#[not pictured: Me up on cloud nine while down on my hands and knees in the pit]

[killemwithkawaii]

Emotional hangovers are so fucking stupid.

"Oh, you went out and had an especially good time in a highly stimulating environment for a few hours? Nice going, you just cashed in 3 days worth of dopamine. Get Meh, jackass."

[bunnys-kisses]

the father who stepped up

cw: age gap, step-cest, dub-con, forced impregnation, breeding, daddy kink, degradation, graves sucks as a step-father, dead dove-don't eat

well, weren't you just a beauty? graves could understand why he simply couldn't control himself around you. it was an obsession. that was why he hated when you left for the new school year. summer was coming to an end, which meant he didn't see you for many weeks while you were out of town for school. it honestly broke his heart.

he didn't hate your mother, after all he did marry her. but he wanted a newer model. and that was where you came in. at home for the summer. it started out slow, when your mother was out of the house he'd put kisses all over you. then he groped your breasts and ass. until finally you crumbled into him.

then the true fun began. almost every night in your childhood bedroom he rammed his hard cock into you. he watched your breasts bounce with the force of his fucking. he often had to put a hand over your mouth to keep from being too loud.

you weren't even in your mid-twenties and he was having thoughts about leaving your mother and marrying you. he hoped by that point you had a sweet little belly. a sign that he was the only man who ever got to seed you. the thoughts raced in his mind often, even when he wasn't fucking you into the double mattress.

he hated that you had to leave soon, but if anything it made him want to get you pregnant faster. his voice was a low purr in your ear as he said, "you like that, sugar? you like when daddy fucks you nice and good?" then gave you a hard slap on the ass. the house was empty expect for the two of you.

he currently had you on your elbows and knees with your face buried in the pillow and your ass in the air. your tight heat was constricting his cock while made him feel hot all over. he got rougher when he was drinking, the drive to impregnate his step-daughter only became more intense after a few drinks in him.

and after all, you two were home alone so he could finish in you as many times as he wanted or needed. you were on cloud nine with the feeling of his cock stretching your more intimate area in a position that left you vulnerable to pregnancy.

"yeah, daddy wants a full house. and you got a lot of time left to give me all the kids i want. leave school and be my bride, sweetheart." he purred.

you whimpered, "I can't, it's my last year." you wiggled a little but it only enticed him more. you moaned into the covers and arched your back further as he got more aggressive with his thrusts.

he yanked your hair and pulled your head up, he leaned forward to your ear and said, "see, that's the problem. you don't get a say. you're mine, and nothing is going to stop me from breeding that sweet little cunt of yours." he said matter of factly.

you gripped onto the covers and felt butterflies in your stomach. the bed creaked with each of his movements and his heavy breathing was hot in your ear.

he chuckled and gripped your strands closer to the scalp, "you're mine, and once biology works its magic and you end up saddled with a few of my kids you'll see it my way. this is better for you than any degree." he then pushed your head back into the pillow and kept you there by your neck as he continued to ram his cock into you.

it felt like heaven, like the sweetest euphoria he could ever have. he never had it when he fucked your mother. only your sweet pussy left him yearning for more. he knew he'd still want it, even after a little wear and tear from having his big babies.

he continued to thrust in and out of you. he held you down and had his way with you. he was glad you were slowly seeing the picture. he let go of your neck, assured you were going to stay down and his hand trailed along your stomach.

he got aroused further by the idea of you being the most perfect wife for him. he'd cut up your credit card, burn all your shoes and keep that belly nice and full. you only had to rely on him. he was a traditional man and he'd take care of what was his. most times he would consider himself a gentleman, but it was hard to argue for it when he has your back arched and your pussy full. his cock bullied your cervix.

you whimpered and moaned, you clawed at the bed as it hit against the wall. such a sweet symphony. graves' cock twitched inside of you at the idea of you wearing his shirts to cover your swollen middle.

in all fairness you could be nude in your shared home, no one would see you. there wouldn't be a neighbor for miles. whatever his little wife felt comfortable in.

with a few more hard thrusts he finished inside of you, then laid his chest against your back, smothering you. he reached for your pussy and played with your clit as your hole contracted around his still hard cock.

you flailed and tried to move away but he kept you pinned down as he placed with your nub. eventually orgasm crashed down on you like rain and your felt a moan be pulled from your mouth before you felt the energy leave you.

you laid on the bed, soft and limp. but graves wasn't done. your mother would be home in an hour, he thought he could get at least two more orgasms in before he felt content with his breeding.

he slapped your ass once more and growled in your ear, "look alive, sugar, i ain't done with you."

