly circling around till he figured out where your clit is.

“chr—is” you whimper loudly,hinting that you are done with the teasing. he pulls your panties down and watches how your pussy drips in front of his sight-again he might cum just by the visuals alone.

“i dont have a condom” chris spoke looking at your through the mirror.

“im on the pill,just cum in me” you look up at him in the mirror. your words do something to him,he cannot wait to fill you up.

he slaps his dick on your pussy a few times making both of your groan- before parting your folds with his fingers and and slowly aligning his tip with your entrance.

he slowly and patiently went all in,till his dick disappeared in your pussy. “oh-fuck-oh—” you moan out loud,eyes shut because of how big he is.

chris slowly starts moving “god-fuck so good-” chris eyes roll back as he feels you wrapped around his dick. a series of sounds start to leave your mouth and makes chris look at you through the mirror. your hair messy,makeup ruined,tits out,whimpering.

“fuck you look so fucking hot i—” chris spoke between heavy breaths as he thrusts into you. his words only making the sounds you make louder. he increases his speed and also starts thrusting harder,the sound of skin slapping almost pornographic.

with each thrust he hit that one spot that made your toes curl. “fuck-chris you’re so big” you spoke

chris’ head snaps from your ass to the mirror,looking at you wide eyed now,his dick twitching inside of you,his thrust’ getting faster and deeper

“yea-? oh-” he spoke looking at you,to which you try to nodded with how much how your body was shaking with chris’ thrusts.

“you take—me so well-ah” chris tried speaking feeling his orgasm coming closer with each thrust

“fuck fuck-chris im cumming fuck-oh my god fuck fu——-” the last swear becoming a screech as you crash down with your orgasm. your back arched,ass all up in chris’ dick,you’re shaking under his body.

for chris-he had been holding it in, waiting for you to finish first and just as you finished,and put your ass all up in him he couldn’t hold it in any longer

“oh my go-oh-oh” he came,thrusting in you a couple more times to make sure his cum is all in there.

he crashes down,his face laid on your ass,eyes closed quite literally in heaven.

you turn yourself around,chris not leaving his grip on you so now he is hugging your waist. you bring your hand down to ruffle his hair.

chris looks up at you with his fucked out face,

“give me your number right now” you chuckle at his words nodding.

#chris sturiolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #chris x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris imagine #chris smut #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt smut #nic sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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andy-15-07 · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! I.m not sure if your requests are still open of if this is where we ask for them and if its not im sorry. I was wondering if you could do something with Joel where he finds her when he is trying to save Ellie. He finds out that reader is also immune and the fireflies were gonna kill her too. So he saves her and he becomes the only person she trusts and doesn't really talk to anyone but him when they get back to Jackson. Joel slowly falls in love with her and one day on patrol he kisses her because they almost died and he think it's now or never. if not it's all good. Thanks!

Something Better

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1290 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

It had been days since Joel had seen another human face that wasn’t trying to kill him.

Ellie was gone. Taken by the Fireflies.

His boots were soaked with blood and melting snow as he moved through the sterile white halls of the hospital, heart pounding, rifle tight in his grip. He’d done the unthinkable already. The doctors were dead. Marlene too. All for Ellie.

But just as he turned a corner toward the recovery wing, he heard a voice. Not Ellie’s. Quieter. Raspy. And scared.

"Please don’t take me back. Please... I didn’t say yes."

Joel froze.

He stepped closer and peered into one of the observation rooms. A girl, maybe a few years older than Ellie, lay strapped to a hospital bed. Her arms were bruised from needles and restraints. She had dark circles under her eyes, lips dry, and skin pale,but she was very much alive.

And awake.

Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Are you here to kill me too?"

Joel lowered his gun immediately. "No, darlin'. I ain't here to hurt you."

She looked so tired. So damn scared.

"They said I was like her. The other immune one. But I didn’t want this. They were going to cut into my brain."

Joel’s heart dropped. Another one? Another immune girl, treated like cargo. An experiment.

He crossed the room in two strides and started undoing the straps. "You're getting outta here. What's your name?"

She hesitated. "Y/N."

"Y/N, I'm Joel. We don’t have much time. Come on."

The drive back to Jackson was quiet. Ellie was unconscious in the backseat, safe, and Y/N sat next to Joel in the passenger seat, barely speaking.

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t cry. Just sat still, staring out the window like she was trying to memorize the world in case it disappeared again.

Joel offered her food. Blankets. Water. Nothing made her flinch except when he touched her wrist by accident.

"Sorry," he muttered.

She shook her head, finally speaking, voice a whisper. "Not your fault. You didn’t put me there. You got me out."

Back in Jackson, life was... different.

Y/N was placed in a spare cabin. Ellie healed. People smiled again. But Y/N? She didn’t talk to anyone. Didn’t trust anyone.

Except Joel.

When she did talk, it was to him. In quiet places. On patrol. On walks. In the early morning when the rest of the town was asleep. She felt safest with Joel.

"You ever think about leaving?" she asked once, during a patrol.

"Used to. Not anymore."

"Why not?"

He looked at her. "Because you’re here. Ellie’s here. It’s the first time in twenty years I got somethin' to lose."

She turned her face away, hiding her blush. But Joel saw it.

They grew close. Closer than Joel expected.

He’d find excuses to patrol with her. She’d bring him coffee. They’d share quiet dinners. She’d sit by his fire when sleep wouldn’t come. And Joel? He found himself watching her laugh. Noticed the way her eyes crinkled. The way she said his name like it meant something.

He was falling.

Hard.

The day it all changed started like any other patrol.

Snow. Footprints. Clickers in the woods.

But when one came too close, too fast, Joel almost didn’t react in time.

Y/N did.

She threw herself between him and the infected, burying her machete into its throat. It collapsed at her feet.

Joel’s heart nearly stopped.

"Jesus," he rasped, grabbing her shoulders. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

She was panting, wild-eyed. "I thought it was gonna get you."

"So you just threw yourself in the way?!"

"Yeah! Because I care about you, Joel!"

Silence.

Their breath came in clouds. His hands were still gripping her coat.

"You what?"

She swallowed. "You heard me."

He didn’t wait. He kissed her.

Joel pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes. "I thought I lost you. I ain’t never felt that scared in my life. Not since Sarah. Not even with Ellie."

Y/N blinked, her chest rising and falling, trying to keep pace with the thundering of her heart. Joel's hand was still warm at her jaw, thumb brushing back and forth like he was memorizing the feel of her.

"Joel," she whispered. "You kissed me."

"I know. Shouldn't have done it like that, not out here. But hell... you got in front of that Clicker for me. And it hit me,I can't lose you. Not after everything."

Her eyes softened. She took his hand from her jaw and held it between hers. "I didn’t jump in front of it for fun. I did it because I care about you. More than I should. You’re the only one I trust."

He swallowed. Hard. "Do you... wanna go back to Jackson? We can talk more. Just you and me."

She nodded, cheeks flushed. "Yeah. Let’s go home."

They rode in silence the rest of the way, but their hands kept brushing. When they got to Jackson, the world was quieter, more forgiving. Snow lined the rooftops, horses snorted in the early dusk, and families bustled behind closed doors.

Joel led her to his house instead of hers. She didn’t fight it.

"You warm enough?" he asked after hanging up their jackets.

Y/N nodded. Her fingers itched to reach for him again. Instead, she paced a little, unsure.

Joel moved to the kitchen, poured two mugs of tea,one with a splash of whiskey, just how she liked it. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed again.

"Joel, about what happened out there,"

"Let me say it first," he interrupted gently. "I've been fighting how I feel. Since the day I met you. You were scared, covered in blood and bruises when I pulled you out of that Firefly hospital. And yet, you looked at me like I was the only safe thing left in the world. I didn’t deserve that."

"You saved my life."

"So did you. You don't even talk to most people. You talk to me. Trust me. That means somethin'."

Y/N stepped closer. "It means everything. Joel, you're the first person I've felt...safe with. Like I'm not a science experiment. Not just 'the other immune girl.'"

He reached out, thumb brushing her cheek again. "You ain't just any girl, Y/N. You're strong. Brave. Kind, even after all you've been through. And goddamn if I haven’t been fallin' in love with you a little more every day."

She inhaled sharply. Her chest ached in the best way.

"I love you too," she said. "Even when you scowl. Especially then."

He laughed, quiet and rough, and closed the distance.

The kiss this time was slower. More certain. His hands slid around her waist and hers curled into the collar of his flannel. His lips were warm, chapped, familiar. The sound of their breath, the creak of the floorboards, the soft knock of teeth. All of it was them.

They moved together like they’d been waiting years.

Hours later, they sat curled on his worn couch, her legs draped over his, her head on his chest.

"You ever think about what comes next?" she asked softly.

Joel rubbed lazy circles into her back. "Used to be, I didn’t. Was too busy surviving. But now... with you? Yeah. I think about a lot."

She looked up at him, eyes glassy but sure. "I want a life. Not just surviving. A real life. With you."

Joel leaned in, kissed her temple. "Then we’ll make one. Right here. Together."

Outside, the wind howled. But inside, Joel held her like she was the last soft thing in the world.

And for the first time in years, she believed in something better than survival.

She believed in them.

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tobiasdrake · 1 year ago

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Which DBZ antagonist do you like the most?

Boring opinion, I know, but I gotta give it up for the Obvious Choice.

And I'm not just saying that because I haven't had a chance to talk about him yet.

Frieza runs a real estate empire that carries out genocidal acts of gentrification, purging tracts of land of their native inhabitants so he can sell their land for profit. Commenting on this choice for his ultimate villain, Akira Toriyama stated that he made this decision because real estate speculators are the worst people there are.

Fucking based.

From the moment we meet Frieza, he is a monster. Toriyama likes this Big Guy Little Guy dynamic where the Little Guy is the one you really need to watch out for. Frieza is the Littlest Guy ever.

He's so tiny. And yet you know exactly who the most dangerous person in this group is. Zero question.

By the end of this altercation, Frieza reveals one of his signature attacks, giving us our first glimpse of the kind of person and the kind of fighter he is. This is such an important moment for his character and I'm kinda mad that the anime had Dodoria do it instead.

Muri destroys the Scouters and blinds Frieza. I've talked before at length about the devastating impact that this move and the Namekian warriors' attack has on Frieza's campaign.

But once it's done, he has to face the music. He's not getting out of this alive.

In one last desperation play, Muri tells Cargo and Dende to run while blocking them with his body. And that's when it happens.

This is Frieza.

Specifically, this is Frieza's Death Beam. It's never actually given a name, but is generally referred to as Death Beam. We've seen a move like this only once before.

The Dodonpa, signature technique of Tsuru-senryu, first introduced by the assassin Taopaipai, was built for extreme lethality. This is not a technique for fighting; It's a technique for killing.

What makes Frieza's Death Beam stand out from the Dodonpa, however, is its accuracy and its speed. He threads the needle around Muri to hit Cargo before anyone even has a chance to react.

We see its accuracy and speed again six days later, when it finally catches up to the other child fleeing from him here.

The panelwork here calling attention to everyone's reactions as Frieza's ki bullet shoots past them, as his shot threads the needle between all obstacles in his path to strike his target far behind them. Dende is dead before anyone can even process that Frieza fired.

This is the difference between the two techniques. The Dodonpa is a gun. The Death Beam is a sniper rifle. Faced with the physical hurdle of bodies impeding his path, Frieza point-clicked Cargo and Dende to death.

He later executes Vegeta this same way.

Done with you.

All of this context for Frieza's sniping shot serves to set up the stunning subversion when Goku arrives to fight.

Frieza's never seen this before. Goku shouldn't even be able to see the shots coming until they've perforated his lungs. That's how Death Beam works. It's this moment that lays it out: Frieza's about to be tested like he's never been tested before.

Speaking of cool techniques, I've always been partial to this move from his Third Form.

The anime gives Frieza little ki bullets coming out of his fingers but I want to note that we never see a physical projectile when he's doing this. Frieza jams his fingers back and forth in the air while something pulverizes Piccolo.

I've always imagined he's poking the air so fast that it's hitting Piccolo with pressurized air currents. Similar to Goku's Mazoku air current punch from the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai.

But that's just me.

In any case, Frieza's got some fun moves. He's something of a hobbyist martial artist. Which is to say, Frieza has an interest in martial arts. In addition to his Death Beam, Frieza's concocted a litany of other interesting techniques.

He even invented the Kienzan, independently of Krillin.

Though he can remote operate his Kienzan so it's strictly better than Krillin's. Frieza, in his spare time, has come up with a bunch of cool moves. Too bad he has no idea how to use them.

Frieza's greatest weakness is his inexperience. He practices martial arts the way a business CEO who bought a log splitter so he can cut some wood and feel woodsy practices agriculture. Frieza has never had a proper chance to truly experience martial arts, because he was born too powerful.

The only partner who's ever even dirtied his skin was his dad.

And even that isn't much. Frieza's too strong. He wants to pursue martial arts. He wants to hone his technique. But when you win every fight by blinking too hard in the opponent's direction, what even is there to practice?

Frieza created a transformation to seal away his immeasurable ki because he was born with so much ki flowing from him that he can't even contain it. At his peak, Frieza's ki bleeds out of him. He simply can't contain it.

Goku wonders aloud why Frieza took so long, even after the fight turned against him, to go to 100%. Frieza's been all "Oh I'm only using 10% power this is my 50% you made me go to 75%" and Goku's like, "Okay. My dude. What's this about, for real?

This, incidentally, is not a great translation. What Goku's saying here is supposed to be basically, "Perhaps when you use your full power, your body can't handle it."

He is correct.

Frieza's Full Power has a lot in common with Super Saiyan 3. His theoretical maximum ability is wildly different from the reality of what he's capable of, because he bleeds ki like it's going out of style.

So, while other characters wound up earning transformations that make them more powerful, Frieza created a transformation to seal away some of his incomprehensible ki.

Then he created a couple more because even though he could now control his strength and even manipulate the amount of ki he's releasing at a time, he was still too powerful for anyone to ever compete with and needed even more ki sealed away.

Again, not a fantastic translation from the people who brought us "bottom-tier boy", as Frieza's statement here could be interpreted as saying that he gets taken by a berserker rage or something.

What he's saying is more like, "My power is so great that I can't properly contain it."

Point is, Frieza transformed to lock down his ki and seal parts of it away, so he could control the rest better. Then he kept going, locking away more and more and more of his ki. And even at his most nerfed, he's still five times more powerful than the Second Strongest Guy in the Universe.

Frieza has never in his life had the opportunity to be pushed. That's what makes Goku so enthralling to him.

Frieza plays with Goku because he's genuinely having the time of his life. This guy can fight him in his Final Form. Nobody can fight him in his Final Form. He's so happy, he straight-up forgets that he's trying to complete a genocide against Goku's entire race.

He said that five minutes ago. Gohan's hidden power freaked Frieza the fuck out. Saiyans are too strong now. They've gotten too strong. Frieza cannot permit them to keep existing because they're getting strong. Every last Saiyan, every last one, must die. Every single one. Scorched earth, no survivors.

But then he meets a Saiyan martial artist who's a technical master and pushes him more than he ever thought possible and suddenly:

He goes from "Saiyans are TOO STRONG and they all must die because they might threaten me" to "OH MY GOD I'M HAVING SO MUCH FUN CAN I KEEP YOU!?"

It's this desire for a true rival, this opportunity to satisfy his amateur's curiosity about martial arts, that ultimately unravels him. Frieza has one ruthless and pragmatic option for ending this fight once it starts to be too much for him. He can technically stop the fight any time he wants.

But he can't bring himself to do it. He wants to fight. He wants to compete. Frieza's been on the outside looking in at martial arts for his entire life and even when his greatest fears are fulfilled and the Super Saiyan is in front of him, he wants to try.

So when he does attempt to pull his Lethal Ragequit, he pulls back at the last second. He can't bring himself to do it. Goku initially assesses that Frieza held back out of fear of hurting himself.

