#the prompt was promise and immediately I thought of the song The Promise

[ragingdumpsterfire]

Infamous Second Son OC: Juno Moore x Delsin Rowe

_________________

It was supposed to be a simple task; take out the DUP agents guarding the hastily assembled holding cells, and break open the chainlink fence holding the suspected conduits hostage. Juno had heard the stories from Delsin of all the attempted arrests he had disrupted, the way he flew in with a dazzling display of smoke, knocked the guards out, and heroically freed the terrified hostages. Delsin had agreed with Juno that it was something she should be able to do with ease, and together, they had waited on a nearby rooftop until they saw their chance. Everything went according to plan, Delsin taking out the guards while Juno dismantled the cell lock. There were five people in the cell, including one young teenager with a hurt ankle. Juno’s fingers flew as she cut the lock with bolt cutters, helping the scared group flee. Delsin glanced over at Juno, warmth filling him as she reassured the suspected conduits, pointing them towards safe spaces with a smile and a gentle hand, and helping the teen to safety.

It was only when Delsin glimpsed the armored vehicle rounding the corner that the plan fell apart, the hulking metal vehicle catching sight of Juno and the teenager limping aside her. Delsin yelled out to Juno, warning her of the oncoming danger, telling her to get away, but he didn’t take into account the way the kid clung on to her, incapable of moving out of danger on their own. In a streak of burning embers, Delsin raced to Juno’s side, standing between her and the tank. He expected her to run to safety, let him handle the new enemy. What he didn’t expect was for her to raise her free arm, and aim her fingers towards the tank, or the way an opaque rainbow formed around her hand and jetted out at the tank’s turret in a splash of vibrant hues. Her fist closed with a sense of finality, and the substance hardened in the turret, rendering it completely useless.

Delsin turned to high five Juno for her quick thinking, but was confused as he saw her face screw up in pain, her body dropping to her knees slowly, so slowly. Delsin’s ears rang, the sound of blood rushing through them, the loud metallic firing of a gun echoing in his head. He barely registered the screaming of the teen that Juno had been helping, or that she limped away to safety. All he knew was the red blood pooling under Juno, the way her breathing was jagged, and the bullets peppering the area around them. Blindly, Delsin shot out exploding cinders towards the source of the bullets, only satisfied once the shooting ceased. Looking back towards Juno, he picked her up, and dashed to safety in a trail of smoke.

____________

Juno’s small body slumped against the dingy alley, one hand gripping her side. Her trembling fingers were slick with crimson as Delsin frantically pressed his hand over hers, warmth and light emanating as he tried to aid her slowly healing wounds. Juno’s brows furrowed as she winced sharply, but she gave an impish, albeit tired grin.

“Think I’ll have some kickass battle scars?”

Delsin’s only reply was an irritated sigh, and he continued healing the bleeding gunshot. She rested her head against the brick wall, letting her eyelids close as she focused on breathing intently through the pain. It wasn’t searing like fire anymore, but it throbbed with an intensity unlike any other she had felt before.

“It’s really not that serious, Del,” Juno mumbled, focusing on the way his fingers brushed gently over her side. “It was just a bullet, I’ll live.”

“Dammit, Juno, it—this isn’t a fucking joke!”

There was a simmering rage beneath his words that caught Juno off guard, and she immediately felt her brows raise with the sudden change in tone. Incredulous, she opened her eyes and stared at Delsin’s face, trying to read his sudden outburst, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He only glared at the spot where he was healing. Juno could feel irritation building as the silence grew between them.

“Oh that’s funny,” Juno snapped, “coming from the guy that throws himself at every fucking DUP agent in the entire city of Seattle and then laughs it off.”

Juno could feel her voice rising, and despite the healing aid Delsin gave to her, the pain was still there, clouding her thoughts.

“How many times have you been shot, huh? Tell me, Delsin, how many times? Because I don’t ever recall treating you like an asshole any time you got hurt.”

Juno hated how much her voice wavered, and she gritted her teeth, clenching her eyes shut. She hadn’t cried from the pain, and no way in hell was she going to let herself cry now. The warmth stopped, and she could feel Delsin remove his hands. He had done all he could do for her. The pain of the wound was manageable, her own body could manage the rest of the healing process. Footsteps told her that Delsin had gotten up and moved to the other side of the alley. Juno slowly got up, testing her footing, running her fingers over the area that had been gaping and bloody only a few minutes prior. Her shirt was shredded in the area, but she could fix it. Probably.

She glanced up at Delsin, who had his back turned to her, one hand resting on his waist, the other presumably massaging his temples. This was so unlike him, to be so off, so serious. Minutes passed, and he just stood there.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough that Juno could hear.

Delsin turned to face her, all anger gone from his face. He looked tired, scared. His eyes darted down to where Juno’s wound was, eyes softening at the sight of her fully healed skin. His hands clenched, then flexed, and he took a step towards Juno, slowly closing the gap.

“Juno, I’m sorry” he stammered, one hand gesturing as the other rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“I didn’t mean to be an asshole, I just—I thought that you—I’m so sorry…”

Delsin rambled on for a minute, tripping over his words and stumbling for exactly what it was he wanted to tell her, hands gesticulating in a way that caused Juno to relent and crack a smile.

“Fuck, Juno,” he murmured, gazing down at her in a way that extinguished any remaining hostility in her. His warm eyes darted down to her lips, and back up to hold her gaze. He stood in front of her, gently grabbing her smaller, blood stained hands, and took a deep breath.

“I thought that I was gonna lose you,” he softly spoke, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over her skin. He was so close to Juno now, lips a breadth away. So close, so easy to just jump. Juno didn’t realize she had been holding her breath.

“I love you, Juno. I fucking love you.”

And with those words, she jumped.

[mariasont]

public swimwear to private entertainment

bimbo!reader models swimwear for aaron before the trip

pairing: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: fem!reader, aaron having dirty ish thoughts, suggestive ish ending prompt: here wc: 0.8k

Hotch eyes the open suitcase sprawling across the bed and feels something considerably close to existential dread. Surely, that must be every bikini ever manufactured. They multiply before him, each skimpier and more vividly patterned than the last, nestled carelessly among skirts and shorts so minuscule he’s fairly certain they qualify as handkerchiefs. 

He watches as you flutter from drawer to drawer, obliviously humming some sugary pop song, adding yet another bundle of fabric to the towering heap. 

He briefly considers stepping in, diplomatically suggesting that perhaps your packing approach is slightly disproportionate to a seven-day beach vacation, but really, who is he kidding? He’s better off staying silent.

Hotch gingerly lifts one of the offending garments from its glitter-speckled nest, eyeing it skeptically. He holds it carefully between thumb and forefinger — God forbid he accidentally damage whatever microscopic integrity it possesses. 

“Sweetheart,” he begins slowly, fidgeting with the beginning of a smile, “you can’t be serious.”

“Um, yes, I can be. That’s literally the cutest one I have.”

“It’s barely there.”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “It’s a bikini, Aaron. It’s supposed to be barely there. That’s, like, the whole point.”

Inside his head, Hotch feels like he’s refereeing a particularly violent boxing match. In one corner, the possessive side of him — territorial, irrational, and obnoxiously overprotective — clamors for immediate confiscation of the scrap of fabric, envisioning scenarios involving oversized sweatshirts, ski jackets, or perhaps a nun’s habit.

The other side, sensible and mature, argues sternly that policing your outfits is hardly appropriate boyfriend behavior, regardless of how many panic attacks they induce.

He sighs inwardly, concluding that he’ll simply have to weather his skyrocketing blood pressure silently, like the self-sacrificing martyr he apparently aspires to become.

“You’ll love it, promise,” you chirp, leaning in close to press a lipstick-coated kiss directly onto his cheek, a kiss his suspects might be visible from space. “Should I model it first? You know, for reassurance.”

“I doubt seeing it in advance will help my mental health.”

A bubbly giggle escapes your lips, and you pat his chest affectionately. “You’re so funny sometimes. Have you considered stand-up?”

Hotch stares after you for a moment as the bathroom door closes, mildly bewildered at how his dry sarcasm always manages to delight you so thoroughly. 

He sighs, shaking his head as he reluctantly turns back to his own suitcase, a carefully curated assortment of practical clothing and essentials.

Or at least it was, until he noticed that his neatly folded stack of muted shirts and shorts had apparently become prime real estate for your sandals and pastel tops. 

The bathroom door swings back open after a couple minutes, and Hotch glances up, immediately rendered speechless.

Perhaps permanently.

You stand framed in the doorway, a glittering vision wrapped tightly around curves he privately believes far more protection, or possibly none at all, depending on which impulsive side of him gains the upper hand. 

He briefly entertains the idea of canceling the trip altogether in favor of alternative plans involving far fewer garments — though that threshold has already been spectacularly lowered — and significantly less public visibility.

But practicality crashes rudely into his consciousness, reminding him with grim certainty that he was unquestionably correct about the fragility of this ensemble. One touch, one unfortunate gust of wind, and you’d be entirely uncovered, dressed only in sunbeams themselves. 

Hotch feels a preemptive headache forming, not at you, but at Rossi’s predictable, blatant ogling, which is practically guaranteed the moment his friend spots you.

Dave has never been one for discretion, especially when confronted by someone with beauty of your magnitude. He mentally rehearses contingency plans, debating how best to block Rossi’s line of sight without appearing caveman-like.

You twirl dramatically, shimmering as you collapse into his waiting arms, smile radiant enough to rival the sun.

“See?” You beam, fingertips brushing along his jaw. “It’s perfect.”

“Yes,” Hotch replies, attempting, but mostly failing, to keep his tone neutral as the pad of his thumb traces along your shoulder. “Perfect if you’re looking to give me gray hair.”

“Jealous already?”

His hand finds its way gently to your neck, idly tracing the fragile knot tied there. 

“Maybe I'm more concerned about accidental exposure.”

“You're being dramatic,” you giggle, tilting your chin defiantly. “It’s totally secure.”

“Secure?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically, fingertips tightening just slightly around the strings. “Let's test that theory.”

The bow slips free effortlessly, leaving you scrambling to secure the suddenly loose fabric against your chest with a startled squeak.

“Aaron!”

Hotch leans in, voice dropping dangerously low. “Just proving a point. Maybe we should try something a little sturdier before we leave.”

As it turns out, Hotch was entirely correct—not only about the questionable reliability of your swimwear, but also the inevitable delay it caused in their departure.

By the time they finally left, the bikini was neatly tucked away in his suitcase, officially reclassified from public swimwear to private entertainment. Secretly, he suspects you knew exactly what you were doing — and he can't find a single reason to complain.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 1 extras

💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)

maria's spring break getaway masterlist

[gotta-winwin]

Can I request a full oneshot on that dino when accepting an award like shouting out his wife and watching the internet explode and the members reaction to him I NEED THIS it got me kicking my feet and giggling just by thinking this 🛐🛐🛐 HAHHAHAHA

btw I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS!! 😘

hehehe omg ofc! i was kicking my feet and giggling while writing this dino has no business looking THAT fine and bias wreaking me( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) thank you so much for both requesting and enjoying my work!

where's the trophy... he just comes running over to me <3

masterlist fic that prompted this oneshot

word count: 1.4k tw/cw: idol!dino x wife!reader, childhood friends to lovers, public shoutout, a whole lot of sap, seungkwan clowning dino a/n: writing this just makes me want to see svt with their s/o in real life (we know these boys aint single bro)

It's a quiet and unassuming day until you're reminded that today is the MAMA awards. It didn't help that the award show wasn't hosted in Korea this year, leading to you being stuck on your couch, hands quivering as the show began.

It had been a tough yet rewarding year for Chan and his group mates, and you had been lucky enough to see it all. You felt proud that even with the distance, you had always been the first person Chan would call for anything.

Headlining Glastonbury? He had shined brightly onstage and even brighter during your video call, where he took you through his day, making it feel like you had been with him every step of the way.

Tour? He was texting you in between songs, updating you on the tiniest things despite you scolding him that he needed to concentrate on the show. He just couldn't help it, his mind immediately drifting to you whenever something remotely interesting took place. Baby, DK's pants ripped onstage just now. He'd text you, shoulders still shaking from laughter. Coups hyung got barked at again. Whatever tidbit it was, Chan's name lighting up on your screen was a warm embrace compared to the lonely nights without him.

It'd all be worth it now, you thought, as you let out a gasp of joy when Seventeen's name was announced as Artist of the Year. Your hands were still shaking as you picked up your phone to record the moment.

Chan's face glowed on your tv screen as he walked up with his members to accept the award. You couldn't help but remember how he used to look - kidish, tiny, cute and juvenile. You recalled how drastic the change had been, as you both matured and grew together, leading you to realize how hot he looked - so built and handsome. Yet it was the bubbly glow that stayed with him despite aging that you loved the most.

"Thank you Carats!" Your husband raised the trophy proudly into the air. "You know...I was the only one who didn't get to speak when we won a daesang last year..."

You couldn't help but scoff endearingly at how sassy he could be while receiving an award you knew would make him sob to you later.

"Ever since our debut," He continued, staring at you through the tv screen. "My dream was to be an artist that would remain in history."

You could remember that, even now, years later.

"I'm going to make you a promise." 15 year old Chan had told you, on the rare chance he had gotten a break from training. He had taken the two of you to the park in between Pledis and your house.

"Promise me what?" You had replied, lips feinting a small smile as you watched his eager expression.

"That one day, I'm going to be an artist that will stay throughout history." His face was full of raw determination. "And that you'll be right there with me. On top of the world. One day, I'll be an artist you can be proud of."

Seems like he kept that promise.

"And those feelings..." He continued speaking into the mic. "Those feelings will continue as we go into the future with Carats." The crowed cheered at his words.

You could tell from his face that something was up. He had that mischievous look that would only come out whenever he was about to do something to tease you.

"And..." He took a pause, smiling at the dramatic effect it had caused. "Well..."

You half wanted to reach through the tv and smack him, as your heart raced in anticipation. You had ran through his speech with him on video call days ago. This wasn't part of it.

"I once made a promise to someone," He finally said aloud, and you knew immediately what he was doing, mouth dropping in both surprise and realization. "A long time ago, when we were both very young, I made a promise that I would become an artist she could be proud of." He smiled bashfully at the memory of both the moment and the person. "I also promised her that she would be there with me, on top of the world."

You had to sit down, your legs failing you.

"I kept my promise, didn't I?" He said into the mic, and you could tell he was speaking just to you. "I hope you're proud of everything I've done, my lovely, patient wife. Only you could've stuck by me for fourteen years." He added the last part teasingly. "I love you." He raised the trophy in his hands. "This- this is for you." Pausing, he corrected himself. "Well- for you and the members." He smiled sheepishly at the boys behind him. "It is our award."