-

you came back that winter break with a slight slope in your belly. all graves could do was smile by the rim of his scotch glass. he could feel the twitch in his pants, especially when your hand went to the bump. he knew, no words needed to be spoken.

he had planted his seed in his step-daughter, and soon he'll suggest that you take some time off school to raise that little baby. after all his brats weren't going to be raised without a mother.

xoxo, bunny

[thefallennightmare]

Moment of Weakness-twenty nine

*credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest *

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the delay in updating! I don't think I'm going to get another one out tonight so I will do my best to update tomorrow! TWO CHAPTERS LEFT AFTER THIS ONE!

Tags(closed): @splendidreads @sebsgirl71479 @mdpplgtz03 @pattiemac1 @unaxv @alana4610 @broadwaybabe18 @themayzittcha @playboystark @raajali3 @ozwriterchick @ragamuffin285 @screamingdying @themorningsunshine @kenziekugler22 @calwitch @sebastianstansqueen @stanaddict @stucky-simp03 @sleyeveryday @loustan90 @lyra-black13 @valsworldofcreativity @cjand10 @tesseract69 @batprincess1013 @subwaysurf45 @arsonfrogger @yoruse @5moremin @lipstickandtanqueray @mandijo17 @joannaromanoff @justsebstan @winters1917 @elizacusi-blog @football1921 @elxvrr

Darkness encased around me like a cloud, the only noise that I could hear was dripping water from somewhere in the darkness. I blinked my eyes hoping it would help adjust but it did nothing, not being able to see anything in front of me. My heart began to pound hard against my chest when I realized that I couldn’t move, my body being tied to a chair. I thrashed against it but my screams were silenced by the tape that was covering my lips. 

How did I get here? 

My brain throbbed as I tried to remember what happened. Bucky and I shared a night entwined together and while I was in the kitchen someone attacked me from behind. 

“Clint!”  his name was mumbled against the tape.

Muffled screams bounced around the room as the chair moved beneath me, my body violently moving against my binds. The legs of the chair scraped against the cement floor, the noise drowning out my yells. 

“You can try all you want, no one is going to find you here.” 

A light clicked on above me and my eyes blinked to adjust to the sudden brightness. The familiar soft voice halted my movements as I watched the red head emerge from the darkness. 

“Long time no see, Y/N,” she tilted her head with a smirk. 

Curses went unheard as they spewed from my lips but my scream was heard as the tape was ripped off. 

“Fucking bitch,” I spat at her feet. “I should have figured that you would also be behind this, Natasha.” 

She bent at her knees, becoming eye level with me. “Do you know how hard it was to sit in that house, MY house, and listen to Bucky fuck you?” 

“You were there?” I asked, baffled. 

There was a glimmer as Natasha removed something from her back pocket, the metal shining under the light. My heart jumped into my throat when she gripped the knife handle tighter in her hand. 

“I can’t believe he went back to you,” Natasha kept her eyes on the knife. “After everything we went through.” 

I snorted. “Lying about being pregnant? That’s fucked up.” 

A sharp hiss of pain fell from my lips when Natasha pressed the blade deep into the side of my neck, blood pooling down over my chest. 

“I had to do something! He was going to leave me for you!” 

The disgust dripped from her voice as she pressed the knife even harder into my neck. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to egg her on even more. 

“What makes you so special?” She scoffed while looking over at me. 

“I’m not perfect,” I shook my head. “Even though you kidnapped me, you didn’t deserve to be cheated on.”

“Do you know what he told me the night he kicked me out?” Natasha asked. 