But later, as Frieza begins unlocking the final chains on his ki, Goku changes his assessment. Noting that if Frieza really held back simply out of a mistake, he could have shot the planet again at any point to finish the job. He's been letting this play out because he can't bring himself to end the greatest fight of his life that way.

This fight is still happening because Frieza wants to compete. I mean, he wants to win, of course, but he wants to win as a martial artist. He's never truly gotten to be a martial artist before.

He is not the guy winning the gold medal at the Tenkaichi Budokai. He has never been that guy. He's the guy who buys up the land the Tenkaichi Budokai is held on and then bulldozes all the people off of it. But in his heart of hearts, he wants to be that guy. That guy is so cool. Frieza wants to play too.

In a sense, by hosting the Cell Games, Cell got to live Frieza's greatest fantasy.

This is who Frieza is. He's the cruel and wicked heir to Genocide Realtors Inc., who is in love with the idea of being Tenshinhan - A desire that exists at odds with - and undermines - his pragmatic business sense, so to speak.

He is the most vile character in the history of Dragon Ball. The worst kind of person. He is also an overeager child whose wealth and privilege prevents him from ever truly enjoying his hobbies, to an extent that he'd be almost pitiable but for all the genocides.

And he is Dragon Ball's greatest villain.

#dragon ball #dragon ball z #frieza

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birdyisthewordyy · 8 months ago

Note

HELLOOO this is my first request.. 😔

Like can you make a thing where the reader (please make it a fem reader for this one) is mascular fem reader and how the mouthwash crew will be react or be with the reader😻

if you can do this pleasee do it!! This has been just on my mind..

(I'm sorry if I couldn't describe it pretty well but I hope you understand it👅🙏)

a/n: I went ahead and combined two asks because they were pretty similar I HOPE THATS OKAY!! ANYWAY I love these askS MUSCULAR WOMEN FTW

Tulpar crew with a muscular! Fem! Reader

Curly

He can still lift you up easy peasy

Loves doing weightlifting with you

Brags on you

“My girlfriend can bench press 400!”

When you get sore he runs a hot bath for you

With rose petals and Epsom salts

Watches movies with you and gives you massages

Anything for his girl

You two have a friendly competition to see how much you can lift

The gym hates to see y’all coming

Or loves to

You kind of brighten up the atmosphere with your mushy couple junk

Y’all are matched in arm wrestling

You try every day

Never works

You just stay there with your arms shaking

Lol

He’s ecstatic to have another workout buddy though

Especially one that doesn’t take it as seriously as Jimmy

Jimmy

Speak of the devil himself

He’s jealous

Right off the bat he’s jealous of you

Because he could never achieve that physique

His metabolism is too fast

And it pisses him off

He eventually comes around

Makes underhanded comments sometimes though

Meanie

He might weightlift with you

You’re a good spotter he has to admit

Encouraging and all that

Despite how jacked you are you are pretty feminine

Which he enjoys

He likes that you dress up and do makeup and all that

And if you’re not he appreciates how…

Eugh

“Drama free” you are

One of those guys

Yikes

You love him though

Swansea

Swansea didn’t grow up in a generation where women could just pick up a weight and start growing muscle

Despite this he thinks it’s badass

He’d never say that but he does

Appreciates your commitment

Maybe even attracted to it idk

An excellent cook so he makes things for you if you’re hungry after lifting

Makes banger soups

He’s pretty strong himself

But doesn’t work out too often

Just enough and if he feels like it

He’s got a bad back so nothing crazy

Take this man to a chiropractor

If you use protein powder he doesn’t understand it

��Back in my day we had to work for what we got!”

You try to explain it’s not like steroids

But he is NOT having it

Sometimes you go overboard though

And he does worry for you

“Just…be careful, alright? Don’t want you exhausting yourself on me.”

Daisuke

Daisuke is also just a little bit jealous

He gets over it though

He buys you one of those giant water bottles that have words of encouragement on the sides

Says it’s like he’s there with you

You love this boy

Would be like

“Oh yeah? Can YOUR partner do 50 pushups? (Name), show em!”

Makes you personalized playlists

Eye of the Tiger is definitely on there

Along with Wheels on the Bus

He giggles when he hears it coming from your headphones

You just look at him like WTF

Would be your spotter

Very encouraging

“You can do it! Two more!”

Fists in the air

Tries to fist bump you

You are exhausted I fear

Would sit on your back while you do push-ups

To prove a point

What point? Idk

Anya

Anya has tried working out in the past and never really got into a routine

She’s a little bit out of shape so she’s at least happy that you know what you’re doing

Buys you sweatbands with pretty little designs on them

Also makes you protein shakes in the morning

Without you asking

May try to work out with you

Gets extremely sore though

Anya with a ponytail is cute tho

She can’t do push-ups

Like physically she just collapses

It’s not even that she’s weak

She’s actually quite strong physically

And mentally too but that’s not the point

She almost beat you once in arm wrestling

She just gets tired easily

Little chubby

Totally not projecting again

Hee hee

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secretaccountlol · 1 month ago

Text

TRIGGER : DUBCON— SMUT ! This is Mohawk mark.. he’s not a super nice guy lol.

This is my first ever dubcon so I’m like super nervous about it lmao

Cw: AFAB reader. I mention the reader wears panties n a bra and he does cup your breast (describing as fitting in his hand but no description of size)

Kinks are ; fingering, biting, degrading (whore, slut and things of that nature) praise, “bratty” reader

Summary: You’re a supervillain Mohawk mark… takes an interest in… :0!

This literally came to me in a fucking DREAM yall (yes apparently i dream fanfic now!) so if the plot is bonkers.. don’t blame me — er well.. blame my brain which is still blaming me okay whatever enjoy

Guys.. I’m so nervous to post this idk why..

Your powers are undefined ; but you are strong enough to *hurt* mark.

If you like this I’ll post the second part. So repost and leave a comment letting me know what you think! I read everything sent to me :)

Your mom is a supervillain.

You found out when you were younger. On accident.

Of course, you first assumed she was a hero—what with her fancy get up—but, then, you saw the news. And surprisingly quickly, you realized that this wasn’t the case.

At least, she did it for a cause, though she did occasionally swipe a few shiny artifacts for herself. If the British museum could steal precious artifacts and be praised for it, why couldn’t she?

Despite this, didn’t change your family dynamic.

Your mom was still a kind woman who instilled within you a sense of justice, taught you the value of family, to be kind to others. Your mother was saint in your eyes, even if she could be… impish to others.

So, imagine your surprise when she comes crashing into through the back door of your house, bloodied and bruised. Suffice to say you aren’t very fucking impressed.

“Oh my god mom! Are you okay?? What the hell happened?!”

Your legs move faster than she can react, you haul her up with one arm walking her to the couch.

“Language, baby. And I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“No! Fuck that—sorry.. but mom, this isn’t a flesh wound, who did this to you?! Tell me!”

Your hands shake her slightly, as her eyes trail from yours. This is the part she never lets you see.

“Mom. Please?”

“I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

Your mom slowly lifts before you push her back down.

“No. I got it. After I patch you up, I’m goin’ to find that bastard and put him in the ground.”

Your mom groans as she bites your name from her lips, “No! This is exactly why I don’t let you see me like this, I don’t want you to follow in my footsteps. You’re a good kid.. you don’t need a record. To always have to look over your shoulder. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been beat, darling.”

“Mom. Following in your footsteps would an honor.”

Your mother sighs, her mouth opening to speak you hold your hand up to stop her.

“But, I understand you don’t want me to and I respect that. But mom, there’s no reason for them to .. to beat you halfway unconscious like this! It’s not like you’re killing anybody.”

Your mother scoffs, “Baby, I don’t even have a bruised rib, if anything that new hero took pity on me.”

“New hero..?”

Your heels dig into the floor as you turn toward your mother, med-kit gripped in your hands.

There’s only one new hero you knew. Same one caused destruction on a daily basis, if you didn’t know he was a superhero, you would have probably assumed he was a villain too.

Now that your mom’s getting older, she’s not as fast as she used to be. You find yourself helping her out more than she cares to admit, which meant even more close encounters with that fuckface.

You try to keep your peace, but it slips away from you the second you see her bleeding, holding a towel to the new gash on her scalp.

“That fuc-freakin’ dick head in— in ..invin— god what is his dumb ass name?!”

“Invincible, darling.”

“Yeah, him! He did this to you mom?”

Your mom is quiet again, staring through the window.

“Mom. So help me god.. if that’s who hurt you—“

Your mom’s head quickly whips away from the window, her body tensing before relaxing.

“Baby.. it’s fine, I’m fine, let’s not worry about it. Come on, just patch me up—“

Anyone else wouldn’t have caught it, but you know your mom.

You bolt to the window before she let out a sound of disapproval.

That blue fucker hovered around your neighborhood, scanning the multicolored rooftops, most likely looking for your mother. Your eyebrows furrow.

Not the first time you’ve seen him, fought him.

Your mind zips back a memory of your mom on the news, running like prey from him and his merry little band of freaks. Your fist became fury as you tore through those streets, you couldn’t get a good hit on him though, didn’t matter at the time, you were only there to make sure your mom escaped, she did so you left.

Words were exchanged— hot and heavy and that was just the first time you fought him.

But this is different. This is your home, an advantage, no masks or multi-colored friends to help him.

“Don’t do anything stupid. We shouldn’t alert them of our home base!” Your mothers words hissed from her mouth, but your ears were brick walls.

The house shudders as you speed out the door, your shoes leave skid marks on the pavement as your head whips around before locking your eyes on him.

“Hey! You fucking corpo shill!”

Invincible’s head ticks as he searches for your voice.

“Over here, dumbass! Shouldn’t you be less of a directionally-challenged asshole from that high?”

Your grin splits your face as he spots you,

“Damn, who pissed in your cereal?”

“Same person who gave you that fuck ass haircut.”

His smirk made your blood rise as he hovered just above you.

“I actually quite like my Mohawk, makes me look sexy, don’t you think?”

His fingers tangle through his hair, brushing it slightly out of his face. You can admit, he’s… Hot.

At least, good looking, his skintight suit accentuates his curves and abs.

“Really? Do you also think it’s sexy to beat up old women too?” Your fist tightened, your stand widened.

A breath gets caught in throat as a chuckle slips out, “Hmm, I don’t remember beating up any old women,” his finger taps his bottom lip.

“Buttt, I do remember chasing an old hag through the streets, why? You know her?”

“Old… hag?”

“Ooo, I take it you do, huh?” His head tilts, as your eyes twitch.

Your name falling from your mom's voice causes both you and Invincible heads to snap to her.

You watch as Invincible’s tongue swipes over his lips, “Oh, there you are, been lookin for ya—“

His body shifts towards your mom, his eyes no longer focused on you, good. More words rush out from his mouth towards your mother, you can’t make them out though, the blood from your adrenaline pumps sucks the air quiet around you.

Your fist whirls back, as your body slugs its weight into the punch.

Your soft skin collides with the hard jaw of Invincible, a mini sonic boom blasts the dust away from both of you as your eyes lock with his, and he stumblea backwards as his neck tweaks.

“That.. actually hurt..?”

You don’t wait for him to catch his breathe, another strike to the gut then an uppercut.

No words, just movement.

Compared to him, you know you're not evenly matched, but if you just keep moving..

Keep moving.

His hands catch yours, fingers clench in a crushing grip. “Whoa, I wasn’t expecting that. You— you got few punches in there!”

You tug your arm as you try to gain distance,

“Tsk, nah can’t get away—“

Shit..! Think— think!

You dash into him, closing distance fast as your head reels back.

CRACK!

Your skull connects with his nose, blood sprouts his nose as you rip your wrist away.

“Mom! The garage door.. Open it! We can—“

Your body slides up the driveway as the force of Invincible’s punch whips you back. His arms wrestle you down you, pinning your body onto the concrete.

“Nuh-uh, none of that working together bullshit!”

“Fuck you!” Your body writhes underneath him,

“Ooh yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Heat blooms in your lower half, as his half-lidded eyes rake over you.

“You‘re fuckin’ disgusting!”

“Yeah baby, but what are you?” His hands slide up your neck, tracing over your trachea before his fingers grip in an unwavering hold, your head stretches back as you try to gain more air, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. Your hands desperately try to scratch at his face, and his fist raisea.

“I ain’t into hittin’ innocent people but you don’t too innocent to me to right now, heh.”

“Invincible!”

His head tips up as yours tilts back, your mother.

And your savior, your P-f High power gun gripped in her hands, red beam instantly knocks him backwards.

“Fuck! My eye!”

You scramble to your feet running towards your mother, you don’t get far, your enemy is already tackling you to floor of your garage.

“Goddamn, you're slippery!”

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ idiot!”

“Mm, an idiot that’s got you pinned”

“Really? Because to me looks like you’re the one who's pinned.”

A laugh bubbles out from you as watch him scan the room.

Your garage was your solace, your place to work—also conveniently your weapon’s locker, your automatic weapons beams train on his back.

Your head tilts, “What now, Invincible..? You move, this whole place lights up.”

“Think I’m afraid of some fuckin’ guns?”

“Mm, no, but these babies are pretty high powered, wouldn’t want my neighbors to get shish kebabs by a stray laser, now, wouldn’t ya?”

“Darling, don’t be rash, we don’t— we don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

Your mom's voice is ice to a searing wound.

His palms squeeze the curve of your wrist, “Yeah, darling. We don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

“Mom, close the garage door, now.”

Your eyes don’t leave his, they can’t.

They fester in you, piercing darkness that you both mirror.

“Howdy neighbors! What’s goin’ on here?”

Both you and Invincible break eye contact. His head turns to look behind him, his grip loosening allowing you to sit up, his hands still rest on your wrist though.

It’s your neighbor, Holly.

You all blink, your mother is the first to speak, briskly walking past you both.

“Oh hi, Holly! How are you?”

“I’m just doin just fine, just wondering what all the commotion was about, ‘n I wanted to make sure y’all were okay!”

Holly’s hands clasp together, as she begins side stepping your mother to let herself inside.

“Oh! Uh, we’re just fine. Ms. Holly.” You try to raise a hand to wave at her but his hand won’t budge causing you to scowl, mouthing ‘let me go!’

“And who might this be? I ain’t seen you around here before!” Holly grinned, you’re not sure if you’re relieved or pissed, such a nosey neighbor.

“Oh..! Him? He’s.. uh just.-“

“Boyfriend.”

“Wha—“

His knee inches against your crotch, a muffled gasp slips through his fingers as his hand covers your mouth, mustering a disarming smile.

“Sorry, she gets so embarrassed when I actually say it. “

Your tongue slithered against his palm, his eyes wince with disgust but his smile remains constant. His knees push deep into your crotch, a shudder rings through your body.

“I — uh.. we were wrestling.. that’s the noise you heard earlier.”

“Oooh” Holly eyes light up, “Hmm, what’s with that get up? If I didn’t know any better looks like you're wearing that, what’s his name? Invin….”

Invincible’s eyebrows twitch; you take the opportunity to bite his fingers making him yank away.

“Yeah, you mean Invincible! He’s a big fan boy, aren’t you?”

His eyes shoot darts at you, his smile disappears as he faces you.

Your mother pipes up, “We— uh, just got back from the comic con in town! So, he was dressed up! And that’s why I’m so beat up looking, yup!”

“Aww, you two are a bunch of nerds, huh? How cute!”

“Yup.” You let out a high-pitched laugh, “Hey, sweetheart. Help me up, would ya?”

His teeth graze his lips as his mouth twitches into a quick frown, “Sure can, baby.”

He damn near yanks your arm out of its socket as he pulls you to your feet, you trip over your own body, but Invincible steadies you, his hands gripping your waist as you find your balance.

His lips grace your ears in a seemingly loving gesture to your neighbor.

“If you think I’m goin’ to let you leave my grasp after the shit you pulled?”

His fingers squish into supple skin, strained air hisses through your throat,

He pulls back to gaze upon you, lips slightly apart, your heart fluttering in unnatural rhythm.