Dino had gotten Seungcheol's approval minutes before the award show began, begging the leader to let him shout out his wife. "Please, please, please, hyung." He had pleaded, trying to convey that this was literally his lifelong dream. "I've always wanted to do that. Just drop a bomb into the world and walk off." Seungcheol could only sigh, staring at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. He nodded, although he knew it would inevitably create a media frenzy for the company to clean up. "Go for it." He patted their maknae on the back. "Not my problem, not my mess."

Jeonghan had been kept blissfully in the dark until he was watching their acceptance speech live. The further Dino's speech went, the further his jaw dropped. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Dino was shouting out his wife on the stage at MAMA awards, accepting an AOTY award. Immediately after, he calls Dino up, scolding him for not telling him sooner and admitting it was a baller move.

Joshua had been busy trying to comfort a near-tears Seungcheol, Dino's speech barely registering in his ears. He's blissfully confused when the crowd goes bonkers, yelling into DK's ear to tell him what on earth happened. He's proud of Dino, acknowledging that their maknae has grown up to the point that the world now knows he has a whole wife.

All the way in China, Jun's watching the show live on his phone from his trailer on set. The connection is spotty, leaving his members in pixels and full of lag. Thankfully, the only clear part is Dino's speech, leaving Jun in deep shock and a little wounded. He wished he had been there for that.

Hoshi's loud ass gasp is the only thing fans can hear from the crowd other than their own screaming. It's clear on his face that he's flabbergasted - leading fans to speculate if he even knew Dino had a wife.

Wonwoo can't help but let out a hearty laugh once the weight of Dino's speech sinks into his bones. He knows the media and fans are going to have sooo much fun with this. He feels bad that you're now in the spotlight and hopes Dino got your permission beforehand...did he?

Very busy trying to will his tears away, Woozi's shocked out of his feels, tears evaporating at the sound of Dino's voice and the word wife. He's shocked, but happiness takes over when he realizes this will overshadow the fact that he's about to ball on global tv.

Minghao's just got that goofy shocked expression on his face as he registers the moment. He's smiling from ear to ear, basking in the joy that's radiating off of Dino. Who is he to stand in the way of Dino finally showing off his love?

Mingyu is over the moon. Having been your biggest supporter, he's elated you and Dino are finally going public. The fact that he's currently onstage accepting a daesang is completely thrown out of his mind, replaced with the joy of seeing Dino thrive.

Poor Woozi has DK's arms wrapped around him as if DK's trying to suffocate the man. He can't contain his excitement and joy at the reveal, accidentally using Woozi as a stress ball. He tackles Dino as they walk offstage, yelling about how CUTE that was and how lucky you are to have each other.

Seungkwan's stunned into complete silence. He's lowkey judging (just a little bit) at how insane Dino is acting right now - knowing this is bound to stir the pot online. He's the first one to tease Dino, going as far as clowning him during his own speech. "I once made a promise..." Seungkwan fails to keep a straight face as he clowned Dino's speech to his wife. "And I-" He's kicked off the mic by Dino before he can finish.

Vernon simply nods in approval as he watches Dino finish his speech. He respects the confidence and craziness to do such a thing, especially with how dating was basically a taboo for them as idols- and bros hard launching a whole ass wife!

[auroracalisto]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent. part two here.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[drefear]

Closer by NIN

This is part two for Nasty

Summary: You and Miguel have been finding things out about each other through your music choices.

TW: When I say that this one is rough, I mean that this type of sex could get you arrested. I'd bail him out. biting, scratching, dacrophilia, p in v, breeding kink, honestly just everything.

Miguel was panting a bit, rolling off of your body as you both came down from your high together. It had been a few weeks since he listened to that damn song you loved and found out about what you liked in bed, fully using this to his advantage and constantly making you a squirming mess underneath him. 

His eyes stared at the ceiling with a smile on his lips, then closing them for a second before feeling you shift beside him in his bed. He felt your breast press onto his chest as you laid on top of him and his hands slid to hold your waist, peaking open one eye at your smirking face. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, mamacita?” He questioned, tapping his fingers into your skin a bit as you rested your chin on his pecks. You could feel his heartbeat becoming normal again after your rigorous rounds. 

“I’m just wondering what your turn ons are? What makes you insatiable and want more?” You go on and on as he just chuckles, brushing some of the hair from your face as you stare at him with your big doe eyes, filled with curiosity. 

“You, mi amor.” He answers and closes his eyes again, pulling you tight to him as he rolls onto his side and pecks your forehead. “Now we need to sleep, we have an early debriefing tomorrow.” He mumbled and you pouted a bit, pushing out your bottom lip even though his eyes were closed. 

You maniacally rubbed your hand against his still half-hard cock and his grunted, grabbing your wrist quickly to stop you. “Bebe.” His tone had shifted to authoritarian fast and you let out a ‘hmph.’

“One more, papi, please. One more round and I’ll sleep like a baby.” You begged and his eyes opened as an amused grin fell on his full lips. “I promise.” You finished and he yanked one of your legs around his hips, burying his face into your neck. 

“I can’t so no to my precious girl.” he nipped as you giggled, and you both continued once more, before falling asleep. 

The next day, Miguel was exhausted. One more round turned into three more rounds and then sex on the bathroom floor, in his kitchen, and giving him head in his elevator. 

So you could say it was definitely worth it to him. 

You brought out a sexual prince in him, someone caring and full of sweet, buttery smooth words that made your panties a swimming pool in the middle of July. And he was always welcome to dive in. 

“Wow. That’s a new record.” Jess spoke and you looked around, confused. “The hickeys, I mean.” She points to your neck and you immediately close the mask of your suit to avoid her scrutiny any more. She laughed lightly, “don’t be like that, remember that I’m technically the one who led him to give you said hickeys.” She prompts and sits, leaning on your desk. “So I’m guessing it’s all going good?” 

“Better than good, Jess. He’s- he’s like a God in bed.” 

“Wow. He must really be into it.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, now scrunching your brows together. 

“Well, listen- he’s an attractive guy, and you’re not the only person with eyes at the HQ. He’s slept with a few in the past before he met you, but it was always a one-and-done thing, so I’m just impressed that he’s opened up about what he’s into.” 

And then you sunk down in your seat. “What… he’s into?” You questioned. 

“Well, yeah. You two always do what you both want, right? He used to complain about how vanilla most people were, so you must be doing something right.” She stands again and walks off. 

Leaving you alone to your thoughts. What… he wanted? You assumed that he was into what you were into, since you’d found him jerking off to exactly the things you’d wanted to hear, especially after that song- 

The song!

Oh, Jess and her big mouth probably told him about your love for that song! You blushed in embarrassment as you thought about him submitting to what you wanted. 

You didn’t want him to only focus on your turn ons, you wanted compromise and to share his darker fantasies. Isn’t that what a relationship was? 

“Lyla,” you called out and found the little AI pop up in front of you. “I need to know what sexual interests Miguel has.” The orange hologram sputtered a cough for a second while you rolled your eyes at her overdramatic display. “Lyla, you don’t even breathe.” 

“If I did, I'd be gasping in shock and clutching my pearls.” She shot back and you just sighed in defeat. “Besides, those files aren’t accessible to just anyone. You need permission from Miguel or me.” She folded her arms.

“Wait- permission? Like… his passcode?” You blurted out with hopes and Lyla nodded. 

“Well, yes, but-“ 

“Thanks Lyla.” You cut her off and hurried to his office, ignoring the hologram calling back to you. Your steps finally made it to the dark office Miguel used, more like a workshop for a robotics technician, but you didn’t dare correct him when it came to the Society. 

“Miguelito?” You called out, testing out a theory. When silence was your only companion in the room, you smiled and continued your plans. 'Perfect!' You cheered to yourself and hopped to swing onto his platform. 

The screens were much higher than you could see or reach, so you jumped up to sit on his desk and tap along the floating screens. You found what you were looking for after a minute, being greeted by Lyla once more. 

“You know, he’ll be made when he finds out.” She announced and you shrugged. 

“Not if I put what I find to good use.” You answered and the AI pretended to wretch, feigning nausea. 

“Gross. Hold on, if it’s that important to you, I might be able to bypass the code. But I’ll deny ever being here if you throw me under the bus.” Lyla answered and tapped something, then letting you watch the code fill itself. 

“This is his porn history. He doesn’t know I can see it, and I’m happy he doesn’t because that conversation would be really weird.” She pops a few screens, but most of them are just… 

“Is this... my social media?” You wobbled on the desk for a second from leaning back in shock. 

“Yeah, it tends to get him going pretty easily. Sometimes he listens to certain music, too.” She adds and you look directly at her, making her sigh and hold her glasses in disappointment. “I hate that I’m enabling you.” 

“Don’t stop now.” You demand and she lets his playlist pop up, one titled after you. 

Most of the songs seem to be very lovey dovey- and that’s when you find it. 

“Nine inch nails…?” Your surprise was evident as you read the band name once more. “I listened to this band in high school.”

“So did he. Believe it or not, he was a little rebellious in high school. I think it was the daddy issues.” Lyla tapped the song and the strange sounds from the song played heavily. 

“Thanks Lyla!” You tapped her away and ran from his desk, trying to make it as though you had never been there. Your mistake. 

That night, you began playing the song while cooking and tried to focus on the lyrics. 

“You let me violate you 

You let me desecrate you 

You let me penetrate you 

You let me complicate you”

Your jaw dropped, listening to the words. Oh.

The song exuded dominance and power, something very Miguel. But you didn’t think he could be so… rough. Of course he could be rough, the man had fangs and claws, but you thought he was much more into sentimental experiences, making love and such. You didn't realize he wanted to fuck.

Pressing your palms flat into the counter, you'd long forgotten your meal when the chorus bursts through your speakers. 

“I wanna fuck you like an animal 

I wanna feel you from the inside 

I wanna fuck you like an animal 

My whole existence is flawed 

You get me closer to God”

Your knees became jelly as you imagined him saying thing these things to you, gravel voice smirking as you fall to the ground before him and worship him like he deserves- like he would demand. 

“you tear down my reason

(Help me) it's your sex I can smell 

(Help me) you make me perfect

Help me become somebody else”

You could feel the desperation in the reverb of the songs drums. It’s no wonder he always inhales so deeply when he eats you out, he’s letting his animalistic instincts take over. He’s technically part spider, which is inherently an animal. He literally needs to fuck you like an animal to feel his whole DNA’s satisfaction. 

“I wanna fuck you like an animal 

I wanna feel you from the inside 

I wanna fuck you like an animal 

My whole existence is flawed 

You get me closer to God”

You breath hitches and you hear the door close, your head shooting up as you can hear the sound of his boots coming closer, spider senses tingling from behind you. 

“So… the scent of your wet pussy was all over my desk when I got back from Peter's universe… want to tell me why?” He inquired and you wanted to answer, but the hand sliding up your body and the thoughts plaguing your mind from the still-playing song we’re holding your tongue hostage. “No answer? My good girl always answers me, what's wrong? His gentle kisses land on the slope of your neck and you give him more access by tilting your head.

“What if I don’t want to be a 'good girl' tonight? What if…” he freezes and starts to put everything together. You snuck into his office, this song, your pheromones filling the room. 

“What if what?” He growls and you practically cum at the sound of his aggravated voice hissing at you. 

“What if… I want you to do what the song says… and fuck me like an animal.” 

His brain drowns in conflicted emotions. He wants nothing more to practically maim your skin with his claws and teeth, fucking you so roughly that you beg him to stop and take a break, plead for him to breed you like a whore, to hear you crying from how hard he’s going, how bad it hurts and amazing it feels. He wants to see you wake up with a limp in your walk and a belly full of his potential children. 

But then he also doesn’t want to scare you away. He doesn’t want you to be forced to do those things just because you want him to finish, to feel satisfaction. He’s more than satisfied with you, loves the sex you two have, he doesn’t need-

The words fly through his head, but everything stops when you roughly grab his cock through his suit and get onto your knees before him. 

“Mi corazón… you don’t know what you’re asking for.” He encourages you to stand up again, to stop asking for this, but you bury your face into the fabric and breathe in deeply. 

“Please, I need it in my mouth. I want you to fuck my mouth.” You beg and who is he to deny such a gorgeous request when he can see your fat tits practically spilling from the keyhole of your spider suit from this angle. 

“Fuck. Fine.” He says through gritted teeth and yanks your head backwards by your hair, disabling his suit completely as his cock pops out and smacks you a bit. He likes the sounds, likes the view of his face smothering precum across your cheeks and lips. And he wants more. “You like the idea of me suffocating you on my cock, forcing myself down your throat for you to suck?” He slaps his hard dick across your face and because of the weight and width, it actually kinda stings. “That’s it, my little slut… so horny just for me, so hungry to take my dick.” He roughly grabs your face and forces your mouth open, smushing your cheeks in his large hands and tapping his tip on your tongue. “Open wide and stick out that tongue.” He commands and you comply, tongue out and mouth open for him. 

He slams into your mouth until you can’t take much more, still missing a few inches of him. “Relax your throat, or I’ll fuck it so hard that you’ll be forced to.” He threatens and you try to lessen your muscles tightening. Pulling your hair into his body until your nose is smashed against his pelvis, dark happy trail against your lips.

The gagging makes him practically cum then and there, but he won’t let this end just yet. No, he needs to enjoy this more. unbeknownst to him, you were on the verges of an orgasm just from him fucking into the back of your throat one time. You hand slides down to touch your clit and rub yourself in gentle circles.

Sliding out, he rams his cock back into your waiting cavern and begins a relentless speed, shoving himself further and further each time until he can see the bulge of his dick in your esophagus. His head falls back and his fingers tighten in your hair, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as he brutalizes your throat and refuses to stop. His hand pins your head between the countertop of the kitchen and his postponing hips, refusing to stop until he feels your nails on one hand digging into his thighs and making him almost cum. You groan on his dick and he realizes that sound, he knows that's a signal that you've just finished with your own hand. He yanks himself out and starts fisting his cock fast as you cough and gasp for air, tears still forming mascara tracks down your cheeks. 

He bends down and hurls you over his shoulder, then throwing you onto the ground of the living room and making you do a split on your back, blushing at how exposed he had you. Three sharp claws formed from his fingers and he shredded the hips of your suit, bending down to your tits and latching the top in his mouth so when he turned his head, the rip was loud and your nipples were open to the cold air. 