I did my best to ignore the crazed look in her eyes. 

“Bucky never loved me. Our whole marriage was a lie, just a facade so he could keep his rank in the mob.” 

I nodded, remembering what he told me so long ago. 

It was an arranged marriage. 

“You didn’t have to agree to the arrangement. The both of you could have been with someone you loved.” 

Natasha laughed. “Like you?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “Like Clint.” 

She reeled back, standing straight and put the knife back into her pocket. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Baron Zemo told Bucky and I a lot about the two of you,” I informed her. 

Just then, the door opened and in walked Clint who had a darkness in his eyes. 

“I only told you to come check on her, nothing else,” He snapped at Natasha. 

I watched as the two of them bicker back and forth, muttering things under their breath, and took this time to try and undo the binds that my hands were in. They were tied in my lap so I had to be careful to make sure that Clint or Natasha couldn’t see what I was doing. 

There was a quick flash of Bucky in my mind, his smile and the way his eyes crinkled while he looked at me. 

Surely he must have noticed that I was missing, right?

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Clint’s hand was wrapped around my throat, immediately cutting off my oxygen. I did my best to fight against him while Natasha cut the binds around my hand so he could lift me to my feet, eyes meters from mine. 

“Try all you want, you’re never getting out of here.” 

A mute sob fell from my lips as Clint tightened his grip before throwing me to the ground. 

“You’re so pathetic,” Natasha spat while kicking my side. 

I coughed in pain, grabbing my now throbbing stomach. 

“Bucky was right about you,” she continued while kneeling in front of me. 

“Fuck you,” I spat at her feet again. 

The sound of skin on skin echoed when Natasha’s fist collided with my lips, the copper taste filling my mouth. 

I cursed when her fingers wretched my neck back by pulling at my hair, now looking up at her. 

“He told me that you were obsessed with him, you wouldn’t leave him alone. Practically threw yourself at him,” Natasha said. 

I shook my head the best I could in her grasp. “You’re lying.” 

She ignored me. “He was only with you because he felt sorry for you. You were an easy fuck.” 

My head reeled back and collided with her nose, sending Natasha onto her ass. She stared at me shocked and I scrambled to my feet to run past her but strong arms wrapped around me. 

“LET ME GO!” I screamed while fighting against Clint. 

“Stop fighting!” 

He threw me to the ground yet again, only this time my head smacked against the concrete floor, instantly knocking me out. 

Six days. 

I had been held captive in this small room for the last six days. Clint and Natasha would switch off on torturing me, the healed cuts were out shadowed by the fresh ones, the dried blood sticking to my skin. They covered my arms, legs, and stomach. My hair was matted with blood from the small gash on the back of my head from when Clint threw me to the hard ground the first night. The bruise around my eye, however, was the worst of my injuries. It was dark, covering the right side of my face, and it was a bullseye for Clint or Natasha when they needed to take their anger out on me. 

The only way I was able to see it was because of the small mirror that hung up on the wall of the room. 

I graduated from being tied to the chair to now being handcuffed to a random pipe in what I realized was the basement of wherever I was being held. It allowed me a few inches of space but not much. 

Clint would only unhandcuff me when I needed to use the bathroom but he would make sure he stayed close, in case I was going to run. The thought definitely crossed my mind once or twice but I was afraid of what they would do to me if I tried. 

The bathroom had a small window where I was able to look out and see that the house I was in was located in the middle of the woods, far away from any kind of civilization. 

For the first few days I had high hopes that someone would come for me, save me, and I fought to get out of here. Fight to survive. But now, almost a week later, my fight was gone. Natasha’s words weighed heavy in my mind. 

You meant nothing to Bucky, all he wanted from you was to get fucked. 

In the beginning, I didn’t believe her. It was all a lie to get under my skin. But now, I questioned everything. If he truly cared for me, if I meant a lot to him, he would have found me by now; saved me. 

Right?

I brought my knees to my chest and rested my cheek against them, a broken sigh falling from my lips. My tired eyes rested on the growing plates of untouched food from today. The only nice thing that they did for me was bringing me something to eat but with everything I had gone through, I didn’t have an appetite. 