A snort fills the air as you feel heat rise to your cheeks under his watchful eyes. What are mere seconds feels like hours before he turns to face Holly once more.

“My name is Mark, Miss Holly. Pleasure to meet you.” His hand stretches out to her as the other rest comfortably on your waist, tucking you practically under his arms.

Holly grasps it before he bends down to kiss it, winking at her.

Fucking bastard.

“Ooh, you sure know how to pick em’, neighbor! I like this one.” Holly’s giggle makes bile rise from your throat but you chew it down.

“Ha, yup sure do..” You pat his chest, grinning at Holly.

“So, Holly..” Your mom’s voice snaps Holly out of that cutesie reverie, “We’re about to go inside so—“

“Oh! Yes, that’s what I also wanted to say! Remember, the neighborhood get-together is starting soon, so I wanted to give your complementary picnic blankets!”

Holly skips over to your mom, pulling two fluffy blankets from her purse before plopping them in her hands.

“Oh, um! Holly I’m.. well since inv— Mark! Is here I’m not sure we’ll be able to come..!”

“Aww well, I’m sure he’d wanna join, it’s fun for the whole family! Right, Mark?”

You clear your throat before attempting to speak,

“Well, H—“

His hand squeezes your hips, wince of pain oozes down your spine, making your knees almost buckle. You lean on Mark for support; he welcomes your weakness.

“Yeah! I’d love to go, but I definitely need to change out of … this costume, heh. Come on baby.. let’s... refreshen up inside, hm?”

Your eyes muster as much displeasure as they can as ushers you to the garage door.

“Wait!”

Your mom's panicked shrill spooks Holly, as she looks between you to her,

“Don’t worry, we won’t be too long. Right?”

Mark’s unnerving smile irks your mother.

“Yeah, it’ll be quick, mom. Promise..”

Your words heave out of you, your lips uptick into smile, trying to ease your mom's anxiety as Mark drags you into the hallway.

Mark flips you against the wall, pinning you by your waist, as he towers.

“You know I was jokin’ when I said you wanted to fuck me. Didn’t think it was true.”

“Fuck you!”

“Mmm, really wishing it into existence, huh, darling?”

“Fuck yo— you don’t get to call me that!”

“Aww, but your mommy does? Why can’t I? Hm?”

You throw a right hook, which is easily caught and pinned next to your head. “It’s crazy how making you horny just makes you sooo weak.”

Your ears burn with shame, “What— what the hell are you on about, dude?!”

His knee rest just under your crotch again, bumping ever so slightly.

“Your mom’s still out there, as that— what’s ..that bitch’s name again? Holly? Havin’ to listen to Holly’s incessant yapping worried about her child being beaten to a pulp. But really, you’re in here about to get your back blown out. Isn’t that funny?”

His knee grinds into you, light pressure, enough to spark a little pleasure, not enough to get off.

Your hand free hand shoots to his shoulder to push him away. But that’s not what happens, your nails dig into his shoulder as you grind back into his knee, chasing more simulation.

Your mouth twitches as you reach his eyes, fury meets with lust.

“Shit, look at you.. all wound up like this? Are you always this sensitive?”

His words growl against your neck as his teeth nip against your skin.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

His tongue leaves a long stride of saliva up your throat before sucking and your hips stutter as the hickey forms.

“Ah! Not there, you asshole!”

“Shut up, you’re not the one in control right now.”

Strings of saliva fall against your hot skin as he admires his handiwork, his fingertips brush against the blooming bruise, a low involuntary rumble levels out of you as you track his movements.

“So fuckin’ hot. Open your legs f’me.”

Your head twist away from him, the chagrin of it all has you gulping for words.

“Come on, be a good slut for me.”

Eons pass as your legs inch open, your eyes can’t meet his anymore, all that rage replaced with guilt, with desire.

“Look at that. Is that a wet spot in your pants already?”

“I— ..I don’t”

“You don’t, you don’t what?” Mark mocks you, his fingers fiddle with your waist band.

“G-god! Just get on with it.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“Wh-..what are you, the tone police? Just.. fuck, just fuck me already. If you’re gonna do it, do it!”

“Beg.”

“I—... I am not begging!”

“Damn, I guess I should go ahead and call for backup.”

Your eyes widen as you neck snaps back to trace his features.

“What?”

“I mean, I know where you live now, and your mom? She’s gotten away with a lot of shit over the years. She’s like you, slippery. Imagine the praise I’ll get for catching her, imagine the years she’ll get for all the stolen merch.”

Your eyes search his for doubt, none found.

“Please..” Your eyes cast downwards.

“Hm?” You hear his grin forming.

“Please..fu..”

“Come on, you’ve been sayin’ it to me all day. You can do it.”

“Ple— please fuck me..”

His growl of approval has your body shivering as his hand shoves down your waistband.

Your body jolts, his fingers slither to your clit.

“Invincible!” Your hands settle on his shoulders again your head struggles to stay upright.

“Mark.”

“H—huh?”

“Name’s Mark, scream that instead of invincible.”

“I’m not callin’ you a fake ass name, Invinc—..!”

“Good, cause it’s not fake.”

“Wait. You really told Holly, your real name? How fucking stupid are you!”

A sharp gasp keeps you from hurling more insults as his fingers pinch your clit.

“Sure fuckin’ did, don’t worry bout forgettin’ it either, You’ll be screamin’ it in a minute.”

His fingers don’t ease you in, they’re coarse as he rubs harsh circles against your aching pearl, a whimper continually rips through your throat as Mark peppers it with bites and slobber.

His other hand roams your body, shifting itself under your top and into your bra, the swell of your breast fits perfectly in his hand as he pinches your nipples, and a burst of moans tremble through your mouth as he tweaks your pebbled buds.

“Yeah, let me hear those slutty moans.”

“Invincibl—“

The stinging pain of Mark’s teeth sinking into your shoulder makes your hips buck against him as you whine. Your nails dig into his skin, trying to mirror the pain he’s inflicting.

“It’s Mark.”

“Fuc—fuck you...”

His chest crush against yours, your arms weakly try to push away as his hand snatches your chin down to look at him.

“Open.”

You squint, a silent challenge. His fingers press harder against your clit, you bite your lip as a moan threaten to pry your lips open.

“Stubborn, huh? Fine.” His voice was flat, unimpressed with your sudden reigniting confidence.

Mark’s fingers travel down your lips, spreading the growing slick down to the opening of your cunt.

The feeling leaves goosebumps crawling underneath your skin.

A horrifying, sinking sensation that leaves you shuddering in breaths.

His eyes bore into you,. Watching. Observing every twitch of your lips, your panicked inhales. His fingers trace circles around your entrance before ramming two fingers into your hole.

Your head whacks the wall; a crack forms under the divot you’ve made against it. Your mouth stretched as you pound your fist against his chest. Your back arches as his fingers stretch open your cunt, “Invic—Mark!”

He seizes the chance; his lips hold yours captive as his tongue shoves down your throat, drool drips down your chin as your pink muscle weakly fights back.

Your vision grows spotty as the air from your lung wheezes out of you. Your hands squeeze his shoulders as muffled whimpers are swallowed whole by him.

Your silent plea of mercy are heard as the audible pop of your lips separating fills the room.

Your eyelashes flutter, your pupils dilate stare at him, as your rhythmic pant flows out of your swollen lips.

“Fuck. Look atcha. I’ve barely done anything, and you’re in shambles.”

“You’re fuckin cra—ah..!”

His fingers curl in your sweet spot, “Hm? What was that?”

“Mar..mark!”

“Yeah. That’s better.”

Your pants are ruined, more of your slick trickles down as his fingers pump, there's an undeniable, wet shlick your pussy makes as his digits are plugged into you over and over.

Your knees buckle as you slump back, mumbling his name like a mantra, as he continues to bully your aching hole,

“Mark! Mark— pleas..ah!”

“Please what? Is this all it takes? One fingerbang and you’re ready to surrender? Fuckin’ weak.”

A pathetic whimper sobs shakes through your body as he shoves you harder into the wall, his fingers gaining a new angle, sinking deeper into your cunt.

“Be a good fuckin’ whore and cum for me, seems to me that’s the only thing you’re good for.”

Your hand raises; your nails scrape his cheek as you slap him.

“ ‘m I’m not— mhn! Not weak!”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, his thumb finds your clit again, rotating those rough waves of pleasure.

“Sh—I can’t!”

“Thhhattt‘s it, on cum on these fuckin’ fingers,”

You feel euphoric as that delicious hot pressure bubbles from your core, your eyes roll into your skull as his psychotic laugh echoes through your mind and a rapturous wave of pleasure is replaced with overwhelming dread as he doesn’t stop.

Your hips jerk involuntarily as his fingers drills you through your high.

“Mhm! Maarrk! Plea—! Sto..ah!”

“Come on, give me ‘nother”

“Nooo..!” Your fingers grip his wrist, as your head shakes furiously.

“You can take it, you’re not weak remember?”

“ ‘m not!”

“Good. Take it then.”

The squelch of your cunt is all you can hear as Mark’s lips captures yours, as your body tenses, your head attempts to pull away from his.

His free arm grasps the back of your neck your lips smash together, stealing your breath.

Your legs give out as your second orgasm hits you like a truck.

A Mark-shaped truck.

“That’s it, fall apart.”

Mark’s fingers stretch your cunt out with one last stroke, your hole twitches around nothing as he pulls away.

“All fucked out now, hm?”

A soft growl rumbles from you,

“Nothing to say?”

His tongue glides up his arm, encircling his fingertips as your juices mixed with his saliva as you watch him deep throat his fingers.

“Gross.”

Your arms wobble as you use the wall to inch yourself up. Your feet trip as you try to make your way into your room.

Mark snatches you up before your ass hits the floor.

“Fallin’ for me already?”

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

“Didn’t your mommy teach you manners?”

The garage door whips open as your mom screams your name.

“Speak of the devil.” Marks brows raise,

“Could I get some clothes, lady? Can’t show to the neighborhood bash in my ‘wrestling gear’.”

“You—“

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m fine, you should go get the clothes. Maybe we still have some of dad’s old clothes?”

Your mother’s face lights up in anger.

“I am not giving him your fath—“

“Please.. mom?”’

“Baby, bu—“

Mark’s costume wrinkles as you grip the material, his hands mirror yours, hands stroking your waist, unwavering smile.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. He— he won’t hurt me.”

A silent signal of trust.

Your mom obeys, brushing past you both, a glance over her shoulder before vanishing into the hallway.

Your eyes settle upon him again, scowl plays on your features as a smirk played across his.

“Why are you still here? To torture us?”

He tuts, “Why so morbid? I just wanna be your pretend boyfriend for a bit, babes. Have a little fun, won’t you?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

His eyes lower, flicking between to your lips then back to your eyes, your breath holds as his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Here.”

You both jump as your mother’s voice sliced through tension.

Your mom’s arms outstretched, your dad's clothes neatly folded in her hands.

“Bathroom is down the hall, door to the left, get cleaned up there.”

Mark turns on his heels, his hand hovers over the clothes, grin playing on his lips as he leaned,

“Thank you, mom.”

His head turns to you in an owlish manner, “I’ll back back, babe.”

You stand next to your mom as you watch him skip down the hallway, the creak of door shutting sends rush of release.

Your mother’s arms wrap around you hastily,

“Are you okay, baby? Her hands stroke your cheek, moving your head, stretching your neck.

“Oh, these bruises..! Did he—?”

Your face feels hot as your mother runs her fingers over your hickies, you usher her hands away, cover your neck as you avoid her gaze.

“It’s fine, mom! We uh.. talked things through. Af—after a bit…”

Your mother’s eyes trace the new crack forming in the wall.

“I see..”

Her eyes snap back to you, “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just wants to go the block party with me? He said if I don’t .. do what he wants he’ll rat us out.”

“Shit.”

Your brows fly up, hearing your mother cuss, is unprecedented, your hand rubs her chin as she exhales.

“Okay. Plan, we do what we he wants to today, then we get the hell out of dodge and move base again.”

You bit your lip,

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“I just don’t know what he wants. Why he’s toying with us..”

Your mom tilts her head back, her eyes close.

“My guess..He wants to be entertained.”

“What’s a man gotta to do get some food? Maybe we should head to the block party early, babes.”

Your father’s clothes fit him surprisingly well. He almost looked.. like a regular well adjusted human.

Piercings now adorned his face as well.

A brow piercing, double looped ear piercing, and snake bites.

“You have piercings?” Your face quirks to the side as you scan his face.

“Yeah, take em out when I’m doing patrols, why you like?”

His grin makes your temperature rise.

“Shut up.”

…

Part 2

#invincible #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson #invincible smut #invincible x you #mark grayson smut #invincible fanfic #mohawk mark #mohawk mark smut #mohawk mark x reader #invincible x reader smut #mark grayson x reader smut #mark grayson x you #mark grayson fanfic

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Hail to the Chief

Lando Norris x First Daughter of the US!Reader

Summary: in which Lando doesn’t realize exactly who he took back to his hotel room after the Miami Grand Prix (and almost causes an international incident in the process)

You stir awake, blinking slowly while you take in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sheets rustle as you stretch, a pleased smile spreading across your face. Strong arms tighten around your waist, and you glance over your shoulder to see Lando gazing at you with warm eyes.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your bare shoulder.

You hum in contentment, snuggling back against his muscular chest. The sunlight streams in through the curtains, casting the hotel room in a cozy glow. Clothes are strewn across the floor, reminders of your passionate night together after meeting at the club.

Lando’s hand trails up your side, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shiver as his lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear, his breath hot.

“Ready for round two?” He whispers, his voice husky.

You twist in his arms to face him, locking your legs with his beneath the sheets. “I thought you’d never ask,” you purr, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.

Just as things start heating up, loud banging erupts from the suite’s door. You break apart, startled. Lando frowns.

“Housekeeping?” You ask in confusion. More pounding follows, furious and insistent.

“I don’t think so,” Lando says warily.

Before either of you can react, the door crashes open, wood splintering. Men in dark suits pour into the suite, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. You yelp, grabbing the sheet to your chest. Lando scrambles upright, shock written across his handsome face.

“What the hell?” He exclaims.

The men converge on the bed in a swarm. Two sequester you, gently steering you away. The others tackle Lando, shoving him to the floor.

“Don’t fight it,” one orders as Lando struggles. He pins Lando’s arms behind his back.

“Get off me!” Lando shouts, face smushed into the carpet. “What is this?”

You know exactly what this is. Your security detail, come to collect you after last night’s escape. Panic rises in your throat.

“Please, don’t hurt him,” you beg the agents holding you.

Their grips remain firm but nonviolent. One talks rapidly into his earpiece, confirming the situation is handled. The apparent leader of the group stands over Lando, who glares up at him defiantly.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” the man states gruffly. “But you’re coming with us.”

Two agents haul Lando to his feet. He stands there in only his boxers, completely perplexed. You bite your lip, shot through with guilt. This is all because of you.

The agent in charge approaches you next, his gaze softening slightly. “Time to go home, ma’am. Your father is waiting.”

Lando’s head whips toward you so fast it must give him whiplash. “Ma’am? Your father?” His face goes ashen with dawning comprehension that there’s more to you than meets the eye. You wince, knowing there’s no way out of this now.

The agents begin herding you and Lando at a brisk pace through the ravaged hotel room door. Lando cranes his neck, trying to look at you.

“Y/N, what the hell is going on?” He hisses, stumbling along in the grip of two agents. “Who are you?”

You open your mouth, an apology on your lips. Before you can speak, the lead agent interjects sharply.

“She’s the First Daughter of the United States, son. And you’re in deep shit.”

Lando pales. “The President’s-”

“That’s right,” the man confirms. “And he’s mighty unhappy you took certain liberties with his little girl.”

Lando gulps audibly. Your heart twists with regret, seeing him so distraught. But the agents allow no further discussion, marching you both through the hotel’s back corridors. In minutes, you’re bundled into a black SUV with tinted windows. Tires screech as your motorcade peels away, sirens blaring.