“You’re going to lay here and take my cock until the only words you know how to say are ‘Miguel please fuck me.’ And I’m not stopping until you pass out from exhaustion.” He declares and puts the tip of his dick in your entrance, not even wasting a second and thrusting into you completely, making a scream tear through your throat in pain as he once again found your hair and thrusted. The lack of accommodation made you tighter than you’d ever felt, jerking hips his harder as your hand fell onto his abs to push him away, hiccups coming from your lips as the pain begins to grow at how hard he could go. 

“That’s it, shut the fuck up and take this cock. Cry about it, try to get away, but I’ll pull you back and fuck. You. Harder.” He rammed his hips into yours to punctuate every word of the end of the sentence. “I’ll fuck you so hard, you won't be able to get up for work tomorrow.” He says as he pounds his tip into your cervix, most definitely bruised and possibly hurt worse. But god, did it feel good, watching him get so crazy, so psychotically obsessed with you. 

“Migu-el!” Your words get broken up with as I should have been gone. 

“That’s it, my little bitch in heat, I’ll fuck you so hard, your entire bottom half with be black and blue.” He grunted and groaned, starting to feel like an animal on the discovery channel, then bending down and biting into your skin hard. Blood drew at the little punctures and he continued to bite deep, painful marks all over, looking like you were stung by a bunch of bees. His hands slid up your back and you felt the claws in his fingers latch onto you, scrapping across your smooth body and forming bloodied lines and marks of what looked like pure aggression, but if only everyone who saw them knows… 

You were fucking loving this.

Your body looked like an anomaly mission gone wrong; dark, scattered bruises that looked like they’d take weeks to heal, punctures all over your body like you were a piece of cheese, and red scraps like you’d tumbled into a bed of razors. All done by Miguel and his primal needs, and you’d let him do it again and again as long as he used his cock to completely pummel your insides. 

“F-fuck me, please, Miguel…” you gasped and choked out as his eyes blared red like sirens on a cop car, heaving and large above you. You orgasm around him and he makes a sound as if he’s a roaring lion.

“That’s it, ask me to destroy this slutty pussy, to breed you, to own you.” His words come out in an octave you didn’t know he could reach and your back arches, keeping his dick in you as he flips you over. 

Like a battering ram in and out of your pussy, he holds your arms and yanks your body back and forth on his cock like his own life sized pocket pussy. “Perfect little cocksleeve, letting me use her body like a fuckin whore. Only mine, no one else can touch you, mine.” he grunts and growls as he attacks your back again, wet lines of him basically slobbering all over you like a dog. He humps into you at a dizzying speed and you cum again, the searing burn of a too-fast orgasm swimming through your belly as he smiles and ruts upward, bullying your g-spot more and more. 

“One more, you can do one more, right?” He insists and makes sharp, hard movements against that spot. You weep louder as the lewd sounds of your wet pussy sucking him in and milking him dry echo around the room. Miguel moves to web together your arms behind your back, holding them now with one hand and grasping the back of your neck like a handle with the other, smashing his hips into your suffocating insides. "I'm not asking, you will give me one more, I want to feel your cunt clamp down on me again and try to suck the cum out of my cock."

Everything becomes white noise as another painful and overwhelming orgasm wracks though your body, making you jerk and shutter wildly as he holds you in his control and rides you through it. 

“That’s it, you’re my fucktoy, my personal little cunt for me to ruin and get pregnant. Gonna be all knocked up, gonna let me cum in you and fill you up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fuck this cunt for the rest of my fuckin life.” His words send him tumbling into his own climax, shooting his seed so deep inside you that you swear it’s gonna spill out of your mouth. Miguel’s dick is so deeply buried within you as he cums that your legs shake and the muscles cramp, dropping below him. You’re completely fucked out, everything feeling like an irritation to your bloody, bruised skin. 

And the look on Miguel’s face is heartbreaking once he looks at you. Yes, it makes his dick hard again, but it makes his mind unravel into panic. He needs to apologize. How could he mark you up like this, damage you like this? He never should have let go, never should have-

“Wanna go again?” You mumble out and give him a little smirk. And he completely malfunctions.

“You… enjoyed that?”

“Are you joking? That was the most amazing sex of my entire life. We can do the sweet sappy stuff I taught you some other time, now abuse my cunt with your cock again please.” You beg and Miguel thinks he’s gonna lose his mind. 

You will be the death of him, and as he plunges into your hole once more, propping a pillow under your hips, he thinks about what type of sex playlist you two are gonna make together.

[fanfic-ya-know]

My Age

Pairing: congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: reader is afab, reader is a little insecure (but it’s mostly in a playful way… idk), age gap, probably inaccurate MCU timeline but idc, use of pet names (honey), and not beta read

AN: I heard this song and immediately thought about Bucky… so sue me! This is just a quick little fic bc it was all the brainpower I had left.

It was something that always kind of lived in the back of your mind – not ever a real issue, never discussed, but always there. He was so much older than you, and it was obvious. You figured to others that you probably looked like a sugar baby, and that wasn’t a great look for Bucky, given his position. Still, neither of you brought it up.

The relationship was still fresh, and the age difference wasn’t the only thing that was borderline inappropriate. You worked on his campaign and felt the sparks immediately. Agreeing to keep things professional had only lasted so long. Months of working together, sharing lingering glances, eventually built up to a night filled with passion once you found out he’d won. You kind of thought that would be it – that you were just a young, hot assistant that he enjoyed eye-fucking, and once he’d gotten you out of his system, you’d be out on the curb. 

That couldn’t be further from what happened. After your night together, Bucky profusely apologized for his ‘reckless’ behaviour and explained that he’d like to take you out for real, once you were no longer on his payroll. He helped you secure another job on the hill. Not that you really needed his help – you were extremely intelligent and capable, and you were honestly overqualified for the role you had on his campaign – but you didn’t say no to his glowing recommendation.

Things were going well. You spent most weekends together, bouncing between his place in New York and yours in D.C., always making the most of the time you had together. And you’d just started to meet his friends – well, friend – you’d met Sam. That was how the topic of your age moved from the back of your mind to a small sort of nagging ache in your chest.

It was stupid, really. But at dinner, Sam had made an offhanded comment about how Bucky was probably such a ‘lady killer back in the day,’ and that sort of stuck with you. You laughed along in the moment but thought about it for the rest of the evening.

Later, you laid in bed, your head resting against his chest as it rose and fell. Bucky traced small patterns into your shoulder as he held you.

“Whatcha thinkin' about, honey?” he asked, knowing your silence meant your mind was racing. You were typically such a yapper, so this was out of the norm. You turned your head, resting your chin where your cheek had been, to look him in the eye.

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you warned, already feeling silly for the insecurities swirling in your head. Bucky let out a little huff, smiling, then nodding, prompting you to continue. Still, you hesitated. “If… if you’d met me before – like when you were younger – would you have… wanted me then?”

“Like how much younger?” he joked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at you. “Because if we go too far back, you’re getting in the negatives over there.”

You pushed off of him, sitting up but still facing him. Bucky shifted, too, realizing that he’d agreed not to laugh. He put a hand up in apology and sat up against the headboard as you clarified, giving you his full attention.

“No, like if we were the same age. Back in the forties.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed at that. “Where’s all this coming from?”

“Bucky.” His name came out as a groan, practically scolding him. You let out a deep sigh through your nose. You’d forgotten that he’d learned how to dodge a question like a true politician. “Would you just answer the damn question?”

“Okay, okay,” he half-chuckled, pulling you back into his side. His arm wrapped comfortably around your shoulders as he thought through his response. “Well, I definitely still would’ve found you attractive.” You couldn’t help but smile, both at the compliment and at how thoughtfully he was answering, clearly calculating each aspect of your relationship. “But things would’ve been different.”

“How so?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I was a different man back then,” he said definitively. “I probably wouldn’t have treated you very well. At least not for very long. So the real question is, would you have wanted me then?” He squeezed your shoulders and pressed a kiss against your forehead, causing you to giggle softly, the sound coming out of you more like an exhale.

It was fascinating to you how Bucky spoke about himself in such a nonchalant way. He wasn’t ashamed of that part of himself, but he knew that the man he was today was very different – more mature, more caring.

You thought about it. Bucky treated you so well. He was handsome and charming and accomplished, so he could have practically any girl he wanted. He could have a different girl every night. But he wanted you – he chose you.

He took you on expensive dates. He took you to ball games and to his favorite corner store. He introduced you to people you met on the street and wrapped his arm around your shoulders proudly or intertwined his fingers with yours as you walked. He called you on the nights you weren’t together to ask about your day. He answered all of your questions about his past and told you stories about the things you didn’t even know to ask about. Bucky, this Bucky, was everything you wanted and more.

“I’m sure I still would’ve,” you said finally, tilting your head to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “But I’m glad I have you now.”

[prythianpages]

Slipping Through My Fingers | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch | Summary: it's your baby girl's first day of school and Azriel isn't ready to let her go.

warnings: fluff/angst; some suggestiveness at the end (bonus scene)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also my Dandelion series. I really adore this song and this was the only series I could apply it to. This can pretty much be read as a stand alone imagine. All you have to know is that reader is a witch and is an established relationship with Az.

In the quiet hush of morning, Azriel and Melaina find themselves at the breakfast table with sleep in their eyes. The floor is cloaked in their shadows, joining one another at their feet in a vast sea of darkness.

Yet, the dance of their shadows harbor distinct meanings.

Though he tries to hide it, your keen eyes pick up on the subtle poignant unease in Azriel's demeanor. An undercurrent of melancholy taints the air, prompting you to send a reassuring tug through your bond. Azriel returns the gesture, his hand finding yours across the table. Meanwhile, Melaina quietly finishes her breakfast. Her shadows, a whirlwind of nerves and excitement, betray her impassive appearance. Today is her first day of school, the precipice of a new chapter in her life, and Azriel can't help but grapple with the realization that his little girl is growing up far too quickly.

“All done, my pretty?” You ask softly, gaze alight with admiration as her small wings flutter behind her.

She’s the mirror image of her father with her captivating hazel eyes–a perfect blend of greens and browns that remind you of the nature you’re so fond of. Two braids cascade down her shoulders and delicate bangs accentuate her sun-kissed complexion. When she was born, you had joked that you had given birth to Azriel’s carbon copy and little did you know that even her personality would match his. 

Melaina nods and you rise, taking her plate to the kitchen sink. The corner of your lips lift up into a smile when you hear Azriel ask, “Are you sure you want to go to school? You can always start next year.”

“Mel is more than ready for school,” you lightly chide Azriel, who chooses to ignore your words of consolation. 

His gaze is fixed on Melaina, a plethora of scenarios plaguing his mind. He wishes he could see what’s really on her mind–to be able to foresee any worries she may have and ease her through them. The same way he’s eased her through every milestone of her life thus far. He was there when she took her first steps, when she first got hurt from tripping over a rug that he immediately disposed of after, when she said her first word–which much to your dismay was your cat’s name, Binx. 

But now, she was ready for school. Her first time being away from home without you or him or his brothers by her side. Her first time being on her own. What if the kids in her class don’t take well to her? To her shadows? He remembers the apprehensive looks he’d receive in Windhaven when growing up and the thought of anyone doing the same to her pains him. What if they are mean to her? What if they hurt her?

The obsidian tendrils at Azriel's side stir with an eerie melody, commanding Melaina's shadows to rise. They snap to attention like disciplined soldiers heeding orders. An unspoken promise unfolds—her shadows would help guide her and protect her from any lingering stare or slightest suspicion of malintent. They return to her side as she rises to her feet, tickling her sides and causing her to giggle.

 Azriel smiles and shares her laughter, capturing every minute of it, the feeling in it.

**

There’s that odd melancholy feeling again as he stands in front of the school with Melaina on one side and you on the other. He can’t help the frown that settles over his face when she wiggles her tiny hand out of his grasp to run to her cousins. You’re following after her, tugging Azriel along with you to join his brothers and their mates at the front of the school.

“Good morning, Azriel jr,” Cassian greets her with a smile, playfully tugging at one of her braids. “Are you ready for your first day?”

Melaina lets out a huff. “Of course I am, Uncle Cas.”

Cassian then looks toward Azriel, who continues to brood, and chuckles. “It doesn’t look like your daddy is.”

Azriel glares at Cassian. You leave his side to hug Feyre and the frown leaves his face at the delighted squeal that comes from you, his shadows singing in response. He turns his head to see you and Feyre exchange smiles while you gush in excitement over her growing belly. Though Feyre looks at Azriel with a knowing smile, her words are directed to you.

“Rhys was the same way with Nyx,” she muses and out of the corner of his eye, Azriel catches his brother rolling his eyes. But he doesn’t deny it.

“So was Nesta,” Cassian adds, propping an elbow on Nesta’s shoulders. She shoves him off with a shrug before chiding after their twin boys, Cardan and Calian. The aftermath of the aphrodisiac you made–or rather, remade–for her after Azriel accidentally drank the first batch.

“I’m surprised you’re faring well with this,” Feyre says with a raised brow at you.

“Well, someone has to be the strong one,” you tease, side glancing at Azriel and squeezing his hand. 

Azriel lets out a small huff, similar to the one Melaina let out earlier. He knew you were also stressed and a little sad but you were surprisingly able to hide it better than him. But unbeknownst to him, just in case the obsidian necklace she wore was not enough, you had casted a protection spell over Melaina before she went to bed…and packed her bags with a variety of charged crystals.

The gathering of students at the school's entrance slowly disperses, and Azriel tenses beside you, acknowledging the imminent moment of having to say goodbye. Nyx, ever courteous, takes it upon himself to accompany Melaina to class. Azriel suspects Feyre's influence in Nyx's gesture, as if she intuited the added difficulty for him and you. He watches as Melaina walks back to you and you lean down, gently smoothing her bangs before placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Today will be a wonderful day for you,” you affirm for her with a radiant smile, making Azriel's heart melt at the sight of the two girls he loves the most.  He wishes that he could freeze the picture and save it from the funny tricks of time. 

Your hand delicately reaches for the obsidian crystal suspended from her neck, lifting it tenderly to your lips. There’s a flash of green light that engulfs the crystal and as you release the necklace, Azriel notices the new sparkle to it. “Love you, my pretty.”

Though Melaina doesn’t verbalize it back, her eyes radiate a golden glow and the soft caress of her shadows against your face feels like a tender whisper that articulates, "I love you too.” You pull her in close, hugging her smaller frame and lean down to whisper. But Azriel’s attentive senses still catch it.

“Now hug and give your daddy a kiss so he doesn’t cry.”

Azriel resists the urge to roll his eyes. Feeling a tug on his sweater, he leans down to meet his daughter at eye level. Opening his arms expectantly, a surge of warmth envelops him as she eagerly rushes into his embrace. A tender kiss graces his cheek, accompanied by the familiar caress of her shadows against his other cheek similar to the way they had done with you. He pulls away to look at her, holding her gently by the shoulders. He knows her shadows will do well to protect her and if those aren’t enough, her older cousins are just a couple of classrooms down the hall. But he needs to hear her say it.