The door to the basement opened and Natasha walked in with a smug smile on her face. 

“Geez, who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”

“Fuck you, Natasha,” I cursed not bothering to look at him. 

He sighed while pulling the chair in front of me and took a seat, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“It’s pathetic how much you’ve given up,” she said. “Bucky would be embarrassed for you if he saw you like this. Too bad he won’t be coming.” 

I turned to look at her. “What makes you so sure?” 

“I wrote him a note pretending it was from you, saying that you decided to leave him. You need some time to think about things and make sure he doesn’t call you.”

I clicked my tongue. “That’s that then.” 

Natasha lifted my chin so I could look up at her. “There’s no fight in you, huh?” 

The light was gone for my eyes as I shrugged. “Might as well kill me.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that,” she smirked while uncuffing me from the pipe. 

Natasha saw the confusion on my face. “Bathroom break.” 

No words were said as I let her guide me towards the bathroom that I figured was down the hall on the left side, right across the door that led straight outside to the back yard. She was a few steps in front of me, back facing me, so she didn’t see my eyes dart from her form to the door a few times. 

Bucky’s voice was loud in my mind at that moment, a final ditch effort to fight. 

Run, doll. Fast. Don’t look back. 

My feet took off before I could even think of the ramifications on what would happen if I got caught. It was the middle of the night, the sun setting a few hours ago, so the cold air wrapped around my bare legs, me still wearing the same clothes I was the night I was taken. 

Bucky’s shirt and a pair of his boxers. 

My feet were bare and were getting scraped up by the branches and leaves that crunched beneath them, the house getting farther behind me. 

Keep going, doll. I’ll find you; I promise.

Bucky’s voice filled me as I ran harder, faster, doing my best to find the safety I desperately needed. Until a gunshot echoed throughout the trees, my body falling into a heap on the ground. 

[tinyidle]

Swim!teez Being Cocky During Sex

i had a pm sent to me about the pics i sent about ateez swimming. since im not good at summarizing what they said, ill paraphrase it the best way i can here:

[all of ateez are crazy] omg I feel like this feeds into this I have that they are all a bit cocky (in a hot way), especially during sex and I'd love to hear your thoughts on that

so here i am, going to do just that. leggo~

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tags: @rap1inewhore , @thequarries

WARNING: descriptive smut, based off irl, cockiness (ofc), c*ck lol (penetrative sex), swim!teez (6/8 of the members), fem reader, dom!ateez, sub!reader, fiction ofc

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seonghwa - cocky tease

my boy before sending these swim pics said he wore a swim shirt, but after he sent them said he was teasing atiny. this to me confirms that hwa is just like that in the sheets. holding your hips down as his long-ass tongue swirls around your breasts and inner thighs, refusing to touch you where you need him until he sees that you're on the verge of tears. same thing when he fucks your breasts and thighs, tapping his head on your clit while leaving you squirming. but once his tongue or cock enters your cavern, prepare to be shuddering from the immense amount of pleasure as he takes you to cloud nine about nine times.

yunho - cockiness that is small yet powerful

he was the most innocent with his photos. but little did he know that i remember the picture san took with him, wooyoung, and seonghwa in it. so i do know what he kind of looks like. that's how i think his cockiness would be. yuyu would be acting small and shy as if you haven't seen that big dick before, but the moment that shit springs out. oh my gosh. you'd feel loved even when he seems to want to show you a bit of his harsh side-- such as jamming himself into you-- just to return soft, like allowing you to adjust and then turn around for you to be on top and set the pace.

yeosang - unexpected cockiness

i dont know about you guys, but when i saw a glimpse of his muscles during fireworks, i never would've expected them to turn out the way they are now. not to mention that his body just looks unpredictable, so for him to out of nowhere send these pics was a real shocker. now that in the bedroom is the exact same. he acts naiive and almost sub-ish in public, and although he can be a bit gullible and prefers no roles in the bedroom, expect yeo to unexpectedly take the reigns. he says you can lead tonight just for him to lock your legs in place and jackhammer up into you while you gasp and cry out in sheer pleasure.