You reach for Lando’s hand, relief flooding you when he doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper earnestly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He searches your face, brow furrowed. But his fingers tighten around yours. “It’s okay. Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You nod, knowing you owe him an explanation. But before you can speak, the SUV rolls to a stop on an empty airport tarmac. A sleek private plane awaits, engines rumbling. The agents hurry you both up the stairs into the lavish cabin.

Once settled inside, the lead agent fixes Lando with a solemn look. “We’re taking you straight to DC. The President wants to have a word with you both.”

Lando gulps again. You squeeze his hand, offering a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry. My dad’s just a little … overprotective sometimes.”

You nestle close to Lando as the jet taxis down the runway, hoping to provide some comfort. But he sits rigidly, face pale.

“Hey,” you say softly, “It’s going to be okay.”

Lando turns to you with wide, frightened eyes. “Okay? Your dad is the President! And I … I ...” He gestures helplessly at you, at a loss for words.

“Deflowered his only daughter?” You supply with a teasing grin.

Lando gulps loudly. “Oh god. He’s going to kill me, isn’t he? I’m a dead man. They’ll waterboard me or worse.”

You have to laugh at his flustered expression. “Relax, it won’t be that bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lando grumbles. “You’re not the one who’s gonna get shipped off to some CIA black site never to be heard from again.”

“Oh come on, he won’t go that far.”

Lando turns to you with wide, frightened eyes. “Are you sure? I’ve heard stories about shady government stuff. Secret torture chambers under the White House. Experimental poisons. Attack eagles trained to go for the jugular.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment before stating in a deadpan voice, “The eagles prefer to go for the liver actually. More tender that way.”

Lando lets out a whimper, his face draining of color. “Oh god, you’re serious?” He squeaks. “I knew it, I’m never getting out of this alive!”

You can’t keep a straight face any longer and burst out laughing. “Lando, relax! I’m just messing with you. There are no attack eagles or secret torture chambers.”

You take his hand and kiss his cheek reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. My dad will probably just want to have a talk with you. That’s all.”

Lando still looks uncertain, but manages a shaky nod. “If you say so. But I think I’ll say a prayer or two just in case. Please tell me your old man doesn’t have a shotgun.”

“No shotguns,” you confirm, patting Lando’s knee. “But the Secret Service on the other hand ...”

Lando’s eyes widen in renewed fear. He clasps his hands together dramatically and looks upward. “Dear spirit of Ayrton Senna, please protect me from the wrath of the President and his highly trained special agents. I know not what awaits me in Washington, but I beg you to guard me from grievous bodily harm ...”

***

The plane touches down at Andrews Air Force Base, and you and Lando are swiftly escorted from the plane into an armored SUV. Lando fidgets nervously in his seat during the short drive through the capital, hands clasped tightly in his lap.

“It’s going to be okay,” you murmur, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. He attempts a weak smile in return.

All too soon, the SUV pulls up to the White House. You and Lando are ushered quickly inside by Secret Service agents, bypassing security checks. As you walk briskly through the historic halls, Lando gapes at the lavish architecture and priceless artwork adorning the walls.

“This is unreal,” he whispers. You give his hand an encouraging squeeze.

At last you arrive outside the Oval Office. The agents pause, stone-faced, before opening the tall wooden doors. Your stomach flip-flops with nerves as you enter behind them.

There, seated at the Resolute Desk, is your father — the President of the United States. He rises as you approach, his face impassive. You offer a timid smile.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Your father’s stern expression instantly melts. He circles the desk and pulls you into a warm embrace.

“There’s my little girl,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “You had me so worried.”

Guilt gnaws at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry about that now. I’m just glad you’re safe.” He pauses, then adds, “Though if you really wanted an F1 driver, why couldn’t it have been that nice American boy Logan Sargeant? Now there’s an upstanding young patriot.”

Your father holds you by the shoulders, surveying you with concern. Seeing that you’re unharmed, his gaze shifts to Lando hovering awkwardly behind you. Your father’s eyes harden, his jaw setting. Lando audibly gulps.

Stepping between them, you take a deep breath. “Daddy, this is Lando. The man I was with last night.”

You lace your fingers through Lando’s in a show of solidarity. Your father’s piercing stare makes him fidget.

“Lando Norris,” your father states coldly. “Formula 1 driver. British national. Born and raised in Bristol, England. Competes for McLaren Racing. Net worth of $30 million USD. Had unauthorized relations with my daughter approximately ...” He glances at his watch, “ ... twelve hours ago.”

Lando pales under your father’s recitation of his biography and recent activities. You shoot your dad a pleading look.

“Go easy on him, okay?”

Your father’s face softens slightly at your words. He beckons for Lando to step forward.

“Son, you have exactly one minute to explain yourself before I set the full force of the United States government on you for defiling my princess. And believe me when I say there are dark places in this world where no one will ever find you again.”

Lando looks ready to pass out. He glances at you in panic, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. You give his hand an encouraging squeeze, signaling for him to speak.

“I-I’m so sorry, Mr. President,” Lando stammers. “Obviously I didn’t know who Y/N was when we met last night. But I care about her a lot, truly, and I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her. I have nothing but respect for her and for you, sir.”

He straightens his shoulders, gaining confidence. “I understand I made a mistake, and I take full responsibility. But I promise, my intentions are honorable. If you’ll permit it, I’d like to properly court Y/N with your blessing.”

Your father studies Lando for a long moment, face unreadable. The tension in the room is stifling. Finally, he cracks a wry smile.

“Very well. You’ve got spunk, kid, I’ll give you that. And clearly my daughter sees something in you worth all this trouble. But understand this—” Your father leans in, eyes flashing. “You’ve got one shot to prove yourself worthy of her. Mess it up, and you’ll be scrubbing toilets in Guantanamo Bay for the rest of your short, miserable life. Are we clear?”

Lando audibly gulps again. “C-crystal clear, sir.”

“Good.” Your father claps Lando on the shoulder firmly enough to make him wince. Then he turns to you, expression softening.

“I’m not happy you were out all night without security, young lady. You’ll be grounded for two weeks. No cell phone, no social media, and no racing events.” You open your mouth to protest, but your father silences you with a raised hand. “However, in light of the circumstances, we’ll reduce it to one week. Consider yourself lucky.”

You sigh but don’t argue. Your father pulls you in for one more hug. “I’m glad you’re alright, sweetpea. Now run along back to the residence while I have a few more words with your new suitor here.”

You give Lando an encouraging smile as you exit the Oval Office. The last thing you see before the door shuts is your father clapping a hand on Lando’s shoulder again, steering him toward the Roosevelt Desk. “Have a seat, son. We’ve got lots to discuss ...”

Lando perches anxiously on the edge of the chair across from your father at the Roosevelt Desk.

“First things first,” your dad begins. “I expect you to treat my daughter with the utmost respect. No staying out all night and no unsavory activities. You will be a gentleman at all times. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Lando says quickly.

“Second, you are not to distract her from her studies. Y/N is on track to graduate top of her class at Georgetown and I won’t have anyone jeopardizing that.”

Lando nods. “Of course not, her education comes first.”

“Good,” your father says gruffly. “Third rule: you will check in with me weekly to provide updates on where you are taking her and what you are doing. And know that my security team will be monitoring your activities closely as well.”

Gulping, Lando agrees to the terms. Your father continues laying down the law for several more minutes, covering everything from curfews to social media posts to PDA.

“And if at any point I decide you are no longer an appropriate suitor for my daughter, you will end the relationship immediately and without argument. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, Mr. President,” Lando says quickly. “You have my word I intend to do right by Y/N.”

Your father studies him a moment longer before cracking a wry smile. “Well, you’ve got guts at least, son. Most boys your age would’ve wet themselves by now. I suppose I can give you a chance. But remember, one toe out of line and ...”

He makes a slicing motion across his throat. Lando audibly gulps.

“Yes sir! I understand completely.”

“Good man,” your father says, standing to clap Lando on the back. “Now let’s get you out of here before you really do pass out ...”

***

After the whirlwind events of the day, Lando is given a plush guest suite in the White House residence to spend the night. He collapses onto the king-sized four poster bed, emotionally exhausted.

Just this morning he woke up with the President’s daughter in his arms. Now he’s been threatened within an inch of his life by the leader of the free world. What a wild rollercoaster of a day.

A soft knock at the door makes Lando jump. Before he can respond, you slip inside, closing the door quietly behind you.

“Y/N!” Lando exclaims in a loud whisper. “What are you doing here?”

You smile mischievously, walking over to sit beside him on the bed. “What does it look like? I missed you.”

Lando’s eyes dart around the room, half expecting your father to burst out of the closet. “Are you crazy? If we get caught together your dad will annihilate me!”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Oh relax, no one patrols the residential wing’s hallways at night. We’re completely alone.” Leaning in, you brush your lips teasingly along his jaw. “Now where were we this morning before we were so rudely interrupted?”

Lando can’t restrain a small groan of desire, but retains the presence of mind to gently halt your roaming hands. “Y/N, we can’t. You heard your father’s rules.”

You make a face. “Come on, live a little! He won’t know as long as we’re discreet.”

Biting his lip, Lando wavers. Having you here, so warm and willing in his arms, is incredibly tempting. And technically the President had only forbidden unauthorized nighttime activities outside of the White House ...

Sensing his hesitation, you straddle his lap and cup his face in your hands. “I want this, Lando,” you murmur sincerely before kissing him deeply.

That does it. Lando kisses you back hungrily, pulling you flush against him. You let out a delighted hum, fingers spearing into his curls. Within moments you’re both stripped down to your underwear, hands greedily exploring.

But as things heat up, Lando abruptly breaks the kiss, eyes wide. “Did you hear that?” He whispers.

You still, listening closely. “Hear what?”

“I thought I heard something in the hall.”

You grin teasingly. “You’re being paranoid.” But you indulge him and climb off so he can check, wrapping yourself in a sheet.

Lando cracks the door open slowly, peering out. Seeing nothing, he lets out a breath and returns to the bed.

“Okay, false alarm. Now, where were-”

His words cut off with a yelp as you pounce, pinning him beneath you. Laughing, you silence any further protest with your lips. Soon Lando is kissing you fiercely once more, hands roaming your body.

Just as he’s unclasping your bra, Lando breaks the kiss again. “Wait, did you lock the door?”

You huff in feigned annoyance. “Of course I did!”

But Lando is already slithering out from under you to double check. You flop back against the pillows with a sigh.

“Lando, would you relax? No one is coming.” You give him your best pleading look. “Now come back to bed and finish what you started, handsome.”

That seems to do the trick. With one final glance at the locked door, Lando grins and rejoins you. His warm hands and mouth resume their sensual exploration.

You’re both completely lost in each other when suddenly the door handle rattles.

“Someone’s coming!” Lando whispers in alarm.

He hurriedly gathers up the sheets around you just as the door swings open to reveal a Secret Service agent.

“Oh, uh, hello?” Lando says, trying to sound casual despite being shirtless and flushed.

You hold perfectly still under the sheet, heart hammering.

The agent surveys the room suspiciously. “Thought I heard voices. Everything alright in here, Mr. Norris?”

“Yep, all good!” Lando says with forced cheer. “Just chatting on the phone. With my … mum. In England. Time zones, you know.”

The agent clearly doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze raking over the disheveled bed. But after a long pause he simply says “Very well. Have a good night, sir.”

Lando sighs in relief as the door shuts. After a moment, you peek your head out from under the sheet.

“That was close!”

Lando flops back onto the bed, laughing. “No kidding! I thought we were busted for sure.”

Tilting his chin up, you give Lando a slow, sensual kiss. “Now then, I believe you still have some unfinished business to attend to, Mr. Norris ...”

Lando searches your face then grins sheepishly, pulling you into his arms. “You’re absolutely incorrigible. Come here.”

***

For your first official date night, Lando takes you out for dinner in The Inn at Little Washington. You emerge from your room in a stunning silky dress, hair and makeup impeccable.

Lando’s eyes widen and he lets out an appreciative whistle. “Wow. You look incredible.”

He pulls you in for a quick kiss, careful not to smudge your lipstick. Just then, your Secret Service detail emerges, dressed in their standard crisp black suits and sunglasses.

The lead agent addresses Lando gruffly. “Alright, here’s the deal. We’ll be accompanying you tonight, but our goal is to stay invisible. Don’t acknowledge us, don’t make eye contact, just pretend we’re not there.”

Lando nods, looking uncertain. With their massive builds and conspicuous attire, ignoring the agents doesn’t seem likely. But he decides to just go with it.

At the restaurant, the hostess seats you and Lando at a cozy table for two. As promised, your detail blends into the background, taking up positions around the dining room. Lando tries his best not to glance nervously at the two imposing figures lurking near the entrance.

After you order, Lando reaches across the table to take your hand. “You really do look stunning tonight,” he says softly. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

You blush prettily. “Smooth talker. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Lando grins. Just then, the sommelier arrives to present the wine list. As he’s rattling off descriptions of merlots and cabernets, you notice Lando’s gaze drift over the sommelier’s shoulder to where two of your agents are posted nearby. You squeeze Lando’s hand to get his attention back.

“Uh, sorry, what was that last one?” Lando asks, snapping his focus back to the confused sommelier.

Once you’ve ordered wine and appetizers, the conversation flows smoothly. Lando has almost forgotten about your not-so-invisible security until the entrees arrive. The waiter sets down your plates with a flourish.

As he pivots to leave, he collides directly with the broad chest of one of your agents, nearly upending the tray of food.

“Oh! Pardon me, sir,” the waiter stammers. The agent, true to his training, ignores the flustered waiter and remains statue-still.

Lando has to fake a coughing fit to disguise his laugh. You cover your mouth delicately, eyes sparkling with amusement. So much for blending seamlessly into the environment.

As dinner progresses, Lando finds his gaze drawn again and again to your hulking shadows scattered around the restaurant. He watches one agent accidentally block a busboy trying to clear a nearby table. Another nearly takes out a hovering food runner as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. It’s like seeing massive, well-dressed bulls in a china shop.

When the check comes, Lando signs quickly then leans toward you conspiratorially. “Have I mentioned how incredibly normal this dinner has been? Just two totally regular people on a date without armed guards watching our every move.”

You have to smother your giggles behind your hand. “Oh yes, completely low-key. I forgot the agents were even here!”

As you exit the restaurant hand-in-hand, Lando murmurs under his breath, “Nothing to see here, just a guy and his girlfriend trailed by four gigantic men in black ...”

You dissolve into laughter, drawing confused looks from passersby. Lando grins and pulls you close. Invisible security or not, it was a perfect first official date. And as your convoy of not-so-covert agents escorts you safely home, he’s already planning many more to come.

***

A few months later, you join Lando at Circuit of the Americas in Austin for the United States Grand Prix. As you walk hand-in-hand through the paddock, Lando smiles and waves at the fans calling his name from behind the fences.

Up ahead, a large group of people round the corner. Their eyes light up when they see you both.

“Here we go,” Lando murmurs, dropping your hand to sign autographs and pose for selfies.

But as the group draws near, you realize they aren’t fans — it’s the Governor of Texas and his entourage.

“Y/N!” the Governor booms jovially, arms open wide. Behind him are several legislators, donors, and a gaggle of reporters. “What a wonderful surprise!”

He engulfs you in a bear hug before holding you at arm’s length. “Don’t you look lovely! How’s your father doing? I just spoke to him last week about the education bill.”

Lando stands by awkwardly as you’re enveloped into the group. You glance at him apologetically while greeting each person.

“Daddy’s doing well, thanks for asking! Keeping busy as always.”

“I’ll bet!” the Governor chuckles. He turns to holler at one of his aides. “Hey Jim, tell the White House we said hello to his beautiful daughter, would ya?”

The reporters surge forward eagerly, microphones extended. “Y/N, what brings you to Austin this weekend?”

You gesture to Lando. “I’m here supporting my boyfriend, Lando. He’s racing for McLaren.”

All eyes turn to Lando curiously. Flashing cameras make him squint. The Governor grabs his hand in an enthusiastic shake.