“What will you do if someone is mean to you?”

Melaina’s eyes light up and she steps out from his hold. True to the goddess you named her after, she's a tiny vision of nightmares and madness, as she assumes a defensive position, her shadows dancing around her.

“Kick them in the face!” She exclaims as she raises her leg up with a glare directed toward her nonexistent enemy.  “I'll make my enemies bleed.”

Cardan and Calian follow after her while Nyx wisely keeps a safe distance, amused by the spectacle of his younger cousins engaging in an imaginary brawl. Cassian watches them fondly, striking punches of his own into the air but you’re shaking your head with furrowed brows. Azriel catches the pointed look you send his way and a subtle blush overtakes his cheeks as you’ve discovered his secret. He continues to read Melaina, those books you told him not to. 

“No, Mel, that’s not–”

“That’s my girl,” Azriel grins as he rises to his feet, feeling slightly better. He rustles her bangs fondly.

The sound of the school bell echoes through the park as a final warning that class should be beginning shortly. Azriel reluctantly shrugs Melaina’s backpack off his shoulder, the small bag looking ridiculous on someone of his stature. He adjusts it on her with careful consideration for her delicate wings and feels an ache in his chest as the backpack nearly engulfs her smaller frame. 

As the faint rustling, reminiscent of rocks shifting, comes from the bag, it is Azriel’s turn to send you a subtle yet pointed look in your direction. A suppressed smile tugs at his lips when you quickly avert your gaze and he realizes he wasn’t the only one keeping a secret.

“Off you go, my little shadow. See you later.”

Once the backpack is secured to her, she takes Nyx’s waiting hand and runs off to the entrance with him. Azriel almost frowns but then, at the top of the stairs, she turns around, waving goodbye with a small absent-minded smile.

He watches her go into the school with a surge of that well-known sadness. Tears prick his eyes and though he knows he’s being dramatic, he can’t help the feeling that he’s losing her forever. His sweet little girl who keeps on growing. She’s slipping through his fingers all the time.

**

Bonus scene

Before his family could indulge in making fun of him, Azriel grasps your hand, drawing you close as he summons his shadows. The inky tendrils swirl around you both, transporting you back to the familiar sanctuary of your home.

"If this is your reaction on her first day of school, I can only imagine what you’ll be like when she has her first crush," you say, a teasing sparkle in your eyes.

Azriel's grip on you tightens. He doesn’t want to grapple further into the inevitability of his daughter's growing independence because to him, Melaina will always be his baby girl. A subtle strain echoes in his voice as he pleads, "Don't."

Easing out of his embrace, you giggle at his dramatics, strolling toward the kitchen with a lightness in your step, intent on brewing some tea. "It's just a couple of hours, Az," you reassure him.

"A couple of hours?" Azriel echoes, a pensive note in his voice as he joins you in the kitchen.

Having taken the entire week off, he had intended to be present for every moment—dropping Melaina off and picking her up during her first week at school. He didn’t plan for much other than that and he was used to spending his days off with his little family but now Melaina was off at school, leaving the two of you alone.

The kettle placed on the stove begins to whistle, harmonizing with the new thought that brews in his mind. You’re raising your steaming cup of tea to your lips, peering over at Azriel as he walks up to you. “What? You want some?” You ask, raising your cup to him.

Azriel shakes his head with a smile. Carefully taking the cup from you, he places it onto the counter behind you. He gently but firmly holds your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. The faint blush on his cheeks returns, a soft hue that complements the golden brilliance in his eyes as he looks down at you with adoration because you’ve given him everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

Still, there's an insatiable desire within him for even more moments, more shared dreams, and more of you.

“Let’s have another?”

“A baby?”

Azriel nods, attentively studying your features for any nuanced emotion. He feels relief when you smile and you voice your answer without having to say anything, flooding him with love through the bond you share. The two of you had discussed having children years ago, almost two years before having Melaina. After she was born, you mirrored each other’s desires for having more but had agreed on waiting but not too long as you wanted your children to grow up together.

“We do have a couple of hours to ourselves,” you remind him again, embracing him with arms entwined around his neck, fingers brushing through the back of his hair.

He hooks his arms under your knees, lifting you up with ease and you’re wrapping your legs around his waist. He grins when your legs tighten around him and kisses you.

“Let’s not waste another second.”

a/n: hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it <3 Sorry, I skipped ahead. I do want to eventually write an imagine for when Az & reader first find out they're having a baby. That might be the next imagine for this series.

tagging: @fxckmiup

[series masterlist]

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Could you do 57, 65, and 69 for Neteyam x Metkayina reader who assists tsireya and aonung in teaching the sullys but while doing so she wants to also learn their ways :) Oh! And how about Reader making traditional courting jewelry for Neteyam (after asking for help from Jake and Neytiri duhh)

#57: Validation/Affirmation/Identity, #65: Promise/Pinky Swear, #69: You Remembered

Pairing: Neteyam/Metkayina!Fem!Reader

Warnings: identity crisis, fluff, blood, time skips, near-death experience, young love

Taglist: @neteyamsl0ver @mooniequeen

A/N: I do apologize if I don't fulfill the full request since I had a similar prompt for Lo'ak and I didn't want the brothers to have similar stories. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~

While Lo'ak, Kiri, and Tuk adapted and thrived in Awa'atlu, Neteyam wasn't as successful. 

As the firstborn and brought up as the once-future olo'eyktan, Neteyam was raised off of Omatikaya culture and nothing else. He was raised to be a warrior and a leader, taught by the many other leaders of his clan. Both his parents and his grandmother taught him everything they knew and more. He loved it and was passionate about his people's lifestyle, so he struggled to learn anything else, much like his mother.

Both Neytiri and her oldest felt so out of place among the Metkayina, always homesick and mourning their former lives, now changed forever. Now that Tarsem replaced Jaked as the Omatikaya's chief, Neytiri would no longer be tsahik after Mo'at and Neteyam would never become olo'eyktan. Everything he was taught, all that hard work and striving for perfection... no longer mattered. 

Neteyam felt as though he didn't belong among the reef people, but his siblings clearly weren't in the same boat. Tsireya was an excellent teacher and Lo'ak clung to every word she said. It also didn't hurt how close he had gotten with the chief's daughter to the point where he was always given one-on-one lessons with her. Once Ao'nung and Lo'ak got over their differences, they actually became good friends and Rotxo was never far behind. 

Neteyam's sisters also thrived in Awa'atlu and found friends in Rotxo, Ao'nung, and Tsireya. To none of the Sullys' surprise, Kiri was a natural swimmer and deep-diver who barely struggled with holding her breath. And while Tuk was young and inexperienced, she was still young enough to relearn how to survive and adapt to this new lifestyle. By the time she's Neteyam's age, she'll be a far more skilled Metkayina than her older brother could ever hope to be.

It was such an uncommon feeling-- for Neteyam to be the odd one out. He had always fit in with the people around him, while his siblings... not so much, but he never loved them less for it and he always tried to understand their emotions. Now, finally, he fully understood how they felt to be the outsider. 

Those thoughts always vanish, however, whenever he is in your presence. 

Adamant on teaching the Sully children alongside Tsireya, you had grown fond of Neteyam almost immediately. At first, you spent one-on-one time to help him catch up with his siblings' progress. As his teacher, Neteyam found that he was able to focus and absorb the information whenever it was just you and him. He learned how to hold his breath underwater, ride an ilu, the sign language, the tulkun songs, and it was all because of you, his savior. 

As your friendship bloomed, Neteyam opened up more about his clan and their way of life, which always piqued your interest. By the time he came to terms with his feelings for you, he also began to share his inner thoughts, how he initially felt like an outsider among the Metkayina and a little envious of his siblings since they managed to adapt so quickly. 

"That is ridiculous," you scoff good-naturedly as you sit beside him on the beach one night, "You will always be the son of Toruk Makto, but you are also one of us now. There's no shame in missing what you lost back home. Your friends, your status, and the life you loved, but that doesn't mean you can't love the new life you're starting here. There's no harm in change. Take the ocean for example."

He watches as you dip your hand into the wet sand, letting the shallow water spill into the crevice of your palm. The glowing algae once swimming in the water now swirled in your hand in a way Neteyam could only imagine pixie dust would look like based on his father's stories from Earth. 

You lift your hand up and watch as the glowing water falls through the cracks of your fingers, shimmering as it splashes back down into the ocean, "It's always changing and it never stays in one place. When the tide takes you out, you're not supposed to fight it. You have to swim alongside it or you will drift away. Do not fight change, Neteyam. Let it happen. Your brother mentioned a saying from the Sky People and I think perfectly encapsulates what I am trying to say. 'Go with the flow.'"

You weren't expecting the laugh that jostles from Neteyam's chest, but you welcomed it all the same, smiling victoriously at getting him to laugh. It was a deep sound in his throat, and he looked so free and relaxed, the sight made your stomach warm. Once he recovers, he smiles back at you, loosely and genuinely.

"Thank you, Y/n."

You nod, jutting your chin out with confidence, "Just wait. You'll be a warrior among us sooner than later, just as you are with the Omatikaya. I am sure of it."

"Pinky swear?"

Your brow ridge furrows, tilting your head in confusion, "What?"

"Oh, right," Neteyam breathes a small laugh as a thought dawns on him, "It's a human thing. Alien custom. You link your smallest fingers together to form a sacred vow-- a promise, and after that, you can't break it. It works for people with extra fingers, like Lo'ak and Kiri. Our father taught us."

He clenches one hand into a fist except for the last finger, his smallest. You stare oddly at his hand before staring down at your own, mimicking the same movement and pointing only with your smallest finger, "What happens if you break the promise?"

"... You know, I don't actually know," Neteyam sheepishly admits, bowing his head to hide the embarrassment on his face, "My father can be timid sometimes so I just never bothered to find out."