san - cockiness that is faux naivety

speaking of naievty, here's this dude. the first two pics of his look rather innocent, then the next two dont look so innocent; yet he adds an innocent caption. this is deadly in bed oml like i swear. he's spooning you claiming to want to only love you, but the moment you innocently (and rather cutely) wrap your fingers around his, he prompts you two to discard you bottoms. he says he'll sheath himself inside you for innocent intimacy, just for your hand to fly up to your mouth in futile attempts to not scream when he pulls himself back to repeatedly thrust his long cock in.

mingi - cocky cute

lovely mingles has no pics but only one video. it may be just me, but he looks kind of sexy while swimming so perfectly. but he wouldn't have thought it that way. that's totally him during sex. he never meant to make you moan when he innocently held onto your boobs, neither did he mean to make you gasp when he knee brush against your clit. it was until he smirked and ended up with him doggying you with one huge hand tweaking your nipples and another set of slim fingers rubbing your bud.

wooyoung - subtle cockiness

this guy was the first to post swim pics, except they were on universe. he quite literally said 'pay me to see me' lol. but for real, we all know how publicly cocky woo can get, so for him to send pics in a paywall? my only theory is that he did it for the shock value and public sharing since he knows some of his pics may be shared publicly anyway. during sexy time he'd pretend to not want to do dirty things just for you to beg him. he, being his confident self, while give you all you want and more as your mouth hangs open from your pussy being pounded by his relentless cock.

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so.. what you think? 🤭 if you want me to add joong and jjong lemme know

[idontplaytrack]

Goodbye to Spring

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, child loss + miscarriage mentions, blood & bodily fluids mentions, Janis’ Dad makes an appearance

Part 3 of 3. Read part 1 & part 2.

“

I should not have to be doing all of the work. The bigger person shouldn’t have to be the kid.

”

— Elena Alvarez, One Day at a Time. Season 3 E13

(Pictures used above are from Pinterest)

Winter has gone, and so did spring. Day after day, week after week and month after month. The loss of Malia and your first baby boy, Nālani continually weighted down your hearts. But life still went on without a pause. Some nights, memories haunted you and Janis. Other nights, you were on cloud nine, feeling like nothing could stop either of you. Today was June 21st: the first day of summer, also the day you lost Nālani a year ago. It’s been 165 days since Malia has been gone. From the moment your eyes peeled open, you’ve had a heavy feeling in your heart.

“Hi, darling.” Janis walks in. You blinked at her, blankly, trying not to burst into tears. Janis seemed to just know it. “I’m so sorry.” You sniffled looking away from her as you frantically tried to swipe the tears away with your fingers. “I can’t help it, I’m sorry.”

You were woken up by the familiar nightmare of events from the day you lost him. You weren’t even thinking about anything related to that recently but it crept up on you anyway. “It’s alright.” She held you in her arms, “It’s alright, baby.” “I didn’t want to cry today. I just- I hot a dream about that day and it just—”

Janis shushed you, rubbing your back. You let go of the teddy bear, struggling to get out of her embrace to go wash your face. “No, no. Hang on, baby. Hang on.” She held you back, “You don’t have to hurry yourself. Cry if you need to cry.” The miscarriage was the single most painful thing that’s happened to you until you went through Janis’ whole situation with Malia and the recovery— which had been traumatic for you and her both. The physical pain and shedding of leftover fluids and tissue took weeks to settle down. And all she had left was a big scar on her abdomen and memories that have scarred her for life.

The teddy bear nearly falls, but Janis catches it and put it back onto the bed safely. You had one, Janis had one too. They slept in bed together with the two of you, for comfort. The silence was then suddenly broken by a string of doorbell rings and the intercom buzzing, “Open up, you two. We’re here for you.”

“Shit.” You pulled away, “I need to go wash my face.”

“Okay, be careful.” Janis slowly broke away, “I’ll go let them in.”