“Lando, eh? Good to meet you!” Without waiting for a response, he turns back to you. “Y/N, your father briefed me on the proposals to increase Pell Grant funding. Seems like an excellent plan ...”

As the Governor launches into policy discussion, Lando shifts awkwardly on his feet. You keep one eye on him while politely engaging with each person. More politicians approach to lobby you about your dad’s agenda.

“Your father’s infrastructure bill was brilliant!” One praises. “Make sure to tell him he’s got my full support.”

You smile. “I’ll let him know. I know he appreciates your vote.”

One donor pipes up excitedly. “I’ll be holding a high-dollar fundraiser next month in Dallas. Your attendance would mean so much ...”

You tactfully deflect, making no commitments. The reporters pepper you with questions about your studies at Georgetown and future political aspirations. You give diplomatic answers about focusing on the present while the Governor boasts of your potential.

“Y/N here is gonna be President herself one day!” He winks conspiratorially. “I’m calling it now, folks.”

Mercifully, an aide reminds the Governor he’s late for a meeting. As the group prepares to move on, he pumps your hand enthusiastically.

“It was fantastic to see you, Y/N. Tell your old man I said hello! Keep up the good work in school.” He spares a departing nod at Lando. “Nice meeting you, son.”

And with that, the entourage sweeps away. You let out a breath, turning to Lando. “I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t expect the Governor to be here.”

But Lando just stares after the departing politicians, looking slightly stunned. “I mean … I knew your dad was the President. But I guess it didn’t totally sink in until just now ...”

He runs a hand through his curls. “It’s like you’re royalty or something. Paparazzi, donors, governors … you’re a big deal, Y/N.”

You bite your lip. “Not by choice. I know the attention is weird, but I promise I’m still just me.” You take his hand, gazing at him earnestly. “None of those people determine our relationship. Only we do.”

Lando searches your face, then smiles. “You’re right. It’s just … surreal sometimes. But it doesn’t change how I feel or that I want to make this work.”

He squeezes your hand. You grin, feeling a rush of affection. Standing on tiptoe, you give him a lingering kiss. Around you, cameras flash as photographers snap the moment.

Lando chuckles as you break apart. “I’d better get used to that too, huh?”

“Comes with the territory,” you laugh. Taking his arm, you continue through the paddock. “Now come on. Let’s go watch qualifying before more politicians ambush us!”

***

The cheers of the crowd are deafening as Lando crosses the finish line in first place, finally claiming his first ever Formula 1 victory. You’re jumping up and down in the McLaren garage, absolutely elated for your boyfriend.

In the frenzy of celebrations after the race, you and Lando manage to slip away from the crowds and teams back to his hotel suite to continue the festivities in private. As soon as the door shuts behind you, Lando whoops and sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around.

“I did it, baby! I finally did it!”

You grin, happiness bubbling up inside you. “I’m so proud of you! I knew this day would come.”

Setting you down, Lando crashes his lips to yours in a fierce, passionate kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling like you might burst from joy.

Eventually you break apart, both flushed and beaming. Lando brushes his thumb over your cheek tenderly.

“I couldn’t have done this without your support, Y/N. You being here to share this means everything to me.”

You place your hand over his heart. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away. I’ll always be your biggest fan.”

Lando’s eyes darken and he pulls you in for another searing kiss. Your heartbeat quickens as his hands trail down your back, fumbling for the zipper on your dress. Blindly you shuffle toward the bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind you.

Things are just starting to really heat up when suddenly the hotel room door bursts open. Your Secret Service detail comes pouring in, guns drawn.

“HANDS IN THE AIR!” An agent bellows. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Lando yelps, grabbing frantically for a sheet to cover you both. “She’s fine! We’re just … celebrating!”

The agents quickly assess the situation. Their leader clears his throat, lowering his weapon.

“Apologies for the intrusion. Your smart watch alerted us to an elevated heart rate indicating potential distress. We believed you were in danger.”

You close your eyes, mortified heat flooding your cheeks. “Oh my god. It’s fine, everything’s fine! You all can go now.”

The agents shuffle out, mumbling apologies. Lando collapses back on the bed, absolutely hysterical with laughter. You smack his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

“It’s not funny!” You exclaim, covering your flaming face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lando gasps through his giggles. “It’s just — their faces! And then when they saw us ...” He dissolves into another fit.

Despite your embarrassment, his laughter proves contagious. Soon you’re both wiping away tears, sides aching.

Finally calming down, Lando strokes your hair back from your face affectionately. “Well, that’s one way to kill the mood.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “No kidding. We desperately need to tweak the sensitivity on this watch.”

“Maybe we could take it off temporarily?” Lando suggests with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.

You shake your head. “I wish, but this watch has saved my life before. I can’t take it off.”

Lando’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? What happened?”

You absently toy with the watch on your wrist. “About two years ago I was out shopping and some guys tried to grab me. If I hadn’t been wearing this watch with its location tracker, my detail might not have found me in time.”

You shudder at the memory. Lando takes your hand, face filled with concern.

“That’s awful, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

You offer a reassuring smile. “It worked out okay. So as annoying as it can be, it’s staying on 24/7 for my safety.”

Lando nods seriously. “Of course. I would never want to jeopardize your security just for some fun.” He kisses your temple. “I guess we’ll just have to get creative when it comes to celebrating in private from now on.”

You grin mischievously. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

***

“So Lando, I gotta ask — how are things going with Y/N?” Max Fewtrell asks with a smirk through the webcam.

You feel your cheeks flush from where you’re sitting on the couch off-camera as Lando grins sheepishly. “Things are going great, thanks for asking.”

The chat explodes with messages.

Is she there?

We want to meet her!

Max chuckles at the chat’s reaction. “Sounds like the fans want you to bring Y/N on stream, what do you think?”

Lando looks over at you. “I mean, if you’re up for it they’d love to meet you.”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling shy at the thought of going on Lando’s stream. But the encouraging look on his face gives you courage. “I guess I can say a quick hello,” you say, walking over.

As you enter the frame, Max suddenly starts blasting “Hail to the Chief,” causing you to jump.

“Oh my god Max, really?” You groan, though you can’t help but laugh.

“I had to!” Max cackles. “The First Daughter deserves a proper entrance.”

Lando playfully rolls his eyes and pulls you into his lap. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the memes.”

You smile, leaning into Lando as you glance at the rapidly moving chat. Most of the messages are incredibly positive — welcoming you and talking about what a cute couple you and Lando are.

“Hi everyone!” You say with a small wave. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you all.”

“She’s just a normal girl who happens to have the most powerful man in the world wrapped around her finger,” Lando jokes, kissing your temple.

You grin up at him then turn back to the webcam. “I guess our relationship can look pretty weird from the outside. But Lando makes me really happy, and I hope we have your support.”

The chat floods with heart emotes and messages gushing about young love.

Max smiles. “You two are adorable. But inquiring minds want to know — how did you meet?”

You and Lando share a knowing look. “Well...” he draws out. “We actually met in Miami during the Grand Prix last year.”

“Oooh an international romance!” Max teases.

You poke Lando playfully in the side. “What he’s leaving out is that we met at a club. I was there on a rare night out and he came over to ask me to dance.”

“Is that so?” Max grins.

“Hey now, no need for the details,” Lando says, tickling your sides as you squirm and laugh.

The chat is begging for the full story, so you decide to give it to them. “Okay, okay! So we danced all night and really hit it off. Then the next morning ...”

You trail off, trying not to giggle as Lando shakes his head. “Do we really need to tell them about the next morning?”

Yes! The chat unanimously agrees.

You pat Lando’s cheek. “It’s okay honey, I’ll protect you from the memes this time.”

Clearing your throat, you continue. “So the next morning, after a night of … fun, my secret service detail may have burst into Lando’s hotel room to bring me back home.”

Max bursts out laughing. “No way! Lando, you absolute madman.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Lando exclaims, though he’s laughing too. “How was I supposed to know who she was?”

Max snorts. “I mean, who doesn’t recognize America’s Sweetheart?”

Lando smirks. “I’m British! And I was a bit distracted by her other, uh, assets.”

“Lando!” You swat his chest playfully as he cracks up, the chat going crazy over his flirtatious teasing.

“Anyway,” you go on. “I had to explain to my security team that I was fine and we were just hanging out. But of course they still dragged both of us back to the White House so Lando could meet my father.”

Max is wheezing. “No way, they took you to meet the President after an one night stand?”

Lando covers his reddening face. “It was mortifying. I was stumbling around half asleep still in last night’s clothes, reeking of vodka and bad decisions.”

You kiss his cheek, patting his leg consolingly. “Aww babe, you did great. My dad said he admired your composure given the circumstances.”

Lando peeks out from behind his hands. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm. “He could tell how much you cared about me and that you weren’t just fooling around. And obviously he was right, since here we are a year later and happier than ever.”

Lando smiles softly, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. “Yeah, here we are.”

The chat has switched to mostly heart eye and aww emojis, gushing about you two being relationship goals.

You turn back to the camera a bit bashfully. “So yeah, that’s the story of how we met. Not exactly a fairytale beginning but ...”

You trail off as Lando reaches out to tilt your chin towards him, looking into your eyes earnestly. “It was the start of my fairytale,” he says softly.

Your heart flutters at his words. You lean in and kiss him tenderly. For a moment, it feels like you and Lando are the only two people in the world.

When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his. “You’re my fairytale too,” you whisper.

Lando’s eyes are full of love and wonder, as if he can’t believe how lucky he is to have found you.

“Awww!” Max interrupts your intimate moment. “You two are just too cute. The chat is loving this!”

You glance over to see the chat flooded with positive messages about your relationship. Smiling shyly, you take Lando’s hand and lace your fingers together.

“I’d say this turned out to be a pretty good stream, wouldn’t you?” Lando asks, grinning.

You laugh, giving his hand a squeeze. “Definitely one of your best.”

2K notes · View notes

cassiemaebarnes · 3 months ago

Text

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 8

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 5903

Sorry for the wait!! I got busy this week with exams and work😭 but I made this chapter a little longer to hopefully make up for it! I'll try to get the next part out a little quicker😊

While the others made their way to the meeting, you crutched over to the couch and sat down, not bothering to elevate your ankle. It was feeling a lot better, and although there was still some bruising, it wasn’t very swollen anymore.

You scrolled through your phone for about an hour before you heard the elevator ding and the voices of the others cut through the silence. When you looked up, once again, Bucky was the first one into the common room, coming over and immediately taking a seat beside you. His arm went to the back of the couch and his hand found your shoulder like it was all second nature.

“Hey doll,” he said, smirking at you.

You just gave him a look, but you couldn’t stop the smile from coming onto your face as you let out a little laugh.

Before you could get a word in, the rest of the team started filing into the room one by one, voices echoing and conversations overlapping, but every single one of them seemed to slow their step the second they saw you and Bucky.

“Ugh,” Sam groaned dramatically, dropping into the armchair across from you. “The way you two look at each other makes me sick.”

Tony, trailing behind, sipped from his coffee and raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself. It’s kinda cute, actually. Like a dating site commercial. So in love, it’s nauseating.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but didn’t move his hand.

Nat leaned over the side of the couch, glancing between the two of you. “Honestly, I think it’s sweet. Gross, but sweet.”

You groaned into your hands. “I can’t even sit on a couch anymore?”

“You can,” Clint said from the kitchen, “but do it like a normal person, not like you’re starring in The Notebook: Avengers Edition.”

You shot Bucky a sideways glance, and he looked far too pleased with himself.

Steve finally walked in, glanced around at the chaos, and sighed. “Alright, enough. We’re not doing this again.”

“You say that every day,” Sam muttered.

Steve ignored him and turned to you. “I actually wanted to talk to you for a sec. You’re cleared to start physical therapy tomorrow.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“It’ll be light,” Steve added, nodding toward your ankle. “But yeah. That means you should try putting a little weight on it today, see how it feels. Get used to it again.”

You glanced down at your ankle, then at your crutches resting beside the couch. “Okay…I can try.”

“I’ll help you,” Bucky added immediately.

A beat of silence passed before the others cut in.

Sam clutched his chest. “Oh my god, he's her emotional support soldier.”

Tony looked like he was about to cry. “They grow up so fast.”

Steve just shook his head, like he regretted every decision that brought this team together.

For the next hour, you were all lounging in the common room while conversations bounced lazily around the space. You’d been sipping water for the last hour, and now…nature was calling.

You sighed and pushed the blanket off your lap, slowly swinging your legs over the edge of the couch.

Immediately, Bucky sat up straighter.

“Where are you going?” he asked, already getting to his feet like he had a sixth sense for when you were about to move.

You gave him a look, amused. “Bathroom.”

He nodded without hesitation. “Okay. I’ll help you.”

You barely had time to react before the others caught on.

Sam practically fell off the chair. “Help her?” he cackled. “What are you gonna do, hold her hand while she pees?”

Nat nearly choked on her drink. “Oh my god, Bucky. Boundaries, man.”

Clint leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grinning. “Is this a two-person operation now? You gonna give her a pep talk from the doorway?”

Tony didn’t even look up from his tablet. “Let’s just be clear: if you’re gone more than 5 minutes, we’re shutting this whole thing down.”

You were laughing so hard you had to grab the arm of the couch to steady yourself, shaking your head. “I can pee on my own, guys. I just need help walking.”

“I’m just saying,” Sam added, “you two get more domestic every day. I’m waiting for him to start pre-heating the toilet seat for you.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” you wheezed.

Bucky just shook his head and offered you his hand. “C’mon, before they start planning our retirement.”

You took his hand and stood up slowly, still chuckling. “You’re not even denying it anymore.”

“I learned my lesson,” he said dryly. “Denial just gives them more material.”

As you hobbled your way toward the hall with Bucky at your side, you heard Tony call after you, “Remember to leave the door cracked, lovebirds. We need updates!”

You flipped him off behind your back without even turning around.

And as the two of you disappeared down the hall, the laughter behind you only got louder.

When you and Bucky returned to the common room, you walked in like it was no big deal – you leaning on his arm, walking a little better now but still wincing every few steps. He was quiet and calm beside you, his hand hovering near your waist like he was ready to catch you again if you so much as wobbled.

Naturally, the second you crossed into the room, you were met with more teasing.

Sam sat up straighter on the couch, eyes already glinting. “Well, well, well. Took you long enough.”

Nat smirked from where she was perched on the arm of the loveseat. “Everything come out okay?”

You stopped walking and gave them a flat look. “Really? That’s where we’re going with this?”

Clint let out a low whistle. “You sure you didn’t sprain more than your ankle in there?”

Tony looked up from his tablet. “I’m just saying, you could’ve walked on your ankle with your crutches for assistance instead of Bucky.”

You groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “We were gone for two minutes.”

Bucky sat beside you calmly, completely composed.

Then–

“Well,” he said, voice casual, “I did help her with a few things.”

You froze.

So did everyone else.

“…Excuse me?” you said, blinking at him.

He turned to you with a fake-innocent expression. “What? You needed help standing… balancing…”

You narrowed your eyes. “Bucky.”

He smirked, slow and dangerous, the kind of smirk that meant he knew exactly what he was doing. “I mean, I offered more help. She said no.”

Gasps all around.

“BUCKY!” you yelled, eyes wide as your hand smacked against his arm.

Sam howled, falling sideways into the cushions. “OH MY GOD. He’s unhinged.”

“Buck!” Steve choked, genuinely shocked but laughing anyway. “What happened to ‘respectful silence’?”

Nat was doubled over, her face buried in a throw pillow. “He’s corrupted! He’s fully gone.”

“I take no responsibility,” Tony said, raising his hands. “This is entirely on Sleeping Beauty.”

You were still glaring at Bucky. “You are so lucky I can’t run right now.”

He just leaned back into the couch, completely unbothered. “Just saying…if she ever needs other help…”

You gasped again, smacking his chest with the back of your hand before hiding your face as the room exploded into another round of laughter.