You hum but don't question it further, allowing Neteyam to lock your small fingers together. Despite the weird custom, it made your face warm to feel the heat of his body so close to yours, your fingers linked together to seal a sacred vow. 

~~~~~~~~~

As this unspoken thing progressed between you and Neteyam, the Sky People were closing in on the Sullys' location. Eventually, war came to the reef and you and the other reef children got caught up in it after following Lo'ak and his siblings to save Payakan. Things took a turn for the worse and suddenly you find yourself kneeling on a slippery rock surface before Neteyam, desperately trying to help Lo'ak as you both press your hands into the older boy's chest to stop the bleeding. The sight haunted you as Neteyam's eyes wildly looked around, appearing unable to focus on just one person as he struggled to breathe, his body going into shock. He was shivering from head to toe but not quite cold, gasping for breath even though he wasn't drowning. Even as tears blurred your vision, you didn't dare draw your hands away, stomping down the fear of losing Neteyam and instead replacing that fear with determination to save him. 

You, Lo'ak, and the human known as Spider worked as a team, following Toruk Makto's instructions and doing whatever Tsireya told you to do with her knowledge of healing. By the time Neytiri had managed to find her family in the chaos of the battlefield, the bleeding had begun to slow. Even though you had saved Neteyam a little more time, you weren't out of the woods yet. Neteyam needed real healing from Ronal and at the same time, Kiri and Tuk needed rescuing from the ship of metal the Sky People sailed on. Both Sully parents were conflicted about what they should do until you and Tsireya took control of the situation. Together, you two convinced Jake and Neytiri to go rescue their daughters while you swore to take the unconscious Neteyam back to the village. They expressed their gratitude before taking off, and then Lo'ak and Spider helped you and Tsireya get Neteyam onto an ilu. You girls took Neteyam to Ronal while the boys stayed behind, not wanting to go back until they knew Kiri and Tuk had been safely rescued. 

The rest of the Sullys returned to Awa'atlu hours later, tired but mostly unharmed and desperate to see their son and brother. To their shared relief, you and Tsireya had brought Neteyam to the tsahik just in time, and Ronal held Neytiri after the crying mother was reassured that her son would live.

It was hard for you to visit Neteyam as time went on. He had woken up a week after the Sky People were defeated, but he was constantly surrounded by his family so you didn't think your presence was needed. You didn't want to crowd him any more than he already was, constantly looked after by his loved ones while he healed. It was torture for you, knowing that he was safe but still haunted by the memory of his blood on your hands. You hadn't seen him in so long and you needed to be sure he was whole and on the way to recovery. You needed to see him with your own two eyes and so finally, you gained the courage to approach Toruk Makto and his mate.

After everything you have done for Neteyam and their family, Jake and Neytiri were more than happy to make sure you had some time alone with Neteyam to talk and catch up. They took their other children away for the afternoon and flashed you small smiles of encouragement, silently offering some good luck. 

Neteyam looked up from his cot upon hearing the sound of someone entering his family's kelku, and seemed genuinely surprised by who stood in the doorway, "Y/n?"

You faintly smile, his voice saying your name sounded like a soft lullaby you haven't heard in so long. You move over to the cot and kneel before him, scanning his face. Apart from the bandages wrapped around his chest, he looked like himself, "You look better."

You immediately flush with embarrassment when those words leave your lips and you instantly backtrack, "I mean-- I just-- I'm glad that you are on the mend."

Instead of appearing offended, Neteyam's forehead wrinkles as he peers up at you with concern in his voice, "Where have you been? I was worried."

Both happiness and shame battle in your gut, touched that he was worried about you but guilty for not seeing him sooner to ease both of your pain. You lower your voice to a whisper, bringing your hand to brush a braid out of his face, "I'm sorry. I didn't think you needed someone else at your bedside. You have so many people who love you and want to see you get better, so I wanted to give you some air to breathe. I'm sorry. I won't do that again unless you ask me."

He catches the hand you used to push aside his braid and takes your fingers in his before you can pull away, bringing your hand to rest on the side of his face. He leans into your palm, murmuring against your skin, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," you exhale shakily, tears beginning to brim in your eyes, but they were out of joy and relief, "I... I'm so happy you're awake. I have something for you."

You don't pull your hand away, wanting to keep touching Neteyam's face, his skin warm and alive beneath yours. You use your free hand to grab the item you placed on the floor beside you and hold it up for the forest boy to see. Neteyam tilts his head up to take a look and his eyes widen in shock. 

Beads carved from trees, not shells, the fiber stripped from plants on land, not from the seaweed floating underwater. All of it was woven into an intricately made armband that was clearly inspired by Omatikaya fashion. 

You place the band in Neteyam's free hand, his eyes still wide as his thumb traced over the pattern. He wets his bottom lip and blinks, still shocked while trying to form words, "What...?"

"I hope it's to your liking," you explain even as the heat rises to your face, "Your mother and father helped me make it."

Whatever you said must have been the right answer as a smile suddenly blooms on Neteyam's mouth, "It reminds me of my clan. Of home."

He could only describe whatever he was feeling in his chest as warmth and love, taking over whatever soreness he was still feeling from his wound. He looks away from the armband and peers up at you with a wordless question in his eyes. Warmth spreads in his stomach when you understand his silent question and you assist him in putting on the armband without another word. It fit perfectly on him, and it was even better knowing that you made it. 

"Thank you, ma'tìyawn. This means so much to me," his head and ears began to lower in shame, "I'm sorry I didn't make anything for you."

"It's alright," you whisper gently, swallowing a small cry that threatens to escape as you shakily exhale, "I... I would rather have you alive than a piece of jewelry."

He immediately moves to comfort you, staying on his back knowing that his mother would scold him but taking your hand in his once again and placing a kiss in the center of your palm, "Once I'm healed, I would like to ask your family for their permission to court you officially. I want to make proper jewelry for you, one that perfectly resembles your own clan."

A darker shade of blue crept over your face but you were too happy to notice, bashful yet relieved that your feelings were reciprocated, "Once you are healed, you can do so."

"And... And I want to take you back to the forests where I grew up," he admits quietly, "I want to introduce you to the Omatikaya, all my friends and family back home. I don't think we would be able to stay there because of the war, but I want to bring you for a visit."

You beam with wonder and excitement, stomach flipping at the thought of future plans being made with your young lover, "I would love to go meet your clan. We will go when there is time."

Then, you lift a hand up to him, pointing out the last finger on your hand as you confidently declare, "Pinky promise."

His expression melts into a sweet, fond smile, carefully lifting his hand up and linking your smallest fingers together, "You remembered..."

~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[steddieas-shegoes]

i wanna make you love me

for @subeddieweek day three with the prompts brat eddie and wet and choking

rated e | 2,978 words | please check ao3 for tags

Day one:  ao3 | tumblr Day two: ao3 | tumblr

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

He’s left on his knees, blindfolded.

There’s no sound in the room, nothing to give away what’s coming next.

Fingers in his hair. Hand around his throat. Lips against his ear.

“You’re helpless like this, aren’t you?”

Eddie whined.

Whining never got him anywhere except in more trouble, and sometimes Eddie really liked being in trouble.

And because Steve was always honest after a scene, he admitted that he loved when Eddie was a brat, loved to see him subtly ignore Steve’s directions and make little noises even when he was supposed to be quiet. Eddie played into it sometimes, but it came naturally for him to ignore orders, even when he was floating away in his head.

The hand around his throat tightened for a moment, barely enough to actually cut off his air, and then disappeared completely.

“I know what you want, but if you can’t be my good boy, you don’t get to have it. You know better,” Steve said from behind him.

Eddie’s hands weren’t tied, they hardly ever were if he was blindfolded. The only time he’d had to safeword was when he’d been tied up in bed and blindfolded with a gag in. He felt too helpless, past the point of enjoying whatever control Steve had and into dangerous territory. But he knew not to move them.

Moving them would mean punishment, and never the kind he actually wanted.

Steve’s fingers tightened in his hair, tugging at his scalp until he had no choice but to let his head fall backwards. He rested it against Steve’s thigh, a smug smile making its way across his face.

“You want me to be your good boy?” Eddie rasped out. “Maybe I don’t feel like being good.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, not even letting out a breath.

“I’m not spanking you.”

Eddie immediately pouted. It’s not that he thought he’d get what he wanted immediately, but that tone was definite, final.

“Not even one time?” Eddie hated not being able to see the look on Steve’s face. “Even if I promise to cry?”

Steve snorted. “I’m sure you’ll be crying soon enough, but it won’t be from my hand on your ass.”

Steve’s leg disappeared from behind him so quickly he nearly fell backwards. He managed to right himself just as Steve’s laugh hit his ears.

“Take away your sight and it’s like you can’t do anything, huh?” Steve teased. “I’ll just wait right here and you let me know when you wanna be good.”

“Hope you’re comfy. Could be a while,” Eddie responded, ignoring the heat on his cheeks at his mild embarrassment. Steve knew exactly what buttons to push and when, but Eddie knew exactly how hard to fight back to get what he wanted.

Steve was quiet. Eddie was quiet.

Everything was still.

Eventually, Eddie sighed. “Are you really gonna try to be more stubborn than me, a brat?”

“You’re barely a brat, Eddie. Just need to learn lessons the hard way, don’t you?” Steve sounded like he was sitting on his bed, but it was hard to know for sure. “I have all night. I’ve got a drink and a comfy bed. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I like being on my knees. I’ll be fine, too.”

Except he wasn’t. Already, all he could think about was how much he wanted to touch Steve, to be touched by Steve. His knees were sore, his arms were sore, his ass was sore from sitting on his feet this long. He was already close to giving in when the sound of Steve’s belt coming off distracted him.

He’d had plenty of thoughts about how that belt could be used before, and wouldn’t really be opposed to any of those options now.

But the belt hit the floor and the bed creaked.

Steve wasn’t using the belt on him. Steve was relaxing in his bed. Probably not even paying any attention to Eddie or his hard and leaking cock.

Fucking rude.

Eddie’s fingers tapped against each other behind his back, maybe a song or maybe just impatience. Probably impatience. His head wasn’t full of anything except irritation at being ignored.

He knew that’s what Steve wanted, for the irritation to win and he would give in to whatever Steve desired. He’d crawl on his hands and knees over to the bed, apologizing for being a brat and begging to be touched, to get his mouth on Steve’s cock, anything.

Eddie would be lying if he didn’t want that, too.

But more than that, he wanted to see what would happen if he didn’t give in for once, if Steve finally got tired of the attitude and did something about it.

Maybe he’d actually, finally fuck him.

Everything they’d done until now had been hands and mouths only, which was amazing and better than anything Eddie could have expected from anyone, let alone Steve.

After a hard day at school, coming back home and knowing that Steve would be over after his shift at Family Video to take care of him or to bring him back to his house to let him get loud would turn his entire day around. It happened often enough that he knew he was becoming somewhat dependent on it. But with nearly two months of this under their belt, Eddie was starting to wonder if maybe he wasn’t the only one with feelings far beyond the trust between friends.

Steve let out a groan.

And then Eddie heard it: the slick noise of him stripping his own cock, probably using the lube from his bedside table. Or his own spit.

God, that made Eddie see red.

It was his job to spit on Steve’s cock, his job to let his hand or mouth be used by Steve so he could get off.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he realized this was Steve’s punishment for him, making him listen to him get off without him.

“Wish that was my hand,” Eddie said with a smirk.

If he played this right, maybe Steve would get desperate enough to give in.

“I bet you do, baby,” Steve replied, breathless, like he was already close to the edge. How long had he been worked up? How had he been so quiet before?

“Or my mouth,” Eddie supplied, feeling a little less confident that Steve would give in.

“Mhm,” Steve said before moaning, his hand speeding up on his cock.

Eddie wanted to watch. He wanted his mouth around him. He wanted Steve’s hands in his hair, pushing him down until he was choking, spit making a mess under them. He wanted to rip this blindfold off and let the image of Steve getting himself off be burned permanently into his brain, used for the nights when Steve was busy shuffling kids around or hanging out with Robin or working a closing shift.

“Can I please watch?” Eddie was desperate, okay? Being a brat came second to seeing Steve’s thick cock leaking precum while he fucked his own hand.

“Oh, I dunno,” Steve’s hand stopped. “I think you should have to listen to me get off since you decided to touch yourself without permission.”

That was how all of this started.

—

Steve had told him not to touch himself last night when he left the trailer, wanted to see if he could go a few days without it and said he had a plan to make it worth his while.

Of course, Eddie, still wrung out from two back-to-back orgasms from Steve’s mouth, had agreed with no argument.

It didn’t occur to him how difficult that would be until he woke up humping his mattress and whimpering Steve’s name.

He’d done okay the first part of the day, despite the rough start, because he’d overslept and had to rush to school. He made it all the way through his band practice with the guys, skipping the song he wrote about Steve so he wouldn’t face any unexplainable challenges. Made it through dinner with Wayne, though he started to feel a bit jittery when he realized it was nearly seven and Steve hadn’t called to let him know he was leaving work yet.

Those jitters got worse when Wayne left for his night shift, now officially a permanent change to his schedule. It was great for having Steve over, but kinda sucked for the nights when he’d be alone.

He paced the floor, tried playing his guitar, tried smoking.

When the phone rang, Eddie rushed to grab it, only to be told by Steve that he was running a bit late and wouldn’t be able to stay long.

Something in Eddie snapped when he hung up.

His hand immediately went to the button on his jeans, popping it open and shoving his hand down the front of his pants.

Nothing except getting off was on his mind.

That’s how Steve found him: pants at his knees while he fisted his own cock while sitting on the couch waiting for him.

At first, he hadn’t said anything, just stared at him until Eddie stopped moving, chest heaving as he tried to find his breath.

“Get in my car.”

Not even a hello, not even a wave.

He didn’t even stay inside to see if Eddie was listening. He left the trailer and got in his car.

Eddie followed. Of course, he did.

The ride to Steve’s house was silent, radio turned off to add to Eddie’s stress.

He was still rock hard in his pants, and the longer he went without any relief, the more painful it got.

When they got to Steve’s house, he got out, not waiting for Eddie as he walked up to the front door and unlocked it. Eddie stumbled out of the car and into the house, feeling just a bit on edge in more ways than one.

“So I ask you not to touch yourself less than 24 hours ago. I even tell you there’s a reward in it for you if you can do it. And what do you do?” Steve’s arms are folded across his chest as he stands at the foot of the stairs.

“Um. Touch myself?”

“You wanna explain?”

Eddie hated that tone. It sounded like every time a teacher found one of his papers lacking despite all his efforts, or when a cop caught him dealing in the woods last year. It was different when it was Steve, but it still annoyed him, put him on edge.

So he responded as he always did.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

And now he was suffering.

–

Not actually. Like, he wasn’t in pain. He was probably going to come untouched soon just from the combination of everything happening, and the embarrassment of that would probably be emotionally painful, but he’d been through worse.

It was just hard to know he was missing a good show and probably wouldn’t even get to have Steve’s hands on him because he was impatient.

So maybe the punishment was working.

Eddie felt himself whimper.

“Color?” Steve asked, because he was always paying attention, even when Eddie deserved this treatment. He was always more concerned about Eddie being okay.

Eddie evaluated himself. Mentally, he was okay, other than being frustrated. But physically, his legs were starting to actually hurt to a point beyond the kind he enjoyed. He was losing feeling in his feet and hated the pins and needles that came with feeling coming back.

“Yellow.”

Steve was in front of him within seconds, hand on his head, loosening the blindfold.