As you slowly kicked off the blanket, you crawled out off bed and walked into the bathroom. As you did your morning routine, you here Janis greeting Regina, Gretchen, Cady, Karen, Aaron and Damian— in that order. “I made breakfast. Help yourselves.”

“And I brought drinks.” Regina quipped.

“For breakfast? Regina George, my, my.” Damian’s voice was heard.

“We need a treat, okay?” Regina answered while you dried your face.

“Is she awake yet?” You heard Gretchen asking.

While you changed into a different set of pyjamas— because you all were staying in, you heard the bunch of them chatting. Then, you walked outside to join them. They all greeted you with hugs, like always. As you dug into your breakfast, Janis’ hand rested on your knee as she ate as well. The conversation was kept lighthearted, for obvious reasons but very appreciated that this came naturally to them.

“y/n~” Regina called for you in a singsongy voice to make you laugh and you did, “You want a mimosa, baby?”

“Sure.” You shrugged.

“You know— a butterfly kept flying after me after I parked down the block and we were walking here. Like- why just me?” Damian mentioned. The group laughs, “Dude, I think Malia just wanted to have a little fun with one of her uncles.” Aaron snorted, taking a swig of coffee.

“Ew, why are you drinking coffee when we have alcohol?”

“Some people prefer a non-alcoholic beverage at nine in the morning, Regina.” He retorted, tossing a tater tot in her direction.

“What the hell is that for?” Regina tutted, catching the bite-sized food and popping it into her mouth. “But yes, Aaron, I agree. Malia just wanted to have some fun with you, Damian. Be glad it was you.”

“I told her to do that.” Janis chimed in gleefully.

Damian gasps dramatically, “How dare you freak me out? They said I scream like a girl, you silly goose.”

“Talk to her. Not me.” Janis playfully raised the teddy bear in his face.

“I was, my friend. I see the bear.” Damian had a hand clutching his chest.

“Aw, cute.” Regina chuckles, “She still flies by, then?”

“So often.” You nodded, putting down your fork.

The buzzing of the intercom interrupts the lively conversation, confusing all of you. Until…

“Janis, honey we gotta talk.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Janis curses.

“Just ignore them. They’ll leave.” Regina nudged.

“They will not leave.” Janis scoffs, getting up. Next thing you heard was Janis going off on them in Hawaiian, which you barely understood. “Too little, way too late. I’m not forgiving Mom. No, you can’t just show up and expect us to welcome you with open arms—”

Janis’ Dad barged in, alone. “Your Mother hurt you and y/n, and I am very sorry for what she’s caused but please know I’m sorry. I couldn’t change her mind, Janis. You need to know that, but you don’t have to forgive me.”

“Your mother and I got a divorce.” He continued, “I’ve had enough of pretending with her that I’m not happy that you two have each other. I’ve failed to let you see that by staying on with your Mother and that was the biggest mistake because you and y/n had to go through so much alone.”

“We weren’t alone.” Janis spoke up, inevitably sniffling, “We had our friends, but it fucking hurt to see my own parents hate the sweetest person I’ve ever met. The most important, most perfect person I have in my life. That woman is so fucking tough. She almost lost her own life a year ago today but she fought. She also saved me when she could’ve done something selfish and saved Malia. She chose me. You chose my mother who made my life hell. I don’t get it…of all days, why did you show up today? When we’re grieving. When we’re trying to celebrate the memories we did have with our son. Your timing is so impeccable I could hate you for that too. How dare you and Mom make y/n cry harder than she already had that night. How dare you fill her mind with that guilt? How dare you? You didn’t help me, you didn’t help her when we were expecting. You hated our children. That alone enough for me to cut you off. Coming here and ask for forgiveness after it’s too late?”

You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t feeling like yourself today and the gang was just there waiting for an appropriate time to even try and interrupt. But Janis- there was no stopping her. She needed to get it out. “I am done being nice and pushing away my own feelings and feeling all of yours. You hurt me- over and over and over. We’ve been together for eight years. You have had ample time to fix things, but you didn’t. I don’t want this burden anymore. I should not have to be doing all of the work. The bigger person shouldn’t have to be the kid. Please, go.”