“DID YOU HEAR HIM?!” Clint yelled, nearly in tears. “This man’s got material.”

Wanda wiped a tear from her eye. “Winter Soldier’s gone full flirt mode.”

Bucky glanced sideways at you, his smirk softening just slightly. “What? I’m just being helpful.”

You peeked at him from behind your hands, face burning. “You’re gonna get me murdered by this team.”

“Nah,” he murmured, “they’d never kill the star of their favorite rom-com.”

You let out a helpless little groan and dropped your face onto his shoulder.

And Bucky just wrapped his arm around you like he’d done nothing wrong at all.

A little while later, Wanda looked up from the puzzle she was half-attempting with Vision. “I’m bored, we should put on a movie.”

“I second that,” Sam said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Since we can never decide on a movie, we should draw genres,” Wanda suggested. “Make it fair. Everyone writes one, toss them in a bowl, we pick blind.”

Everyone mumbled in agreement, and within minutes, a makeshift bowl of hastily scribbled paper scraps sat on the coffee table.

Steve was chosen as the unbiased picker. He dramatically shuffled them, reached in, and unfolded one with a raised brow.

He stared at it.

“…Rom-com.”

A beat.

The room groaned and cheered simultaneously.

Sam looked personally offended. “You’re kidding.”

Nat grinned. “Let the chaos begin.”

Tony threw his arms up. “YES. We’re going full heart-eyes tonight.”

Wanda turned to you with a knowing look. “You’re getting off easy. Rom-com’s practically your genre.”

You tried to hide your smile and shrugged innocently. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Okay, okay,” Clint called. “What are we watching? It has to be a classic.”

“10 Things I Hate About You,” Nat said immediately. “It’s not even up for debate.”

There were a few half-hearted objections, but no one could argue.

Soon, the movie was up, lights dimmed, snacks passed around, and everyone was claiming their spots.

You were still on the couch beside Bucky, a shared blanket draped over both your laps. His arm was still settled comfortably behind your shoulders, fingertips just brushing your upper arm. You curled your good leg underneath you, your knee resting gently against Bucky’s thigh.

He didn’t move away.

As the opening scenes rolled, the background chatter faded, replaced by soft laughter and the sounds of popcorn crunching.

A little while into the movie, Bucky’s hand – the one not around your shoulders – shifted beneath the blanket.

Without warning, his fingers brushed lightly against your leg.

Then rested right on your thigh, just above your knee.

You froze.

Your breath caught for half a second. The contact was casual – warm and steady – but somehow it made your whole body buzz.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say anything. Just left his hand there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You tried to focus on the movie, you really did.

But your heart was pounding.

After a few moments, though, the initial jolt settled. His touch wasn’t demanding or heavy, it just was. And it grounded you, made your chest ache in the nicest way.

You exhaled slowly, eyes drifting toward the screen again.

And that’s when Sam, of course, turned from the floor, where he was sprawled on a bean bag, and narrowed his eyes.

“Hey.”

You and Bucky both looked over.

Sam pointed at the two of you under the blanket. “What’s Barnes doing under there?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Sam.”

“No, no, I’m just asking,” he said, hands raised. “Because that blanket’s suspiciously still and I’ve seen that man break necks with his pinky. You’re telling me he hasn’t moved in twenty minutes?”

Bucky, still calm, still casual, raised a brow. “I’m watching the movie.”

“Are you?” Clint chimed in from the armchair. “Because from here it looks like your hand’s on a side quest.”

The room erupted into snickering.

“Where’s the hand, Barnes?” Tony called dramatically. “We need visual confirmation.”

The room went quiet for a beat, anticipation thick in the air.

Then Bucky, without missing a beat, deadpanned, “Can’t show you. It’s classified.”

The group howled.

“BUCKY!” you gasped, smacking his chest with the back of your hand as your jaw dropped. “What is wrong with you?!”

He just shrugged, clearly proud of himself, that smug little smirk tugging at his mouth.

Clint nearly fell off his chair. “He said classified. I’m crying.”

Sam was doubled over, slapping his leg. “Is it stuck? Blink twice if you need help, y/n!”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in Bucky’s shoulder as the laughter got louder.

Tony clapped once. “Confirmed: he’s gone full feral. I knew this day would come.”

Nat laughed into her mug. “Honestly? Kinda impressed.”

You were trying to bury your face in Bucky’s side now, half-laughing, half-horrified, your voice muffled. “You are never allowed to speak again.”

He just leaned a little closer to you, speaking so only you could hear, voice low and amused. “You’re cute when you panic.”

You turned your face toward him, still flustered but smiling now, and smacked his chest again. “Stop talking.”

The movie played on, but no one was really paying attention anymore.

Not when Bucky Barnes – Mr. Brooding himself – was cracking jokes like it was open mic night.

Finally, the room had quieted down again as the movie continued playing.

On the screen, Kat Stratford stood in front of the class, her voice trembling just slightly as she read her poem.

You felt it coming.

The tight ache in your throat. The sting behind your eyes.

You weren’t a crier, especially not in front of everyone, but something about this scene always got you, and after the whirlwind of the past few days, it hit even harder now.

You blinked rapidly, trying to be subtle, and quickly wiped at the corner of your eyes with your sleeve.

But Bucky noticed instantly.

He shifted beside you, his arm tightening gently around your shoulders. Then, without a word, he pulled back just enough to look at you – really look.

You didn’t meet his eyes.

His brows furrowed slightly in that way they always did when he was focused. Concerned. And then, softly, his hand slipped away from your thigh under the blanket and reached up.

He used the pad of his thumb to wipe a stray tear from your cheek.

You froze.

The motion was so gentle, so tender, your breath caught in your chest.

Then–

“Oh hell no,” Nat said, breaking the silence.

You flinched and turned your head just as she sat up straighter, smirking like she’d just uncovered the juiciest secret in the world.

“Did he just wipe your tear away mid-rom-com?!”

Sam leaned forward dramatically. “That’s it. He’s done for. He’s all in. That was a whole Hallmark Channel move.”

Clint clutched his chest. “We’ve reached peak softness! I REPEAT – peak softness!”

Tony made a fake crying face. “Someone get me a tissue.”

You groaned, half laughing, half mortified, and pressed your hands to your face. “I hate you all so much.”

Bucky leaned back slowly, completely unfazed. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly, “I’ll get you a tissue next time too.”

You smacked his arm with the blanket, which only made the others laugh louder.

“I’m surrounded by emotional disasters,” Steve muttered, sipping his coffee.

Wanda was grinning behind her mug. “No, Steve. You’re surrounded by love.”

As the team slowly recovered from their collective breakdown, you leaned a little more into Bucky’s side – heart still fluttering and face still warm – and whispered just for him. “Thanks.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just squeezed your shoulder a little tighter.

As the credits rolled and the soft soundtrack faded out, the common room slowly came back to life.

Sam stretched with a groan, mumbling something about needing real food. Tony announced he was “not cooking for you people,” and Clint was already halfway to the hallway, muttering about laundry. One by one, the others trickled out, Steve heading to unpack, Wanda to her room, Nat grabbing a snack before disappearing into the hall.

You stayed curled under the blanket on the couch, watching the room empty. Bucky stayed beside you, not saying anything, just running his thumb absentmindedly along your shoulder.

When the kitchen finally quieted down again, he turned to you.

“You hungry?”

You turned your head toward him, a little surprised by the question, but your stomach answered for you with a low, unmistakable growl.

Bucky smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You gave a sheepish smile. “Starving.”

He stood and held out a hand. “C’mon. Let’s make something.”

“You’re not just gonna cook for me again?” you teased, taking his hand as he helped you up.

“I mean I could, but what’s the fun in that,” he said, grinning.

You limped your way into the kitchen with him, heading straight for the fridge as he started pulling out ingredients. Bread, cheese, butter, a pan.

“We need to add garlic salt to the bread” you said, already reaching for the spice rack.

“Really?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“Yesss, it makes it 10 times better,” you said.

He grinned and opened the bread bag. “Fair enough.”

You walked over to the stove and grabbed a piece of bread out of the bag, starting to butter it, when you shifted your weight and immediately winced.

“Sit down,” he said, amused. “You’re gonna fall face-first into the skillet.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You rolled your eyes but gave in, hopping up onto the kitchen island with a slight grunt and letting your ankle dangle. “Happy?”

“Very,” he said, already back at the stove.

You helped from the island, passing him the cheese slices, sprinkling garlic salt on the bread, talking softly while he grilled everything.

When the sandwiches were cooking, Bucky stepped back from the stove and leaned against the counter for a moment. Then he turned and wandered closer – right up to where you were sitting.

He set one hand on the island beside you – not touching, but close – while you continued talking.

The conversation faded naturally, and you glanced up – suddenly realizing how close he was.

His face was just inches from yours, and his body was relaxed, but you could tell he was aware of every inch between you. Or, rather, the lack of inches.

Your heart picked up.

His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth – just for a second – and then back to your eyes.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

Then–

Ding.

The timer went off, and the skillet let out a loud sizzle at the same time.

Bucky blinked, like he’d just come out of a trance, and casually stepped back without a word, turning to grab a spatula.

You just stared at his back, trying to pull yourself together as he plated the sandwiches.

He slid your plate into your lap and handed you a water bottle from the fridge before jumping up next to you with his own plate.

The two of you ate your sandwiches right there on the counter like it was the most normal thing in the world – legs dangling, plates balanced on your laps – as your conversation continued.

“You’re telling me,” you said, chewing, “you had this level of domestic skill locked away this whole time?”

Bucky gave a small shrug. “Didn’t think it’d impress anyone.”

You snorted. “Bro, you literally wiped away my tears during a rom-com. You’re already halfway to husband of the year.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a slight pink in his cheeks. “I’m just trying to keep the bar low so I look impressive doing the bare minimum.”

You bumped your knee gently against his. “Smart man.”

After you both finished, the plates were left beside you, and the conversation turned soft and easy, like it always did with him lately. You swung your good leg back and forth beneath the counter, while Bucky leaned back on his hands, head tilted slightly toward you as he listened.

And then, without thinking much, you said, “You know what sounds good right now?”

“What?” he asked.

You smiled. “Ice cream.”

Bucky let out a soft hum of agreement, but the topic drifted. You went right back to talking about something else and you didn’t think anything of it.

A few minutes later, Bucky stood up, walking over to the freezer.

He opened the door, rummaged around for a few seconds, then straightened up with a sigh. “Get your shoes on.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned back to you, already reaching for his keys from the hook near the back door. “C’mon. I’m taking you to get ice cream.”

Your eyes lit up before you could stop yourself, and you tried to fight the giddy smile that came across your face. “Wait, really? No, Bucky, that’s okay. I didn’t mean–”

He tilted his head at you. “Do you want ice cream?”

You hesitated. “Well, yeah, but–”

“Then you’re getting ice cream.”

You bit your lip to hold back a smile, but couldn’t hide it. “Okay.”

You jumped off the counter onto your good leg as Bucky instinctively reached out to steady you. You walked over to the door and slid on your shoes.

“I just need to grab a jacket from my room real quick.”

But before you could take a step, Bucky reached into the hall closet, pulled something out, and turned back around – holding one of his black leather jackets in his hands.

“Nah,” he said. “You can wear one of mine.”

You looked at him, blinking. “Seriously?”

“‘Course,” he said simply, stepping closer.

He held it out for you and you slipped your arms into the sleeves. The leather was worn and soft, and immediately smelled like him – clean and familiar.

He helped adjust the shoulders, tugging it into place like he’d done it a hundred times.

“You look good in it,” he said offhandedly, but his voice had dropped just enough to make your stomach flip.

You zipped it halfway, glancing up at him. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I wanted to,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Let’s go get your ice cream.”

And with that, he held out his arm so you could loop yours through for balance and led you toward the elevator.

The elevator dinged softly and you stepped out, the garage cool and quiet this late in the evening.

You both walked around to the passenger side of the car and he opened the door for you, letting you get settled before he closed it and went around to the driver’s side.

You kept up the casual conversation in the car, and it wasn’t long before you pulled up outside a little corner shop, the kind of place that always smelled like waffle cones and childhood.

Inside, it was quiet, just the hum of the freezer and the soft bell over the door. He looked down at the options while you stared into the freezer, eyes wide. “Okay, I forgot how hard this part is.”

“Life-altering decisions,” Bucky said with a smirk. “Choose wisely.”

“You’re gonna judge me, aren’t you?”

“I’m definitely gonna judge you.”

You laughed and ended up pointing to your usual – something sweet and a little over-the-top with cookie chunks and brownie pieces and caramel swirl, of course. Bucky raised a brow.

“Figures,” he muttered, but he ordered it for you anyway.

He went with butter pecan, and you gave him an amused look. “That’s an old man flavor,” you said, giggling while the worker started scooping your choices.

He just side-eyed you, smile peeking through his attempt at an annoyed look. “I am old.”

You continued giggling as the worker handed you your waffle cone and Bucky pulled out his wallet.

After he paid, you grabbed a small table outside, the night air cool against your cheeks as you sat across from him.

You licked your ice cream slowly, then looked up at him. “Thanks for this.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Figured you deserved it.”

You gave him a soft smile. That shouldn’t have made your heart skip, but it did.

You continued eating, until a few minutes later, Bucky broke the silence.

“You’ve got…” Bucky motioned to the corner of his mouth.

You stuck out your tongue and licked it, but Bucky just chuckled, making it obvious you missed it.

He leaned forward without thinking.

“Here,” he said softly, reaching across and brushing his thumb against the corner of your lip.

Your breath caught.

His hand lingered for a second too long, eyes flicking down, just once, before he pulled away.

“Got it,” he murmured.

You tried to focus on your ice cream, but you could feel the heat in your face and the rapid beating of your heart like it was trying to break through your ribcage.

When you looked up at him again, he was already watching you.

The moment stretched.

And just like earlier, he didn’t push it.

He finally leaned back in his chair, taking another bite, and said, “so…what’s next after ice cream? You wanna rob a bank or just head back?”

You laughed, grateful for the shift but still feeling that tension humming under your skin.

“Let’s save the bank robbery for our second date.”

He paused for a half-second, then smiled. “Noted.”

On the ride back to the compound, you settled into easy conversation again, still teasing Bucky about his old-man ice cream flavor. When he parked the car and you both got out, you automatically linked your arm through his as you walked to the elevator and got in.

When the elevator doors slid open, you both stepped off laughing, still linked at the arms, walking close like you didn’t even realize how naturally it was happening now.

Bucky was giving you that boyish, slightly smug smile he only gave you, when you rounded the corner into the kitchen where Nat and Wanda were pulling ingredients out of the pantry.

They both looked up at the sound of your laughter.

Nat’s eyes flicked from you to Bucky, taking in the jacket, the linked arms, the flushed cheeks.

Wanda didn’t even try to hide her smirk.

“Wow,” Nat said, closing the pantry door. “Look who came strolling in like they just got back from a rom-com montage.”

Wanda nudged her and grinned. “And in his jacket, no less. Very subtle.”

You laughed softly and gave Bucky a look like see what I have to deal with? “We just went for ice cream.”

“Of course you did,” Wanda said, amused but kind. “Was it good?”

“The best,” Bucky answered easily, eyes on you for a second too long.

Nat raised a brow but didn’t push it – for once. “We’re about to make cookies. You in?”

“Ooooh, yes,” you said. You turned toward Bucky, expecting him to stay, but Nat stepped in quickly with a smirk.

“Sorry, Barnes. This is girls only.”

Bucky chuckled, totally unbothered. “Fair enough.”

You just laughed as you slipped your arm out of his. As he started to walk away, he gave you one last look, warm and lingering. “See ya, doll.”

You smiled. “See ya.”

He turned and walked off, hands in his pockets, still smiling to himself.

As soon as he disappeared down the hall, you started slipping off his jacket, and before you could even get one arm free, the girls jumped in.

“Oh my god,” Nat said, grinning. “You’re so in love.”

Wanda leaned against the counter, hands clasped. “He wiped your tears and gave you his jacket? You two really are straight out of a rom-com.”