The blindfold wasn’t a problem. Maybe he could convince him to put it back once he was sitting somewhere more comfortable.

“What do you need, Eds?” Steve’s voice was soft, tender compared to where it had been all night.

“Maybe a chair? Or the bed. My legs hurt.” Eddie blinked up at him, feeling overwhelmed by seeing Steve’s completely naked body in front of him so suddenly.

“Alright. Come up to the bed,” Steve lifted him under his arms, taking most of his weight when Eddie nearly crumbled back to the floor.

His legs were maybe a bit more numb than he realized.

“Shit, baby, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Steve asked as he half-carried him to his bed. “I’m trying to punish you in a sexy way, not an actual painful way.”

Eddie snorted. “I didn’t realize it was this bad. I was kinda lost in my thoughts.”

“You weren’t in space yet, though.”

“No, just thinking about how I’m an idiot and how good you are at knowing exactly what type of punishment gets to me,” Eddie grimaced as he sat back, flexing his knees and ankles to get feeling back in them.

“Well, you like attention and you like being able to touch me, so taking those two things away will definitely get to you.”

“You’re right, but it hurt my feelings, Stevie,” Eddie smiled at him to let him know it didn’t actually hurt him.

“You need anything else?” Steve asked, massaging his legs to get blood flowing again. “Water? Do you need to stop?”

“No, no. I’m good. Maybe just another minute.”

Steve nodded, lifting his leg and kissing his knee.

Eddie watched, swallowed back the words he wanted to say but knew he couldn’t.

This was all he’d have. Just this friendship, this trust, and the care required for a BDSM relationship.

He could keep being okay with that.

“No blindfold though,” Steve said. “You’re gonna watch me take care of myself.”

“But-”

“Nope.” Steve’s hand circled his own cock, not moving, just making it obvious that he was planning on it. “You know what you can do for me, though?”

“What?” Eddie didn’t like the tone of his voice or the growing smile on his face.

“You could spit on my cock, make sure it’s nice and wet for me to get myself off.”

Eddie groaned. He absolutely hated Steve. Hated that Steve was still pushing him in just the right ways. Hated that he actually loved it, never wanted him to stop.

“And if I don’t?” Eddie dared to ask.

“Then I stop now and drive you home.”

Shit. Eddie knew he wasn’t bluffing.

Eddie leaned over, making sure to keep his hands in his own lap, gathered spit in his mouth, and let it drip down onto Steve’s cock.

Steve moaned as it happened, keeping his eyes locked on Eddie’s as he let it pool against his fingers before sliding his hand up and down his length.

Eddie spit again, letting his gaze drop to the way it glistened on Steve’s cock. Mesmerized, Eddie kept his mouth open, letting whatever spit that gathered fall from his mouth.

“Such a good boy for me. Love it when you’re good.” Steve’s other hand nudged Eddie’s face up, eyes piercing him with a hungry look. “Kinda love it when you’re bad, too.”

If Eddie hadn’t already been rock hard for hours, practically edging himself with his own hand and thoughts, then maybe those words wouldn’t have been enough to make him come.

Steve froze, looking down at Eddie’s still twitching cock, the mess he made across his own stomach and thighs. “Holy shit. C’mere,” Steve’s hands grabbed him, tugging him roughly into his lap and spreading the mess of Eddie across both of them and the sheets.

Steve’s lips were hot against his, bruising, rough, unyielding.

Eddie’d never been kissed like that, not even by Steve.

If he could get hard this second from it, he would.

“That was so fucking hot,” Steve gasped against his lips, barely breaking the kiss to speak.

Eddie whimpered, rutting his ass against Steve’s still slick cock, hoping to add to the mess between them.

Steve’s hand ran up his chest, squeezing a nipple between his fingers as he bucked up, seeking more friction. He didn’t need to say anything for Eddie to know he was close.

His hand inched closer to Eddie’s throat, and for a moment, just one, Eddie panicked.

They’d talked about this. Eddie said he wouldn’t trust anyone but Steve, Steve admitted he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it for anyone but Eddie, they agreed on what to do if Eddie couldn’t talk and needed to safeword out.

But the moment Steve’s fingers wrapped around his throat, Eddie melted.

Steve barely applied any pressure, just let the weight of his hand rest on his skin, holding him with a silent threat and a strength he never used except when he wanted to throw Eddie around and make him feel good.

“Can’t believe how lucky I am,” Steve said against his jaw, frantically chasing his own orgasm while Eddie was barely holding himself up in his lap. “Get to have you like this. All to myself.”

Steve’s breathy whine gave way to his hand falling from Eddie’s neck.

Warmth hit Eddie’s ass and thighs and he realized the angle of Steve’s cock was almost perfect to slide inside him, if he were loose, if he were wet in the right spot. He closed his eyes at the thought of Steve just slipping into him now, no prep. It was nearly enough to have his cock filling again.

“Fuck,” Steve laughed against Eddie’s shoulder. “I love you.”

Eddie tensed.

Steve tensed.

Steve pulled away, panic all over his face.

Eddie didn’t-

He couldn’t-

He got off of Steve’s lap, crashing down to earth.

“Eddie-”

Eddie stood and ran.

He could handle not being loved.

He was used to not being loved the way he needed and wanted to be.

But he couldn’t handle the small flicker of hope being dashed in his chest. He couldn’t handle the pity Steve would show, apologizing for saying something he didn’t mean in the heat of the moment.

He couldn’t handle how much he wanted it to be true.

Day four: ao3 | tumblr

[neptunescore]

Princess Cake, Letter

Prompt word: Letter | Pairing: Princess Cake

Jenson hadn't been in when the letter had been delivered to his house. He’d come home from a lovely dinner with Mark, stripped down to his boxers, brushed his teeth and then slept like the dead.

The driver had woken up the next day, none the wiser to what was in his post, and had gone about his morning routine lazily; eating breakfast and doing the daily house chores before — finally — deciding to step out and check his mailbox for any new envelopes.

He should’ve known. He should’ve realised immediately, should’ve recognised the letter was from him, he’d always ripped the corners of any sort of paper he had his hands on, always left those tiny (almost unnoticeable) tears at the edges. Jenson hadn’t known, though. He hadn’t looked.

He hadn’t looked.

He’d opened the envelope casually, had licked the tip of his index finger and unfolded the paper as if it were any normal mail. And then—

Jenson doesn’t quite remember what had happened, had only come back to himself while he was booking the flight; his phone in his left hand while his right one haphazardly stuffed an assortment of random clothes into his suitcase.

The letter had been direct, straight to the point — an address, a plea for his presence, and a signature at the end.

What an idiot, Jenson had chuckled softly to himself later in the plane, who the hell signs a letter like that.

Then again, Nico was always pulling shit like this �� desperate to remain formal, to have any feel of normalcy he could when things went awry.

His smile had dropped quickly after that thought.

He’s standing outside the hotel room door now, hand knocking incessantly against the dark wood as his foot taps against the tiled floor impatiently, “Nico!”

“Nico, I swear to God if you don’t open this door right now! Nic-”

“Jense.” A sob. A squeak as the door opens.

Nico’s finally in clear view of him; trembling hands holding the handle, his body drowning in an oversized hoodie, hair mussed up as if he’d run his fingers through them repeatedly, and he's crying. He's crying.

Jenson lets go of his suitcase, immediately pulling Nico forward, wrapping up the man in his embrace and pushing the other’s tear stained face into his chest.

“Nico- sweetheart, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Jense. Jense-” A wail this time.

Jenson could feel his heart breaking, his thoughts frantic as he pulled Nico even closer, panicked fingers reaching up to hold the blonde’s soft face.

“Love. love, tell me what’s wrong, please,” he caresses the wet skin beneath his thumb,”Nico, please. Tell me what’s wrong, I’m here now, I'm here. I’ll fix it, I promise”

“I don’t know what to do-” hitched breaths, “I lost my phone, and I can’t remember what to do and he left me all alone, Jense! He left me, and I want to go home!”

Oh. Oh.

Jenson let his body fall still, let Nico bury himself back into his chest as the taller man sighed in relief. He could fix this. It was okay.

“Oh, love. It’s okay. Let’s go home, yeah?”

His hold around Nico tightened as he felt the blue-eyed man relax against him. Jenson could already feel the brief sense of ease that had filled him fading away as a seething rage grew in its place.

Lewis.

Lewis would pay for this.

I love princess cake so much, so seeing this request in my inbox had me GUSHING🤭 Hopefully, you had just a good time reading this as I had writing it💗 Also, I listened to 'Tere Mere (from "Chef")' while writing this, and it made me realise that the songs I play genuinely have an effect on what I write😭 (you'll get it if u listen to the song)

As always, credits to @cafekitsune for the dividers♡

Rules and details☆°•~

[dovesdreaming]

hello my love! i saw call it what you want on your song prompt list and immediately thought it would work so well with our dear bucky barnes! also your blog looks so cute im in love!

Call it what you want (to)

Hi!! Thank you! And thank you for this request I loved writing it so much, bucky was who I was picturing when I put it on the prompt list so I hope I did it justice! (especially since I think Bucky is quite a complex character) If you want a version relating to more of the lyrics instead of just the necklace line I am down to do that!

Warnings: none + reader doesn’t have specified race picture is just for necklace!

Bucky had been through a lot. Everything he once knew as reality was ripped away from him . When he joined the avengers he had to start his life from the beginning, he had no belongings and no sense of self anymore. This meant that when he got new possessions he became protective over them not wanting to share them in anyway, he was resource guarding.

His most protected item of them all were his dog tags, the only connection he has to the man he was before hydra. He wore them around his neck at all times, grabbing them between his fingers as a soothing action when he’s in a state of panic. His real name dented into the metal: James Buchanan barnes. Yet when you entered his life he couldn’t find it in himself to be as protective of them anymore. He used to bat peoples hand away when they reach for them during conversations with him. Yet when you sat with him and took them between your hands he didn’t feel anything but love for you. His heart increased ten times when he saw how much love you had for past him and present him. It healed parts of his well-being he didn’t knew he needed to heal.

Bucky even surprised himself when he had put the dog tags round your neck when you both had been cuddling in bed catching up on one of the many movies he had missed. He had been hesitant to touch you within the start of your relationship but you both took it slow, you understood what he had been through and never pressured him. You didn’t react much when he put the tags round your neck you only smiled lovingly at him, slowly leaning in to peck his lips. Bucky never took his dog tags back and they became your soother in moments of panic having a reminder of bucky close by. He fell impossibly deeper in love with you that day he gave you them and everyday since. He got to see his name round your neck everyday but it wasn’t a possessive thing, no he didn’t own you but it was a reminder that he really knew you inside and out and you the same for him. He would runaway with you any day if you ever asked, he would follow you to the ends of the earth.

Extra scene:

Bucky like the look of his name round your neck so much that he went out and bought a necklace that had the initial j on it. He organised a fancy dinner in your favourite restaurant on the balcony over looking the city at night. You didn’t need to say much to each other anymore you both knew near enough everything about each other. Most of the date was spent with small talk and comfortable silence while holding hands over the table, staring into each others eyes. When it neared the end of the date Bucky pulled out a black box and slid it across the table to you. You slowly opened it to reveal the perfect little necklace to match you dog tags. Bucky got up and tied it around your neck for you, moving any hair that was in the way. He told you that it was his version of a promise ring, that he promised he would spend the rest of his life loving you if you let him. With the mix of champagne and copious amounts of love from Bucky you were overflowing with happiness, content with where life had taken you. You knew that Bucky hadn’t given you the necklace as a sign of ownership to other men, he gave it you because he really knew you. You didn’t need to save each other anymore, you would runaway with him any day.

Thank you for reading!

[bothoutsiders]

I don't know if you're still looking for prompts for short things to write but I was thinking maybe something loosely based on this song Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter? The MV has her meeting a guy at jail, which seems very Jason-coded. But idk 😅😅

The night had been completely wonderful. The weather was nice, the food was good, there was a lot of laughter and -- what was best: nothing was illegal. What had started as an awkward, quiet night, with some tension, had changed into something funny, relaxing and happy. It felt like it was a real night out with friends.

"Where do you want to go ne…?" Jason frowned, seeing how Bart took a couple of french fries to dip them in Tim's milkshake. "What the fuck?"

Tim laughed. Jason's reaction was not only adorable, but he was happy that the last words were only a whisper. He had been behaving all night in front of his friends, and it was making him proud.

When their relationship started, everyone had been pissed, worried and even anxious. Kon would be defensive all the time, paranoid that Jason might have forced Tim to commit crime with him. Bart would not be able to stop making the most uncomfortable questions. And Cassie? Cassie was the only one acting normal from the beginning, but he could feel it whenever she would look at Jason. She was judging their relationship. She was judging him.

"Movies! We were going to the movies." Kon reminded them, a hand hovering over his last fries, not wanting Bart to steal them.

"Yeah, we said we would go to the movies too." Tim smiled at Jason, looking up at his boyfriend, while the other male only winked at him with a smirk on his face.

There was a funny feeling in Tim's chest in that instant.

"I'll bring the car."

"I'll go with you," Tim said as soon as Jason stood up, leaving his milkshake to Bart, who grinned and tried to steal Cassie's fries now.

It felt like he couldn't just live without him. He was addicted to Jason-- and maybe this could actually work. Jason could leave his crime life behind. Or at least Tim thought that as Jason's warm hand held his gently.

"Are you having fun?" Jason asked, guiding the other to the car.

"Yes, bowling was fun, and this is the first time I've come to this diner. Very retro, I like it."

"I'm glad to hear that," Jason said before he turned around and picked Tim up, placing him on the trunk of his car. "We wouldn't want a bad time for the prince."

Tim was about to say something, but Jason leaned in for a passionate kiss. It was sudden, and desperate. It felt as if Jason had been holding on as best as he could during the night, and right now was his only chance to satiate his need of him.

Naturally, Tim couldn't help but to go along with it. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's strong shoulders, and a tiny moan escaped his lips when Jason pressed against him, nesting between his legs, his big hands holding him by the hips.

Just when his body was feeling hot and needy, their moment was interrupted by a small but violent thump. Tim pulled away and when he tried to look around, Jason kissed him again, this time a hand cupping his face, not letting him escape.

"Ja--" another kiss, and another thud. Now Tim was sure it was coming from under him. Breaking the kiss, he immediately pushed Jason away and jumped off the trunk. "Jason, you mother f-- open this now."

Jason tilted his head back and sighed heavily before moving to open the trunk. Resting a hand on the trunk lid, he kept his eyes on Tim only.

Inside the trunk, there was a young man, tied up from arms and legs, and tape on his mouth. If Tim squinted a bit, he could see a swollen eye and a bloody cheek. It took him a few moments to recognize his face.

"What is the guy from bowling doing here?"

"He was being a dick to you." He said, sitting down on the edge of the trunk. "I don't like bullies."

"That's not enough reason to beat and kidnap someone, Jay."

"Perfect night for my babe."

"Jason, you promised you would behave tonight--"

"Guys! Are we leaving anytime soon?" Bart's voice wasn't that far and without thinking, Tim closed the lid of the trunk. Hard. "We are not going to be there in time for the commercials."

They probably had taken too long because now everyone was walking toward the car.

"Oh yeah, and you love those, don't you, Timmy?" Jason asked with a playful tone before kissing his cheek and going to open the door of the car for Tim. "Let's enjoy the night, darling."

"Please, please, please." Tim whispered as he got inside the car, but Jason only smiled big at him.

--

i admit it made me nervous to have an ask coming from you, but thank you so much for taking some time to send something. i watched the video a couple of times, and i had the song on repeat while writing this because it's actually a pretty good song, hehe. thanks again and i hope the story is of your liking!

[deadboyfriendd]

Captain Seeks Mate

This is so stupid. 

At four cents a word, Early Bird had taken Steve Harrington for all he was worth. 

“Captain seeks mate– must be into pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Mid-to-late 20s, witty and funny. Tall, dark, & handsome. Write to me and escape. Box D183.” 

He couldn’t believe himself, yet, here it was, nestled between Handyman Wanted and 1978 Plymouth Volare. The product of his own desperation, printed in Times New Roman– staring him in the face for this Sunday’s very own Early Bird edition. He wondered where it had all gone wrong, wondered where he went from Steve Harrington, local heartthrob, to an ad in the personal column of the absolute rag sheet that The Early Bird had always been. 