That gave Janis the closure she needed. A weight lifts off her shoulders, but she was still hurting over a lot of things that have made her who she is. But the side of her that’s been deeply hurt? You and the gang were the only ones who’ve seen it until today.

————

“Okay, good for you, baby. Now cry it out and drink up.” Regina pours her a glass, “Go on. Trust me. You need this. You deserve it.”

You excused yourself and sat outside, in the backyard. Damian followed you out. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

“They hated our children.” You told him, “Maybe, maybe that’s why we lost them. We didn’t have the blessings.”

“Oh, honey. Please don’t go thinking about all of that, please. That’s not—”

“They hated me, so it makes sense that they would’ve sent negative thoughts my way.”

“Honey, please don’t go down that path right now. We love you, we’re all here for you. They can go fuck themselves.” He hugs you, you sobbed. “Thanks, I just needed to get that shit out of my head.” You sighed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He assured, “Oh, look! It’s your baby girl again. Back to make me scream like a girl.”

You chuckle, watching the butterfly. “I’m okay, baby. I’m okay. You know I am- just need to cry some days and I’m good. Don’t scare your uncle Damian again okay?”

“I’ll get back inside. I’m gonna let you have a moment.” Damian patted your shoulder and went back into the house.

“Thank you for always sticking around, baby.” You talked to the air— well, the butterfly. It’s always been the same one, or the same kind at least. “But you gotta remember to do what you wanna do, too. Just make sure your brother knows that and is okay- he doesn’t give us a whole lot of signs like you do, Malia.”

It lands on your knee, fluttering it wings as if to say hi. “Go have fun with your brother.” You said, “I’m gonna go spend some time with your Mom and our friends. If you wanna stick around, stick around. But, go play, too. Okay?” With that being said, you walked back inside, watching the butterfly over your shoulder. It stays on the orange tree for a minute or two before it flew away.

“You okay?” Janis asks.

“Better, yeah.” You answered honestly, “Are you okay?”

“I finally did what I should’ve done years ago. So yes, very okay. Very proud of myself for cutting him off.”

You snaked an arm around her waist, she leans her head on your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.” You told her softly.

“It’s always gonna be you and me against the world. We have our own family right here. I know we’ll be perfect.”

“Amen, sister.” Damian raised his glass, “Cheers, y’all.”

“Cheers.” The gang chorused, glasses and mugs clinking.

They hung around all day. Playing board games after breakfast then all going out for lunch in the afternoon. And dinner, a picnic under the stars. It was the perfect close to the day.

“The sky’s gorgeous tonight.” Janis remarked.

You agreed with a nod, “It really is.”

“You guys are family. You heard me, right?” Janis continues, “Every single one of you. Every single one of you have been with me through the all the highs and lows. That’s more than my own parents have done for me. I really, really cherish all of you. And I am so grateful for you all sticking by me and y/n.”

“You can never get rid of us.” Damian says. The rest of them agree.

“Never.” Damian leans closer repeat himself. The butterfly appears out of know where and got all up in his face and he squealed, falling out of his seat.

“That’s our girl.” Janis guffaws, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Oh, a thousand percent.” Regina says, “Alright, a toast to the most badass people in our family, and our darling niece and nephew, everyone. Cheers- we love you.”

“Oh, my God.” You mumble, sharing a look with Janis because of those three words.

The gang declared, taking a sip, “We love you.”

(Okay the ending wasn’t as strong as I hoped it would be, and I kinda hate it- but I did it. It’s the end to this little story)

[rosecoloreddesire]

Sugar Daddy Blues, 3

Summary: You’ve been told to stay away from strangers before but…this one sounded like a dream come true. Sending you money for school, clothes, and pictures. You were living on cloud nine and somehow Elvis Presley was gonna take you all the way there.

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Older!Elvis, Younger!Reader (by 10 years), Innocence Kink, P in V (wrap it up y’all!). 

Note: Thanks y’all for all the love on SDB! If you guys have any ideason how to further this series pls let me know! I was also writing a separate story and hope that I didn’t put the name in this lol. My DMs and requests are open! My finals for college start sometime this week! Love y’all! 