You gave them a look, trying not to blush. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“You’re lucky we’re being nice tonight,” Nat teased, taking the jacket and hanging it over a chair for you. “A few weeks ago we would’ve sent a photo to the entire group chat with a ‘look who’s in love’ caption.”

“She still might,” Wanda added with a shrug.

You just shook your head, cheeks warm, but you were smiling too.

You walked over and joined Nat and Wanda at the kitchen island, ingredients spread out across the counter. You all settled into a steady rhythm of measuring and dumping them into the bowl as you talked, soft music playing in the background from Wanda’s phone. It was easy and comforting, the kind of energy you didn’t realize you needed.

Wanda handed you a spoon and sighed. “You’re on stirring duty now,” she said. “My arm’s about to fall off.”

You took it, and as you stirred the thick dough, Nat leaned against the counter beside you and gave you a look.

“So,” she said casually, brushing flour off her hands. “You and Bucky.”

You froze for just a second before looking up at her. “Oh boy.”

Wanda smiled gently and bumped your arm with hers. “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna ambush you. We’re just…curious.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “It’s happening fast, huh?”

You looked down at the dough for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean…I didn’t expect it. Any of it.”

Wanda leaned her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands. “But you’re not freaking out?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “No. That’s the weird part. It should feel like too much too fast, but it doesn’t. It just feels…easy. Like he was always supposed to be part of my life, and I just didn’t realize it until now.”

Both of them went still and quiet for a beat, so you glanced up.

Wanda looked like her heart had just melted.

Nat blinked once. “Wow. Okay. You’re in deep.”

“I know,” you groaned, dropping your head onto your arm on the counter. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s adorable,” Wanda said firmly.

Nat crossed her arms, but her smirk had softened. “You know, for a guy who used to look like he wanted to murder everyone who made eye contact, he’s been grinning like a golden retriever every time you’re together.”

You peeked up from your arm. “Really?”

Wanda nodded. “Like, disgustingly soft.”

“Gross,” Nat muttered. “But also…kind of sweet.”

You sat up a little straighter, a little less panicked now. “You really think he feels the same?”

Wanda smiled, eyes warm. “We know he does.”

Nat grinned and bumped your hip with hers. “And if he doesn’t make a move soon, we’ll force him to.”

You just laughed, heart full and cheeks warm as you continued to stir the dough.

When you were done, you each started rolling the cookie dough, placing them on a baking sheet as the conversation drifted to something else before popping them into the oven.

The first batch of cookies came out golden and warm, filling the kitchen with that perfect, rich smell of sugar and melted chocolate. Nat wasted no time breaking one apart, the chocolate still gooey in the middle, and popped half into her mouth with a satisfied hum.

“Okay,” she said with her mouth full, “we actually nailed it.”

Wanda grinned and grabbed one of her own. “We’re unstoppable.”

You took a bite of yours and immediately closed your eyes. “Oh my god. These are so good.”

The three of you stood at the counter, nibbling on cookies straight from the tray with chocolate smudges on your fingers, laughing in between bites.

Eventually, Wanda grabbed a cloth and started wiping the counter while Nat began stacking mixing bowls in the sink.

“You should take some to Bucky,” Wanda said casually, glancing over her shoulder.

You blinked. “What?”

Nat smirked, not even looking up from the bowl she was rinsing. “You know. Thank him for the ice cream. Offer a peace cookie. Maybe kiss him a little.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you started gathering up dishes and taking them to the sink. “You guys are obsessed.”

Wanda shrugged, very unbothered. “We just support love.”

Nat turned around, still smirking at you. “You’re the one who walked in here in his jacket, glowing like you just got kissed under a streetlamp in a rom-com, and we’re the obsessed ones?”

“I’m just taking him some cookies,” you said, grabbing a plate and stacking a few still-warm ones on it. “That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” they said in unison.

You gave them both a pointed look, but your smile gave you away. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“We know,” Wanda said sweetly.

Nat just pointed toward the hallway. “Go on, don’t keep him waiting.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh and made your way out of the kitchen. Behind you, you could still hear them giggling as you disappeared down the hall.

When you got to his room, the door was slightly cracked, light spilling into the hall in a soft glow.

You nudged it open with your foot and leaned in. “Hey.”

Bucky looked up from where he was sitting on his bed, phone in hand, and the second he saw you, his whole face lit up.

“Hey. You brought cookies?” he asked, already standing and making his way toward you. “They smell so good.”

You held out the plate with a smile. “Courtesy of girls’ night.”

He took the plate carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. “I wondered whether or not I would get to taste-test.”

Then, gently, his free hand settled on your lower back as he guided you into the room.

“C’mon, sit,” he said softly, helping you over to his bed.

You walked over to his bed and plopped down, wincing when the pressure was finally off your ankle. You didn’t realize how sore it was until now.

Bucky didn’t miss a beat.

He set the plate down on the nightstand, gave you a quick glance, and without a word, crossed to the little mini fridge in the corner of his room.

He pulled out a small ice pack, walked back over, and knelt down in front of you, gently lifting your leg and setting the cold pack on your ankle.

You blinked at him. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, not looking up as he adjusted the angle. “You’ve been walking around on it all day. I knew it would catch up to you.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest.

He sat down next to you, close but comfortable, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he picked up the plate again, offering you the first cookie with a soft smile.

You took it as he grabbed one for himself and leaned over and grabbed the remote.

“What are we watching?” you asked as you took a bite.

“I don’t care,” he said, pressing the power button. “You can choose.”

You just hummed and reached your hand out while he immediately set the remote in it. You scrolled through some options before deciding on a comedy movie you’d seen a million times and handing the remote back to him.

“Never seen this one,” he said, taking another bite of his cookie.

“Oh, it’s so funny, you’re gonna love it,” you responded, smiling up at him.

You sat in silence as the movie started, sitting shoulder to shoulder and snacking on the cookies, laughing together after almost every scene.

You swore to yourself you were actually going to stay awake, wanting to see his reactions to all the funniest scenes, but as you were nearing the end of the movie, you could feel yourself drifting off.

You shifted slightly, your good leg brushing his, and let out the softest little sigh. “M’falling asleep,” you murmured, voice barely audible.

Bucky glanced down, smiling as he saw your eyes flutter shut.

“I figured,” he whispered, his voice low, gentle. “You’ve had a big day.”

You just hummed in response as you felt Bucky’s arm go around you, pulling you closer to him.

And just before you slipped completely into sleep, you felt it–

The soft press of his lips on your forehead.

Barely there, but real, warm.

And the last thing you heard was his quiet voice near your hair.

“Sweet dreams, doll.”

Part 9 | Masterlist

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cayleeuhithinknott · 2 months ago

Text

✿ — everytime . . . matt sturn

in which . . . you and matt keep breaking each other and coming back anyway—caught in a cycle of love, pain, and all the messy in-between.

warnings . . . unresolved angst , arguing , crying , making out , toxic dynamic , use of y/n

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #7

you told yourself last time was the last time.

you swore you were done—done crying, done chasing, done letting him back in like he never left you shattered in the first place. you said it to your friends, whispered it into your pillow, screamed it into your steering wheel. and you believed it for a minute. you even started to feel okay again.

until the text.

2:13am.

“you up?”

you shouldn’t answer. you should roll over, toss your phone under your bed, and let the silence teach him a lesson. but your fingers betray you—numb and desperate—and suddenly you’re typing back, your breath caught in your throat.

“come over.”

he’s at your door twelve minutes later.

his hair’s a mess, his shirt clings to his chest like he ran the whole way here, and his eyes look like guilt wrapped in longing. you hate how your heart skips. hate how your body reacts like it missed him more than your mind ever wanted to admit.

“you look tired,” you say flatly, stepping aside to let him in.

“haven’t slept,” he mumbles, brushing past you, eyes flicking to the couch like it’s familiar territory. it is. he’s slept there more times than you can count—after fights, after sex, after begging you to stay one more night.

you cross your arms, standing still in the doorway. “so what is this, matt? another one of your ‘i messed up’ visits? or are you just bored?”

he sighs, slow and heavy, dropping onto the couch with his hands clasped together like he’s praying. “i didn’t know who else to call.”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “you mean who else would answer.”

he doesn’t deny it. he just looks up at you, glassy-eyed and broken. “you always answer.”

and you hate that he’s right.

you sit across from him, arms still wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to hold all your shattered pieces together. “i shouldn’t.”

he nods. “i know.”

“you’re not good for me—“

“i know.”

“so why are you here, matt?”

he pauses. and then he says it—the thing he always says when he’s trying to make you forget the way he hurt you. “because no one makes me feel like you do.”

your chest tightens. your throat burns. “that’s not love.”

“maybe not. but it’s real.”

he stands, slowly walking toward you, every step pulling the air from your lungs. he stops in front of you, eyes boring into yours. “i miss you.”

you shake your head. “you miss the way i make you feel. not me.”

“no, i miss you,” he insists, voice cracking. “your laugh, the way you look at me when you’re trying not to smile. the way you say my name when you’re mad. i miss all of it.”

your vision blurs with tears. “then why do you keep leaving?”

“because i’m a fuckup,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “and you deserve better.”

you close your eyes, trying to summon strength, trying not to melt into him like you always do. “then let me go.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. his hand finds your waist instead, pulling you into him, chest to chest. your lips almost touch, and it’s pathetic how fast your body caves. you whisper, “we can’t keep doing this.”

he just nods. “then let’s not talk.”

and just like that, he kisses you.

not gentle. not careful. desperate. like he’s trying to prove something with every movement. your hands find his shirt, fists clutching the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. his tongue slides against yours and you moan into his mouth, the taste of him familiar and fucked up and intoxicating.

you stumble backward until your legs hit the edge of the couch. he guides you down, hovering over you, one knee pressing between yours. his lips leave yours only to trail down your jaw, your neck, and you let him—you always let him.

you know it won’t fix anything. you know he’ll leave again. but you let him, because you’re too tired to fight it.

you’ll clean up the mess tomorrow.

you always do.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you wake up before he does.

his arm is draped over your waist like a claim, fingers twitching in sleep. his face is soft—peaceful, even—and for a second, it’s almost enough to make you forget.

almost.

the sun isn’t even out yet, but your mind is already racing. your body feels heavy with shame, regret pooling somewhere in your stomach like poison. his scent is all over you—on your sheets, on your skin, between your thighs—and you hate how comforting it still is.

he shifts slightly, his nose brushing your shoulder. your whole body tenses.

what the fuck are you doing?

you slide out from under his arm carefully, trying not to wake him. your breath hitches when he stirs, but he just sighs and rolls onto his back. his mouth parts slightly, and for a split second, you almost reach for him again.

but you don’t.

you get up and stand in the middle of your room, avoiding stepping on your discarded shirt on the floor, staring at him like he’s some kind of storm that snuck in through a cracked window. you adjust your bra. it’s all you have on, other than your shorts. it’s always like this.

you swear you’re done. then he shows up.

and you let him ruin you all over again.

you stare at the floor. your throat tightens. you want to scream. you want to cry. you want to go back in time and delete that fucking text.

you sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket over your chest. your hands won’t stop shaking. your phone buzzes with a notification—some tiktok from your best friend—and your stomach twists because you know exactly what she’d say if she knew he was here.

“girl, i swear to—ugh. block him. be serious.”

you wish it was that simple.

there’s movement behind you. the bed creaks a little. and then his voice—low, raspy, painfully familiar.

“you okay?”

you don’t turn around. “why’d you come here, matt? really.”

he’s quiet for a second. “you said i could.”

you laugh—empty and bitter. “yeah, because i’m fucking stupid.”

he sits up behind you, but you still won’t face him. “don’t say that.”

“why not? it’s true. i let you in. again. knowing exactly how this would go.”

“it doesn’t have to go like that this time.”

you finally turn to him, eyes blazing. “don’t—don’t even start. you always say that. you show up with your sad little voice and your stupid puppy eyes and pretend like this time it’s different. like you’ve changed. but you haven’t, matt. and neither have i, apparently.”

he flinches. “i didn’t mean to fuck everything up again.”

“but you did. and you will. and the worst part is that i’ll keep fucking letting you—shit.” tears prick your eyes like hot needles.

he reaches for your hand. you pull it back.

“don’t touch me,” you snap, voice cracking.

“okay,” he says quietly, dropping his hand. “i get it.”

you step away, suddenly needing space like it’s oxygen. “do you know how pathetic i feel? letting you back in here? acting like we’re gonna wake up and make pancakes or something? like you didn’t ghost me for three weeks and ignore every call i made until you decided you missed me?”

his face falls. “i didn’t know what to say, i—i didn’t know how to fix it.”

“so you just disappeared.”

he nods.

your eyes burn. “you could’ve told me you needed space. you could’ve said you weren’t ready. you could’ve fucking said anything, matt. instead, you let me think it was all in my head. like i imagined it all. like i made us up.”

“you didn’t,” he says quickly. “i swear to god, you didn’t.”

“then why do you keep leaving?”

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face. “because i don’t know how to be what you need.”

you exhale shakily. “then stop pretending you can be.”

you both just stand there, breathing heavy, silence pressing down like a weight. and then, quietly, almost pleading.

“y/n, i don’t know how to let you go,” he admits.

and that’s the fucking problem.

you want to scream at him. shake him. throw something. you want him to leave so badly—but you also want him to stay.

you hate him.

but you love him.

and you hate yourself for loving him.

he walks over slowly, cautious like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “please don’t shut me out.”

“you already shut me out,” you whisper.

his hand finds your arm. this time, you don’t pull away.

“then let me back in, y/n.”

your eyes meet his. tired. glossy. breaking.

“you’ll just leave again.”

“maybe,” he says honestly. “but not right now.”

and god, you wish that was enough.

you let him kiss you again anyway—slow and aching, like he knows this might be the last time. might. his hands cradle your face, and your whole body leans into him like instinct. it hurts, the way he kisses. like he’s trying to apologize without saying the words.

you kiss him back. you shouldn’t, but you do. because your body’s still a traitor and your heart’s still a fool.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“i wish i could be better for you,” he whispers.

and you close your eyes.

because you wish that too.

and for a second, it’s like you almost believe him.

you pull away first.

just a couple inches. just enough to make him chase you without realizing he is.

“don’t,” you whisper, your voice barely hanging on. “don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

his brows knit together, confusion written all over his face like he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. again.

“i do mean it.”

you almost laugh. god, that would be easier. but it’s not funny. it’s fucking sad. “no, you mean it right now. in this room. with my shirt still on the floor and your mouth still on mine. but you never mean it when it matters.”

“that’s not fair—”

“isn’t it?” you cut him off, eyes wide, wet, wild. “you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to fucking say that.”

he steps back. barely. just enough to flinch.

“i came here because i missed you,” he says quietly.

“no,” you snap, “you came here because you could.”

he opens his mouth like he’s going to argue—but nothing comes out.

“you came here because i always answer. because you knew i’d let you in. because i always do. and you took advantage of that. again.”

he swallows hard, like your words are physically painful. “i didn’t mean to.”

you shake your head. “but you did. and now i have to deal with it. again.”

your voice cracks at the end, and you hate it. hate how raw you sound. how hurt. how small.

he steps toward you. instinct. always instinct.

“don’t,” you say sharply, backing away. “stop trying to fix this like you didn’t break it.”

his jaw clenches. “i didn’t come here to hurt you.”

“then why are you here, matt? because i’m done pretending it’s because you love me.”

he flinches like you slapped him.

“you think i don’t?” he says, voice rising now. “you think this is fun for me? do you know how fucking hard it is to stay away from you?”

“you think that makes you the victim?” your voice is loud now too. furious. shaking. “you don’t get a gold star for coming back. you don’t get pity for hurting someone and then crying about it.”

“i never asked for pity,” he snaps.

“no, you just expect forgiveness.”

that shuts him up.

you wipe your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, trying to calm your breathing, trying not to fall apart. again.