He wanted to blame Scoops Ahoy, those stupid little shorts and sailor hat. He wanted to blame Nancy Wheeler, who made him out to be an absolute idiot– No, he shook his head, you did that to yourself. 

And then he thought about you, golden under the blistering sun of Phoenix, Arizona. Arizona State University wreaked havoc on this life and he left with a minor in possession, 36 C-average credits in Business Administration, and a heart kicked directly in the ass. He wanted to blame you, he wanted to blame his father for sending him there– his own alma mater, he wanted to blame W. P. Carey himself, but even Steve wasn’t stupid enough to try to push this on someone else. 

Stupid, but not that stupid. 

It had been three years, and Steve had found himself settling into the comforts of blissful, beautiful stagnation. His apartment was nice– far nicer than his current job would allow him, thanks, Robin. 

It wasn’t like he frequented this place often. His home was adrift, on board The Lady May. It was an inherent truth that Steve belonged on a boat, preferably in the absence of a shirt– and this job had been the calling of a lifetime. Where Steve had struggled in the areas of statistics and business analytics, he learned the laws of the sea, learned the fishing regulations and how these animals functioned. Now, Steve got to live life as slow as the rolling waves of San Diego would take him. For that, he was thankful. 

“You’re seriously advertising yourself in the paper now?” Robin asked him, her eyes peering over the top of the paper with both wonder and disgust, “Do I dare bring back the board?” 

“What?” Steve asked her, turning around from his barstool. 

“Captain seeks mate, Steven? This has you written all over it.” 

“Why are you even reading the personal column?” 

“Because I like to laugh at them.” She said to him with her brow raised. Her hand came down to gesture at those horrible, ambiguously worded advertisements, “But this? This is just sad.” 

He reached over to her, snatching the paper from her hands. He unfolded his glasses, letting them sit low against his nose, now unabashed by his need for them– his unyielding desire to see outweighing the once debilitating vanity that overtook his ability to simply wear them. Robin never pointed this out, she was just glad to see him doing something for himself for once. But this? There was no way she was letting this die. 

He read the paper with his brow furrowed, feigning confusion and nonchalance. Perhaps he could play this off, but there was nothing he was able to skirt past her. 

“Nope. Not me.” He started, face stone cold. It was an immediate sellout, but Robin was feeling generous today. She would let him have this. 

As he handed her the paper back, she gave him a sideways glance through a raised brow, wondering what had ever prompted him to be this desperate. Maybe he had finally gone crazy, all of those hours on the water finally turning him into a regular Castaway.  

+

This is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen. 

Well, second most. The first had been moving to San Diego to cut your teeth on some rag sheet with the promise of being the sole graphic designer. Something new and exciting. You could do new and exciting, you tried to convince yourself of this. You had graduated summa cum laude from one of the top ten design schools in the country– you just didn’t mention that that had been Arizona State and you had also gotten a minor in underage drinking. New and exciting was your game. 

But this? This had been one of the most entertaining things you had ever seen, staring you right in the face. You couldn’t stop the laugh that tumbled from your lips, drawing looks from the editors perched at their beige desks like the world's most modern gargoyles. Had no one else seen this? 

“Captain seeks mate– must be into pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Mid-to-late 20s, witty and funny. Tall, dark, & handsome. Write to me and escape. Box D183.” 

It had been three years since Steve had disappeared without a trace, your golden boy under the glowing sun of your homeland. He was the greatest gem the Midwest had to offer, a diamond in the rough. Gold-skinned and eager, with a laugh like sunshine and a touch like Midas, gone back home with little to no warning. Your heart had been shattered in the process, manifesting itself in a nose to the grindstone and an early release of a BS in graphic design. The sun stung too much in his absence. You’d needed something frigid. 

Or maybe you’d been frigid enough. 

You rolled your shoulders at your desk, the cramping in your neck signaling the end of the work day and your ticket out of here– your home the promised land of naproxen and that waning bottle of Don Julio 70, a gem you’d grown to love an appreciate with all of your newfound adult money. 

You’d drained the last of your savings on a (most-likely overpriced) two bedroom a block away from the ragged coastlines of La Jolla Cove, where, every morning, you would watch the run rise along the tide pools where you’d tote your lukewarm mug of coconut cold brew, and watch the sun set over a rocky shore. It was a slow life, and you’d liked it that way. 

But tonight, as you watched the boats bob back and forth in the orange glow of the marina, you couldn’t help but to feel a semblance of nagging withing you. 

Captain Seeks Mate. 

It was ridiculous. It was stupid. But maybe something ridiculous and stupid was what you needed. Something with no pressure, something that was fun. Something that wouldn’t shatter your heart into another million pieces when it would disappear. 

So here you were, stupidly folded into a stupid, ridiculous pile at your stupid counter, drafting a big dumb letter on to a piece of paper: 

 Hello tall, dark, and handsome. 

I am writing in response to your ad in the personal columns of The Early Bird from the Sunday, June 27th edition. Three years ago, my heart was broken by another tall, dark, and handsome type. I read that the ocean heals, so I traded my land legs for sea, and now I seek a captain to guide me to smoother waters. 

 I will spare the formalities. I am not into hiking or health food. I live a life of comfort and leisure. I eat when I am hungry and drink when I am thirsty. I like to live my life in good company between work days, and you seem like the company I’d like to keep.

I am particularly fond of getting caught in the rain– when it happens, that is. I hail from the desert southwest, and I thrive on sunshine and sand. I live quietly. I like to read and paint. I keep houseplants. I am nobody’s poet, but I’m into champagne. 

I want to meet you. I want to cut through all of this red tape. 

It is true, I like pina coladas, though I prefer a tequila sunrise at the best of times. The Pisces bar on Mission and El Camino De Playa conveniently has both. Meet me there at tomorrow, noon. 

Sincerely, 

Tequila Sunrise

Box 1751.

[emomattagenda]

c’mere, dressed in black now…

Matt Sturniolo x fem reader smut, inspired by “So It Goes…” by Taylor Swift, for @annamcdonalds67 ‘s writing challenge!

contains: semi-public sex, p in v, oral (female receiving), softdom!matt, unprotected sex (be safe/assume reader is on the pill), praise, a tinyyy bit of degradation, use of Y/N, alcohol mention

summary: Matt wears all black to a party and Y/N is too eager to wait until they’re home. very simple and not a lot of plot but i just thought it was a hot idea!

note: this is my first time posting smut online like, ever. kinda nervous about it but seeing the writing challenge prompts inspired me <3

song:

reader pov

“see you in the dark…”

When my eyes land on him, my breathing hitches almost immediately. I’m at my friend Tara’s party, and my boyfriend Matt and his brothers were invited too. I arrived about 30 minutes ago and already started having fun, but Matt just walked through the door. I see Nick and Chris go off on their own, and I see Matt scanning the crowd of people before his eyes land on me. He smiles and starts making his way over to me.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He says in my ear where I can hear him over the music. I try to ignore what I’m feeling for now, trying not to focus on his outfit, his rings, the way his hand wrapped around my waist when he greeted me.

“Hey, I was wondering when you guys were gonna get here.” I respond playfully, taking a sip of my drink.

“Fashionably late?” He reasons, making me laugh. He kisses my forehead and we start to talk and hang out but Tara runs up to me.

“Y/N! Come dance with me!” She encourages. I look between her and Matt, conflicted for a brief moment before she speaks again.

“C’mon, you see Matt like every day, this is a party! You both need to have fun!” She says.

“Go have fun, babe. I’ll…mingle or something.” I raise my eyebrow at him, but give in to Tara. It’s probably not good for me to be so close to Matt anyway if I want to be able to control myself. Tara squeals in excitement and grabs my hand, leading me to where people are dancing. But even as I begin to dance and have fun, I catch myself looking for Matt, stealing glances and admiring him in my head.

“you make everyone disappear and…”

I catch myself staring at him multiple times as I dance. Right now he’s across the room talking with Jake and Chris.

“back against the wall…

tripping, tripping when you’re gone”

The way he’s casually leaned against the wall, the way his clothes fit him, the way his hand grasps the cup he’s holding. Everything is driving me insane and I almost feel embarrassed at my lack of self-control, but it just took me completely off guard. I’m hardly paying attention to my surroundings anymore, but thankfully the people around me are having too much fun to notice anything off about me. I lock eyes with Matt across the room and tell Tara I need to go get another drink. Instead I find myself making my way over to Matt, who is alone again now, still leaning against the wall.

“but when you get me alone, it’s so simple

‘cause baby, i know what you know

we can feel it…”

“Missing me already?” Matt asks with a grin, and it just makes things harder.

“You have no idea.” Matt raises an eyebrow at my response.

“Oh yeah? What do you mean by that?” I sigh and pull him down slightly so I can speak closer to his ear.

“I mean that ever since you walked through the door, I’ve wanted you so bad I can’t stand it.” I admit. Matt looks at me a little surprised at my boldness and smirks.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“You just look so fucking good tonight. I mean, you always look good, but…something about you in all black just really drives me crazy.” Matt lets out a quiet laugh.

“Well, when we get home, you can have me, baby. I promise.” And I don’t know if it’s the alcohol giving me a little more courage, or if I’m really just that desperate, but I shake my head and pull him even closer by his chain.

“I don’t think I wanna wait…” I say, looking up and meeting his eyes. The look he gives me goes straight to my core and for a moment I’m worried that he’ll make me wait just to tease me, but he takes my hand and before I know it we’re sneaking off to a bathroom and I’m pressed up against the back of the door, immediately locked in a heated, sloppy kiss, my hands tangling in Matt’s hair. I break the kiss a few times to kiss his jawline, leaving my lipstick behind in any spot I kiss.

“and all the pieces fall right into place…

getting caught up in a moment, lipstick on your face…

so it goes…”

Matt connects our lips again and I moan into the kiss as his hands explore my body, trailing down my sides, gripping my hips. I feel one of his hands reach under my dress and gently touch over my panties and I whimper, growing more desperate for him.

“Please…” I whisper. He chuckles, kissing me again before responding.

“So eager for me, baby…couldn’t even wait to go home…you’re so needy…”

“you know i’m not a bad girl but i do bad things with you…

so it goes…”

Before I say anything else Matt lifts me up and places me on the sink countertop, trailing kisses down my neck as he pushes my dress up and teases my clit through my panties.

“Matt, c’mon, no teasing…” I whisper.

“Aww, why not?” He asks with a fake pout, his tone clearly mocking me.

“We can’t be in here all night…other people will need this bathroom eventually and our friends will wonder where we are…”

“You do have a point. Wouldn’t want anyone to know what an eager little slut you are.” He says. I whimper at his words as he pulls off my panties and kneels down in front of the sink. I feel his tongue between my folds and I have to hold my hand over my mouth to keep quiet, the other hand holding onto Matt’s hair. He looks up at me, his hair slightly falling into his eyes as his lips wrap around my clit, and his expression alone is almost enough to make me cum on the spot. My grip on his hair tightens and my legs wrap around his head, holding him as close as possible as he sucks on my bundle of nerves.

“i make all your gray days clear and

wear you like a necklace…”

He brings his hand up and pushes two fingers into me, curling them upwards in a way that makes me see stars. The combination of his mouth and his fingers is overwhelming and soon enough I can’t hold back anymore. I bite my hand, holding back my noises as I cum, my thighs trembling and my back arching as I struggle to support myself on the counter.

He raises up, licking his fingers clean and leaning in closer to me.

“You look so pretty when you cum…gonna look even prettier taking my cock.” He whispers, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants and boxers down enough to let his erection spring free.

“c’mere, dressed in black now…

so, so, so it goes…”

He lines his dick up with my entrance and slides in with ease. I start to almost let a moan slip but Matt covers my mouth with his hand.

“Shhh, gotta be quiet for me, princess. You’re taking me so well…” He bites his lip in an attempt to muffle his own noises as he continues fucking me. He picks up his pace and he hits my g-spot, making my eyes roll back as I desperately reach for anything to ground myself, my hands finding their way to his back, my nails digging in through his tshirt.

“scratches down your back now…

so, so, so it goes…”

“God, it feels so good when you clench around me, you gonna cum again for me?” Matt whispers and I nod eagerly. Matt uses his free hand to rub circles on my clit as he fucks me. I feel my second orgasm wash over me, my whole body trembling, crying out into his hand that’s still covering my mouth.

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s my girl, you look so fucking pretty when you’re cumming on my cock, gonna fill you up…” He whispers almost incoherently as his hips stutter. He leans into me, burying his face in my neck to muffle his moans as he cums inside me. We both whimper as he pulls out, his load dripping out of my entrance.

“I’ll never get tired of watching that…” He says breathlessly and we both giggle. He cleans himself up and helps me clean up, helping me put my panties back on and fixing my dress before lifting me into his arms off the sink, kissing my forehead.

“You ready to get back out there?” He asks. I smile up at him.

“We actually probably will have to go home soon, I’m way too fucked out to party now.” We both laugh quietly again.

“Alright, I’ll tell Nick and Chris you wanted to leave. I can come back and get them later or they can get an Uber. I’ll meet you at the car?” He starts to set me down on my feet but I hold onto him for support.

“Ah, you might wanna help me to the car. I don’t think I can walk very well right now.” My face warms up. Matt grins and kisses my cheek.

“Anything for you, princess.”

“you did a number on me

but honestly, baby, who’s counting?”

[moonyasnow]

We Both Go Down Together.

PROMPT :

CHARACTERS : Ruggie, Kalim

CONTENT : Implied romantic relationship, Reader comes from a privileged background(Ruggie's part), Reader had abusive/neglectful childhood(Kalim's part), I've been obsessed with this song since I first heard it and now I'm making it everyone else's problem

...You come from parents wanton A childhood rough and rotten I come from wealth and beauty Untouched by work or duty...

...And my parents will never consent to this love But I hold your hand...

...And oh, my love, my love We both go down together.

Ruggie

Ruggie Bucchi, next to most other students of his Dorm, stood almost a head shorter; a result of not getting proper nutrition growing up in the slums of the Sunset Savannah and having to scrape by with little money for food, clothes...or anything, really. With a dead mother and absent father, growing up raised by his grandmother in a little slum-town, homemade donuts substituted for the birthday cake they could not afford. The circles he ran in were similarly destitute, perhaps chancing upon someone middle-class every now and then, and finally lucking out in becoming the second prince of the Sunset Savannah's errand boy.

You grew up in a beautiful lakeside villa with your family, and had a housekeeper who made your food and helped with your homework while your parents weren't home to sit down with you. You had fond memories of yearly vacations to faraway locations each year; shores of crystal white sand lapped at by cerulean waves, luxurious alpine mountain cabins, emerald green golf courses, high-end fashion boutiques in every Capital, a photo in front of every World Wonder. Your friends were those from equally influential families, ones your parents arranged for you, classmates from similar backgrounds.

When he first met you and saw your eminently cared for appearance, he immediately clocked you as some kind of rich kid. He thought you might be one of those lazy ones like Leona, or intensely naïve like Kalim. For his sake, he hoped for the latter.

Much to his surprise then when it turned out that, while certainly a bit naïve, you were aware of and wanted to change that. You kinda had to, now that you'd suddenly fallen from the lap of luxury and ended up in the same position as him; effectively homeless, getting an education through the goodwill of others, who made you clean up after them. And so you asked him to help you, figuring he would have good advice, which you certainly weren't wrong about.

It was a struggle for you, so used to having others care for you that you'd barely cooked a meal for yourself before. As he watched your soft hands slowly collect cuts, blemishes and callouses, he felt strange. He was happy to help you learn. But he didn't want this for you. For as envious as he was that you'd known the Good Life, of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth and never having to worry about where your next meal was gonna come from, he was happy for you that you'd had that. And to see you become accustomed to hard work for the first time...