“i can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “it’s killing me, matt.”

he runs a hand down his face. frustrated. helpless. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“then let me stop,” you say, steady now. eerily calm. you use the only solution you think of. “get out.”

his eyes widen. “what?”

“go home, matt.”

he doesn’t move. “you don’t mean that.”

you nod. “i do.”

“but—”

“go.”

your voice is sharp, final. no space for negotiation.

he stares at you for a moment like he’s waiting for you to take it back. to fold like you always do. to reach for him and whisper please stay the way you always do.

but you don’t.

you stand there, arms crossed tight against your chest, like you’re holding the door shut with your own body.

his face falls. completely. like something breaks inside him.

he bends down slowly, picks up his hoodie from your floor, and pulls it over his head. you don’t help him. you don’t look away.

he walks to the door, then hesitates with his hand on the knob.

“you know i’ll come back,” he says softly, almost like a question.

you blink at him, silent.

he adds, “and you’ll let me in.”

you shake your head, barely.

“maybe not next time,” you whisper. “maybe next time, i won’t.”

he doesn’t say anything after that.

just walks out and closes the door behind him.

you shut the door. you don’t feel powerful. you feel empty. you don’t cry right away.

you just stand there. motionless. staring at the door like it’s supposed to do something.

and when the silence gets loud enough to hurt, when your knees finally give out, when your body curls into the corner of the couch like it always does—then you cry.

you cry like it’s the end.

like it’s really, really the end this time.

and maybe it is.

but you know better.

because although you sent matt home an hour ago, you know he’ll be back in less than a week.

because that’s what happens.

every time.

author’s note . . . getting better at writing angst? maybe

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @mattybsgroupie @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady @iconiccolo @beardedbernard

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temis-de-leon · 10 months ago

Text

10 signs a cow is happy

Characters: Belphie x gn!MC

Main Masterlist

CW: developing and established relationship. A tiny bit suggestive at one point and there's a mention of rumination (regurgitation) in another one. Otherwise, nothing

A/N: a little different from what I'm used to, but I figured trying something new could help with the writer's block. Hope you enjoy it!

Inspired by this video and this one <3

He reacts to his name.

Except it isn’t just his name; at least when the one looking for him is MC.

Most of the time it’s Belphie, although Belphegor comes out occasionally, like those mornings when they’re both running late for class and he won’t wake up. There are also the late nights when MC is too tired to speak and only hums the melody of his name, but the demon still opens an arm and offers the spot beside him.

He frowns when Lucifer yells and continues sleeping when Beel carries him without a care in the world, but, conscious or not, he always smiles when MC is the one calling for him.

He spends time socialising and grooming others.

It’s more noticeable once he’s freed from the attic and he feels the need to spend as much time with them as his brothers had had while he was trapped, although his hate towards humans dissipating might’ve also had something to do with it.

One moment MC finds themselves relaxing in their room and the next, after answering an ominous text message, they are lying down next to him in the planetarium, first admiring the stars and then letting him play with their hair as he unknots it with his fingers.

His touch only grows more intimate as their friendship deepens and eventually evolves into something much less platonic, but the love and care within remain the same.

He likes to play with toys, like balls.

Which is something no one expects; a welcomed surprise.

They’re all sitting in a couple of booths inside a cheap diner in the middle of nowhere, one more time victims of their own misadventures. The smell of meaty grease surrounds them and sticks to their clothes, leaving both Asmo and Beel in tears for completely different reasons, and the mean-looking waitress has enough kindness in her heart to give them an old kid’s toy to entertain themselves.

It goes first to MC, the favourite in the family, and then to Belphie, who never gets to give it to anyone else. He throws it, catches it and bounces it against any surface available until Lucifer gives him a warning look and threatens to confiscate it, to which he pouts.

A couple of minutes later, he throws it in MC’s direction, so they throw it back to him with a smile.

Five minutes later, the ball is neatly kept in Lucifer’s pocket.

He has zoomies.

Another surprise, although not as sweet as the last one.

There’s a primal fear in the depths of their mind, the one that yearns for survival, that begs MC to run and hide the very few times Belphie looks at them with those dilated pupils. They suppose it makes sense, even if they’re not afraid of him anymore.

He doesn’t look dangerous or aggressive, just unsettlingly alert and active for a demon who’s supposed to be always tired; shockingly fast and agile each time the sudden bursts of energy make him run through the house jumping in unfiltered glee, going past MC close enough to almost tackle them to the ground.

Satan suspects it’s a consequence of his long periods of rest and, while MC finds it fascinating, they can’t wait for Belphie to go back to normal.

He’s enthusiastic about treats.

A feature he shares with his brother, no doubt, is their twin telepathy proving its existence yet again; and even though they’re strikingly different, they still share some mannerisms as well, like the way they smile or look up at MC whenever they enter their room.

And that brightness in their face only increases if there are goodies involved.

MC sometimes jokes about Beel being more like a goat, trying to eat anything and everything whether or not is edible. Fortunately, Belphie’s stomach is not that demanding, so a simple sushi platter is enough to leave him happy.

However, MC can’t help but wonder if being the one who brings the treats is part of the reason for his enthusiasm because if so, every market near them will have a sushi shortage very soon.

He chews cud.

Which serves to remind MC of his non-human, half-ruminant nature.

With the middle of March approaching, the twins’ birthday is celebrated as much as possible. The amount of food at the table is tremendous and it even reaches Diavolo’s height; a perfect example of the word variety. There are dishes, appetizers, snacks and desserts for everyone’s taste, fruits and meats and vegetables and whatnot. Fortunately, Beel eats half of it in the blink of an eye before it can get overwhelming.

But for some reason, there’s also a medium-sized bowl full of what looks like grass. It’s hidden amongst other things, probably because of the oddity of its presence, but Belphie finds it quickly enough.

The sight that follows is morbidly captivating and equally disgusting, especially when the chewed food comes back to his mouth for more chewing.

At the end of the day, the important thing is that he’s happy.

…right?

He initiates hugs.

Usually when he wants cuddles and, bratty as he is, his requests often sound more like demands.

He opens his arms, brings MC to his chest and breathes in. There’s a hand wrapped around their waist and another cradling their head, softly scratching their scalp, and their body is already relaxing against his before they can even think about what they’re doing.

Sometimes, when he looks too grumpy to be taken seriously, they like to tease him, laughing at the shocked and offended expression he wears when they playfully ignore his attempted embrace.

They suppose it’s sweet, the idea of always being close as a given fact.

He exposes his tummy for belly rubs.

While lying in that position might be seen as vulnerable for some, it doesn’t seem to be a problem for Belphie; although being a powerful demon probably gave him a good sense of security.

MC would never complain about it, anyway. Seeing him so at peace around them and not only letting, but asking to be pet? A perfect evening if they’ve ever seen one. They let themselves enjoy the feeling of his stomach trembling under the tip of their nails and the small puffs of air that come out when their fingers threaten to travel lower.

It’s a type of intimacy that he wouldn’t mind bragging about in front of his brothers, but he still stays quiet to keep it private and uninterrupted.

He licks his lips when you hit the right scratch spot.

The boredom is hefty enough to kill the whole classroom. Some are painting their skin, others are painting their seatmate’s skin and MC is wondering how soft Belphie’s hair is. He is sitting in front of them during the last period of the day and the temptation is too strong to avoid.

For once, he isn’t carelessly dropped on the table, but rather leaning back and letting his head rest on the back of the chair; he is conscious enough to pay attention to their professor in his sleep but not to his surroundings, so MC takes their shot.

At first they think it’s a coincidence and pay no mind to the subtle movement of his tongue wetting his lips when they scratch his nape, but then it happens again and again and they find themselves unable to stop and forget their little discovery.

Thankfully, when the bell rings and Belphie wakes up to go home with them, MC has the perfect excuse.

He drools! Such things happen!

He purrs.

It takes MC some time to figure out what is the deep rumbling that follows them for months, mainly because it sounds like a creaking door and, while the House of Lamentation is old, the structure and the furniture are kept mostly intact.

Just like white noise, once they turn it down, it’s impossible not to miss it and the realisation is enough to turn the sadness of returning to the human realm into a full crying meltdown.

It was there the whole time: when they woke up Belphie and they were the first person he saw; or when they laid together and played and simply enjoyed each other’s presence and existence.

It’s there again when MC can’t deal with the loneliness anymore and calls him.

The rumbling, a purr, peeking under his low voice.

If that isn’t enough reason to keep loving him, then what is?

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x gn!mc #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me belphie x reader #belphegor x reader #belphie x reader #obey me writing #obey me headcanons #obey me drabble #obey me fluff

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muniimyg · 3 months ago

Note

if this aligns w the bed chem universe..

probably when the rest of the group reacts to them dating or them seeing these 2 as a couple now or something. their friend group is so iconic !!

♡ 04: dinner and friends

series m.list // taglist unavailable

note: hangry vibes LOL

wednesday nights are for home-cooked meals.

as in: sleeves rolled up, veggies sacrificed, egos bruised. what started off as a sweet bonding tradition quickly devolved into a survival sport. a test of how many times the boys can push jungkook’s buttons before dinner is even plated. it used to be lighthearted. funny.

then jungkook started dating you.

and now? it's less who can piss him off first, and more how can we interrupt this weird domestic romance before we all throw up.

tonight, you’re running late.

not terribly. just enough that the boys are halfway through the prep, and jungkook’s slipped into his notorious silent treatment—head ducked, brows pinched, knife working like it owes him money. the onion he’s chopping is probably filing a restraining order.

he doesn’t look up when the door clicks open. doesn’t greet you. doesn’t soften.

instead, he just mutters, “took you long enough.”

wow! it’s like he didn’t scroll through your texts four times waiting for your last message.

you smile anyway, dropping your bag on the counter and walking straight to him. your hand brushes along the slope of his back. gentle. grounding. he doesn’t flinch. just shifts a little, the smallest tilt, like he’d been saving that space beside him all night.

his hand finds your waist like it’s done it a thousand times before.

firm. steady. routine.

“careful,” he murmurs, still focused on the cutting board. “oil splashes.”

you blink, reaching for the salt beside him—and immediately feel him tug you back by the waist, slotting your body behind his like a human shield.

“i was just grabbing—”

“and i’m just trying to keep you alive,” he says, tone flat but hand protective. “sorry for caring.”

his fingers don’t leave your side until you’re holding the salt.

“wow,” jin says from the stove, spoon in hand. “didn’t you threaten to stab taehyung 15 minutes ago for breathing too loud?”

taehyung gasps, scandalized. “you said, and i quote, ‘look at my knife and look at your life.’ now you’re—fondling someone at the stove? betrayal. pure betrayal. all for what? a girl?”

“for my girl,” jungkook corrects, not missing a beat.

you snort.

yoongi doesn’t look up. just brushes past you to grab a stack of plates, muttering, “you two are a food safety violation.”

you pout. “i just got here. what’s with the hateful energy?”

namjoon points at your boyfriend, spoon dripping over his wrist. “ask your boyfriend. he’s the one with rage issues and a god complex.”

“he called me a butter fingers 10 minutes ago,” jimin says solemnly. “i don’t disagree but it still hurt… and now he’s being handsy and gentle? pick a personality, jeon.”

“hmmm. sounds like you’re being a dick, baby,” you agree, tossing in your vote for public shaming. “hangry?”

the boys howl.

jungkook doesn’t defend himself. doesn’t even pretend to care. he just rolls his eyes like they’re all beneath him—and then gently guides you in front of the soup pot like the world’s grumpiest sous chef.

he hovers. doesn’t speak unless it’s to correct your form.

when you chop tomatoes, he adjusts your grip with a firm hand over yours. when you stir, he tucks your hair behind your ear.

“it’s gonna fall in and i’m not fishing it out.”

when you reach for the apron, he wordlessly takes it from you, ties it himself. his knuckles graze your waist. linger there.

and the thing is—you know him.

jungkook isn’t a patient man. he’s snappy, sarcastic, and occasionally evil when hungry. he’s got a fast mind, a quicker temper, and a long list of grudges taehyung is definitely at the top of. but when it comes to you?

he simmers.

“why are you standing like that?” you ask, peeking up at him.

“like what?”

“like you’re trying to merge into my personal space.”

he doesn’t even blink. “it’s our space.”

“you have your own counter.”

“yours has better lighting.”

you raise a brow. he raises you a soft smirk.

challenge accepted.

you lean in, press a kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, and catch it—that moment. the buffering. the breath he forgets to take, the slight hitch in his chest, the twitch of his fingers.

he glares at the cutting board like it offended him. “can you not do that when i’m holding a knife.”

you grin. “does it distract you?”

he mumbles something.

“what was that?”

“...obviously.”

and then—

the teasing does not stop.

“look at him,” jin points with the ladle. “she kisses him and he forgets he has opposable thumbs.”

“he cut onions faster than that earlier,” jimin adds. “now he’s like… stirring with love or something.”

“he asked me to move my elbow five times,” namjoon deadpans. “she bumped into him twice and he said ‘it’s fine, baby.’ i feel like crying—”

“fuck.”

a small ouch breaks through the kitchen chatter.

you turn instantly. “what happened?”

jungkook holds up his finger.

it's just a shallow nick, but it’s already reddening. he’s not panicking, but he’s definitely blinking like he can’t believe it happened. the room stills.

you step closer. “let me see.”

“it’s fine.”

you grab his wrist. “you always say that when it’s not fine.”

he lets you inspect it. lets you tug him toward the sink and run water over it, thumb brushing over the back of his hand, jaw clenched as he watches you work.

the room is silent.

“babying him now?” yoongi mutters, but it’s weak. even he’s watching curiously.

you dry jungkook’s hand with a paper towel, inspecting the cut again. “it’s not that bad. you’re lucky.”

“i’m always lucky,” he says, voice low. “i have you.”

you stare at him.

taehyung actually gags.

“can you kiss it better?” jungkook asks, way too earnestly. “baby, it’s ouchie.”

he says it too fast.

way too fast—like his mouth jumped the gun before his brain could catch up. there’s a beat of silence where no one moves, like the kitchen collectively paused to process it. then it hits him.

his cheeks tint a slow pink, crawling up to the tips of his ears. he clears his throat once—twice—eyes darting to the floor as his thumb rubs against the side of his cut finger. you watch the way he fumbles for recovery, eyes scanning for a way out, but nothing lands. he’s already too far in.

and then—your lips press against the tiny scrape on his knuckle, gentle, like a whisper.

just once. soft and quick.

that’s when the teasing starts.

“it’s ouchie?” jin repeats, blinking like he’s trying to make sense of a foreign language. “you really said that out loud?”

jungkook glares. “i was in pain.”

“in your soul, maybe,” jin mutters.

taehyung leans against the counter, arms crossed, expression exaggeratedly solemn. “you’ve changed, man. you used to be cool. i used to admire you. the whole tsundere thing was really working for you—but ouchie? holy fuck.”

jimin’s already grinning, eyes flicking between you and jungkook like he’s watching a very slow, very romantic sitcom.

“so all i have to do is get hurt and i’ll get kissed too?” jimin says, holding up his palm with an invisible wound. “look, i think i have a paper cut. right there.”

“i think i pulled a muscle reaching for the soy sauce,” taehyung adds, clutching his side with a dramatic wince.

“you guys suck,” jungkook mutters, quieter now, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. “don’t forget i’m a chem major. i’ll poison you all.”

he says it without much bite.

mostly embarrassment.

regardless, his gaze flickers to you like he’s checking whether you’re laughing at him or with him.

you try to hold it in.

you really do...

but your shoulders shake a little, a quiet smile curling at the corners of your mouth. it’s endearing. all of it—his flustered attempt at asking for comfort, the way his ears haven’t cooled down since, and the petty threats he tosses out to keep from completely combusting.

he sees it.

sees the way you look at him and don’t tease, just soften.

and under the edge of the counter, almost like it’s second nature, you feel it—his pinky hooking around yours.

#bts fanfic #bts drabbles #bts x yn #jungkook x yn #jungkook boyfriend au #jungkook uni au #jungkook x reader #bts series

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