He obviously knew it wasn't his fault, If anything he was easing the burden by teaching you tips, tricks and shortcuts to make the work easier. But he still felt like he was...'dirtying' you in some way as he did so. You were never meant to know that life, of needing to know the kinds of things he'd teach you. But he kept it all in his head, showing you a small smile each time you greeted him, laughing when you thanked him for his advice and promised to pay it back to him. As much as he might've known it was just the smart thing to do, he didn't want to accept any kind of payment from you. You were both in the same boat, as far as he was concerned, and he kinda tricked you into helping with his own errands while 'teaching you' how to do stuff like that, so in his mind the debt was already paid. But he couldn't say no to spending more time with you. You'd...grown on him. Far more than he ever expected you to.

There was another thing he kept in his head. Something he'd probably never tell you.

As soon as he heard precisely what kind of mega-rich and elitist family you were from, he was...happy...that you had no way back home.

He loved his own family, his Granny and the other kids on his street, and now you, more than words could ever say. That was why he did everything he did, after all: to provide for them, and maybe even be able to make those slums he was born in a better place one day if he had the spare cash. He knew how much it would crush him to never be able to see them again, and he felt bad you had to be put in that position. So that's why he felt conflicted.

Because while he might not have told you as much yet, by now you really were like family to him. He'd imagined a future with you. He'd grown up never letting himself imagine any specific kind of future, so he wouldn't get his hopes up. Not like he could imagine one with another specific person anyway, being so used to doing everything himself. But after a lot of time spent getting to truly know you, and even longer learning to trust you...he'd imagined a future with you. And that made you as close to 'it' for him as anyone could possibly be.

And the thought of losing that, losing you, either to the way back being a one-way-trip, or to your parents taking one looking at him, deeming him 'street trash' and forbidding you from seeing him again... It was scary. It even made him cry a little.

But one thought in the back of his mind made him feel a little bit better. The thought of your parents disowning you as well for associating with someone like him.

It was selfish. Obviously. He knew that very well. It hurt for a second to think he wanted something like that for you. His parents were gone, and he grew up close to squalor, but you still had yours, even if in another world, and they could provide everything you might need for you. If you just went back you were practically guaranteed the Good Life, and if you stayed in Twisted Wonderland with him you were guaranteed to struggle and toil and stress just like him, juggling multiple jobs until either he or you somehow managed to strike the job jackpot.

But he just wanted you by his side so bad.

...So bad he'd drag you down into the mud with him, soiling your pristine clothes, if it meant he got to be with you.

It'd be up to you to be stronger, smarter- whatever- than him if you wanted out, because now that he knew that's what he wanted, he was gonna try his hardest to get it.

He just hoped that if it came to it, you wouldn't regret growing so close to him.

Kalim

Kalim Al-Asim was born and raised in a palace, to wealthy parents employing 100 servants in their household. Upon his birth a parade had been thrown in his honor, him laid in his mother's arms, surrounded by the other two, atop an elephant, soft and plush fabric lined with spun gold shielding them from the sun. Loud, extravagant music was played by a live band following in the parade and all manners of confetti and flower petals were thrown in the air to celebrate the birth of the next Asim family heir.

You were born in a small, dingy apartment with the help of your parents' neighbor, your father not present, instead off at some bar or another wasting away that month's money. When it was done and your mother held you, she stared down at you with cold, bitter eyes as you cried. She then promptly left you on a blanket on the ground to go clean the blood on the floor, cursing you and your father under her breath.

He had the best private tutors in both school subjects and magic that money could buy, and while no means an academic prodigy, was praised often as he learned. He had too many toys and books and games to ever be able to count, sharing all of them with his many siblings and his closest friend and retainer, who had been by his side all their lives.

You never went to school simply because your parents never bothered to enroll you, and you only learned to read thanks to one of the older kids in your neighborhood being kinder to you than you thought you deserved. You had one stuffed animal, which was your only friend. You held it close. Treasured it. It was the only thing in the world that was yours.

Simply put, your backgrounds could not possibly be more different. And it showed, on both of you. His skin was clean, smooth and unblemished, yours off-color, gaunt and scarred. You couldn't understand why you of all people were the one he fell for. He shone like the sun. You were like a dirtied, dusty cooking pot, too rusty and worn to reflect anything.

When he found out about the rot and turmoil and taste of tears, dust and blood that was your childhood, he didn't judge you. You felt a bit silly for thinking he would; that just wasn't him, after all.

You didn't understand why he seemed sad seeing the state of Ramshackle. Sure, it wasn't the prettiest Dorm, but it could have been a lot worse. If anything, you felt anxious having such a large house to yourself. And you couldn't understand ever becoming used to living the way he did-- in luxury, never wanting for anything, always having people around him who cared, who would take care of and protect him.

He couldn't imagine what that would be like: having no one to care for you…having to grow up caring for yourself. But he did think it sounded awful. So he made up his mind to never let you experience that again.

He decided he would heap jewels and pretty clothes and good food on you every day for the rest of your life! Because he loved you. He loved you so, so, so much! And he'd give you every good and pretty thing money could buy, because you deserved it, and money was the one thing he had more of than he could ever need, or even spend in one lifetime. So of course he'd shower his beloved, his Hayati, in gold and jewels and riches and everything.

He would carve out the moon from the sky and give it to you on a silver— no, golden platter if you asked him to.

He couldn't understand why you seemed…scared, because of it. Why you started crying when he gave you the most elaborate necklace yet.

You didn't care about his money. You truly didn't. In fact, it intimidated you. You were scared that others would think that was what you cared about. You felt so guilty partaking in the feasts present at his parties, even when he was the one practically begging you to try it. You thought you could feel the eyes of every other person at the party watching you, judging you, thinking 'gold digger' or 'leech' or other synonyms. It became hard to breathe sometimes. But the way he held you so tightly, cleaning off the grime and neglect coating your being enough for you to begin to reflect his sunshine for the first time…through it, it became a little easier each day, to believe that you truly could— did— deserve him.

But then your worst fears came true: his parents didn't approve of you. Of you being with him. They, just as you'd feared, were apprehensive about letting you be with their son due to your background. Not only were you practically homeless with barely a Thaumark to your name, you had no proof you even existed as who you said you were, and had nothing and no one else to fall back on.

Just as you loved him, he loved you more than anything. He was so sure that his parents would love you too... He was completely blindsided when they didn't approve of you. He couldn't understand nor did he wish to believe that anyone, least of all his own family, could be so cruel— for that's how he saw it.

But in retrospect, you felt you should have expected that to be their answer. How does that look, for someone like you to be with someone of his status?

You'd never had much in life. But now you had him. Someone who, for once, loved you unconditionally. You didn't always know how exactly to deal with that fact...but you'd resolved to figure out how. Because you loved him. And the thought of that, this sense of safety, of him, being taken from you as soon as you'd started to become accustomed to the possibility of being allowed to keep them...

You cried that night. You were so scared that his parents would forbid the two of you from being together. Or worse yet, forbid him from even seeing you at all.

To try to soothe you, he took you with him on the magic carpet up high into the sky, where there were no one but you and him for miles. No one who could forbid you from crying into his silk, gold thread and sequence clothes, nor him from gently kissing each of your tears away and assuring you it would be alright. He knew his parents would come around eventually.

It didn't matter to him how many times his parents or other senior staff or relatives tried to explain to him the reasons for why they objected to your love. He'd already decided he wouldn't listen to it. None of their 'reasons' were good enough. Just excuses. Because he knew you weren't like that.

…He didn't say it then, because he knew you probably wouldn't like hearing it, but if his parents never came around…

…He wouldn't hesitate to give everything up for you.

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

This was incredibly self-indulgent but I hope you still liked it!

I just kinda wanted to get it cleared out of my drafts, heh... ; O vO)

Also to that person who sent me a writing request, it's being worked on! ^^

[darl-ingfics]

Hiiiiii~ could I request a SVT (Dino) cold/snz fic, if you're okay with that? And could you make Seungkwan the caretaker?? Thank youuuu so muchhhhh!!

Hi anon!!! Thank you so much for the request! I had a lot of fun with it once I got rolling, and I sincerely hope you enjoy!!!

Shower Sniffles

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Dino (cold)

Caregiver(s): Seungkwan (with a little Hoshi, Woozi, and Jun)

Word Count: 1,368

“Dino? Dino? CHAN!” 

The dancer opened his eyes with a start, looking around, fully disoriented. He was in the practice room. Soonyoung was kneeling next to him. When had he fallen asleep?

“You good, bro?” Soonyoung asked, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the concern in his eyes.

Chan nodded, blinking a few times to wake up. “Yeah. Just… tired I guess.” He chuckled. “Didn’t even realize I fell asleep.”

Soonyoung laughed too. “You want to call it a day? We’ve been here for…” He turned to his watch. 

Chan shook his head. “No. I want to get this choreo done.” Soonyoung looked at him skeptically. “Come on, hyung, we can crank this out. I’m okay, I promise.”

Chan was singing a very different tune as the two of them departed from the dance studio an hour and a half later. After falling asleep during their water break, an aura of fatigue had been clinging onto Chan, slowly his thoughts. Even as his body continued to move fluidly, effortlessly, his brain felt like it was on autopilot, sifting through waves of fog. Maybe he was just really, really tired. Maybe he should’ve agreed to stop dancing when it was offered. But he hadn’t, and now he was both mentally exhausted AND physically sore. 

At least Soonyoung had cuddled him the whole drive home. That had been lovely. 

As soon as they arrived back, Chan made his way to the shower, hoping the hot water would help relax his muscles. Not two seconds after he’d stepped under the steaming water, there was a knock at the door before the outline of someone’s head popped in.

“Whose in here?” Jihoon’s voice asked. 

“Dino!” “Mind if I brush my teeth?”

“Go for it.” His breath hitched suddenly, and he bent forward with a desperate, “Ht’che!” 

“You good, bro?,” Jihoon asked around his toothbrush.

“Yeah.” Chan sniffled, shaking his head to clear it. “Steam got to me.” 

“Well be careful.” Jihoon’s words were no less concerned despite still being interpreted around his toothbrush. “We don’t need anyone else slipping in there.” 

Chan laughed, instantly transported back to the night they’d all panicked that Seokmin had given himself a concussion. “I’ll be careful, hyung.” 

A statement that turned out much easier said than done. Even after Jihoon had bid Chan ‘goodnight’ and left the bathroom, the dancer couldn’t get his sinuses to cooperate. Maybe the steam really had gotten to him, as Chan found himself sneezing periodically as he rushed (carefully) to get out of the slippery tub. But if it was the steam, why was he feeling more and more congested every second? Shouldn’t he be feeling the opposite? Chan decided to worry about that later, and finish washing up. 

When Chan finally stepped out of shower, the cold air hit him like a train. As he wrapped his towel around himself, a shiver snaked up his spine, prompting two more sneezes. 

“Bless you, sweetheart,” Jun sing-songed as he breezed through the door, immediately walking to the sink. 

Chan sneezed a third time, stumbling forward.

Jun blinked in surprise, turning around. “You good, Channie?” Chan nodded. Jun’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure?” The older dancer’s hands had grasped the younger’s shoulders as he swayed slightly. Jun brushed a hand against his forehead. Not terribly warm, but…

Chan crumbled. He could never lie to Junhei. “No.” He sniffled, rubbing at his nose. “Please don’t tell Jeonghan.”

Jun chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down Chan’s bare arms. “Wouldn’t dream of it. As long as you take some meds and go right to bed.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” Chan replied, waiting obediently as the elder man reached into the cabinet for said medicine. “This really snuck up on me.”

“Well, then that means you can sneak right back if you play your cards right.” Jun handed over the tiny cup of amber liquid, and Chan shot it back with little complaint. 

He only grimaced a little bit. “That didn’t make a lot of sense, hyung.”

Jun shrugged. “I’m not here to make sense. I’m here to make dollars.” 

“Okay. Love you.” Chan blew Jun a kiss, which the elder happily returned, before moving off towards his room. 

When Chan entered his room, he found Seungkwan sitting on his bed. “What are you doing here?”

Seungkwan looked up at him with the sweetest, sincerest puppy dog eyes. “Cuddles?”

“Not sure I’m the best candidate for that right now. Think I might be getting sick.” He sniffled immediately after, proving his point. 

Seungkwan shrugged. “All the more reason for snuggling then.” Chan shrugged in acquiescence. He moved to walk to the other side of the bed, pausing to sneeze twice, face buried in his hands. “Oh, baby.”

“Oh baby’s right,” Chan groaned, pulling his coziest pair of pajama pants from the dresser. Seungkwan hopped up, digging through Chan’s sweaters and pulling out his warmest hoodie, holding it out helpfully. Chan smiled, accepting the clothing, and turning around to get changed. Sure, they’d changed in front of each other plenty of times, but he didn’t feel good, dammit. And Seungkwan, bless his soul, immediately turned around to give Chan this bit of privacy, moving back to the bed where his laptop was waiting. 

Once dressed, Chan spun on his heels to address his friend again, immediately interrupted by another sharp itch in his nose. “He’tche! Etschu!” 

Seungkwan pouted. “Bless you.”

“Ugh.” Chan sniffled, rubbing his sleeve under his nose, too over it to feel gross. “I’m so tired of this.” He shuffled to the bed and collapsed next to Seungkwan, earning a laugh and a pat on the head from the vocalist. 

“Well buckle up, buttercup, cause it’s gonna get worse before it gets better,” Seungkwan replied as he opened his laptop and set it up on his legs. He pulled Chan into his side, and the dancer happily melted into the embrace, head resting on Seungkwan’s chest. 

Chan sniffled again. He nodded towards the side table. “Could you…?”

“On it.” Seungkwan placed the tissue box from the nightstand on Chan’s lap.

“Thanks.” Pulling away from Seungkwan, Chan blew his nose, hating how congested he still felt regardless. He collapsed back into Seungkwan with an annoyed groan. 

“You weren’t like this an hour ago.”

“I think the shower screwed me over.”

“Have you taken anything?”

Chan nodded. “Junnie-hyung made me take some Nyquil in exchange for not telling Hannie.” He snagged another tissue from the box, holding it against his nose, which was running more than he appreciated. 

Seungkwan snorted. “Hannie’s gonna find out.”

Chan glared up at him through his lashes. “No he’s not.”

“Oh, he is.”

“You’re not gonna tell him!”

“I don’t need to.”

Chan’s forehead creased. “Then how…” Without warning, Seungkwan tapped the bridge of his nose, and Chan was suddenly very glad he was already holding that tissue as he immediately sneezed three times and would’ve had zero time to cover otherwise. “What the FUCK!?”

“That’s how, dummy.” Seungkwan laughed despite Chan’s obvious pout. 

“You’re so mean,” Chan huffed. “I can’t wait to get you sick and then we’ll see whose laughing.”

Seungkwan, ironically, laughed at Chan’s threats. “Sure, sure, Channie-bug.”

“I mean it.” 

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“If I believed that, I wouldn’t be in here right now. I would’ve left as soon as I made sure you got in bed.”

Chan paused, lips pursing together. “Did Jihoon put you up to this?”

Seungkwan shrugged. “That’s a strong word. Jihoon suggested I come and check on you. The cuddling was all my idea. He was nervous about you sneezing in the shower.” 

Chan rolled his eyes. “Seokmin almost gets a concussion one time…”

“And we have to pay the price for it for eternity.” Seungkwan kissed the top of Chan’s head, as if bringing an end to the conversation. “Now, I’m turning on a movie, and you’re going to sleep.” He pulled Chan back against his side, one hand wrapping up around the younger man’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. 

Chan sniffled. “And you’re a hundred percent sure you’re not worried about getting sick?”

Seungkwan’s smile was heart melting. “Cross my heart, bug. Cross my heart.”