“Soooo, what happened when you left me at the entrance, Y/N?” Your skin flushed and you all but spit your drink out at the bar.

“Emily! I didn’t do nothin’! Jerry just asked me if I saw a girl's missin' purse! That’s it!” You fold your arms and a pout decorates your lips. She scoffs as she raised the tickets in her hands.

“Well, jokes on you! We’re going again tonight! They’ve got more songs to film!” Your heart skipped a beat as she placed the ticket in your palm. You hadn’t talked to Elvis since that night out of pure humiliation.

“Really?! Now, we’ve gotta go find some new clothes to wear!” You push your empty glass toward the bartender and he nods. How the hell were you gonna face the King of Rock N Roll?! You just sucked him off and went away! How was he gonna react to that? Why did you have to say it like that? 

“Well, I’m a good friend and wanted your suga’ daddy to go absolutely wild! This is just the bee's knees, Y/N!” Your best friend draws a leather dress out of a shopping bag and squeals. Your jaw all but dropped as you took the coarse fabric into your shaky hands.

“I am not wearin’ this, Em! You have lost your goddamn mind! I’d much rather ask them to dress me!” Your cheeks burned at the thought of how Elvis would react to you trying to match his all-leather get-up. Your mind ran rampant as you thought of him bending you over and proving then and there that you were his and his only. You shook your head as Emily giggled.

“C’mon! At least let me help you model it for a few pics! My aunt designed this dress and she said she needed it for a model!” You sighed but heavily agreed. You begrudgingly walk into the bathroom and pull the leather trap on. You huff as it hugs at your curves and you smile at yourself in the mirror. You look good….no! No, you can’t wear it to his special. Lord knows what he’d do or that damn manager would do!

“A lot tighter than expected but I got it on.” Emily clapped as she brought out her Polaroid camera. You pose the best you can while people in the bar are staring at you. You’re aware of the eyes but they don’t put you off but spur you on to keep posing.

“These are perfect! Now you don’t have to wear it tonight we can change real quick and call for a taxi to get there in time!” Emily grabs your arm and pulls you back into the bathroom. As you both change she helps you with her makeup. You feel an unnerving guilt bubble in your chest as Emily pats down your eyeshadow.

“I almost slept with Elvis Presley.” You freeze as Em drops the eye shadow brush in her hand. She scrambles to push her makeup away. Her hands grasp yours harshly.

“ALMOST?! Why didn’t you?! The Elvis Presley wants you,” you wince as you see the cogs turning in her head,” HE’S THAT GUY! Your suga’ daddy is Elvis?!” You shush her and place your finger on her lips. Her vision is ablaze with excitement.

“Could you scream any louder? Damn, Em! You know I’ve never done nothin’ with no one! How am I supposed to do that with Elvis?!” She continues your makeup and shakes her head. Your head swam in thoughts of every position you could think of Elvis putting you in. God, your daddy would kill you for these thoughts.

“Did you ever think of talking it out with your man? He knows you're younger than him so why wouldn’t he think you're a virgin? Maybe he’s into that?” She shrugs as she finishes your makeup and you sigh. You should’ve talked to him about it but you couldn’t get past your own pity. You brushed your clammy hands across your skirt and let your shoulders sag as she finished her hair.

“M-Maybe if I get the chance tonight I’ll talk with him. Though I doubt he’s gonna wanna talk to me after what happened.” Em took your hand and she placed a comforting hand across your cheek.

“You are burnin’ up, chick! We really gotta get him to notice you! And I know just how!” Before you can ask why she’s grinning so devilishly she pulls you along once more. You soon find yourself face to face with Jerry once again and he beams softly down at you. You nod and Emily tells you to hold her seat. You locate your seat and realize you are directly next to the stage…again. Great. 

————————-

“Where were you,” it was more of an injunction than a question,”He just started so hopefully they don’t catch us on film…What-“ Your scolding is interrupted by a further entire set. He looks magnificent as he strides in a black satin shirt and red scarf.

“Wow, he looks hot, Y/N.” She nudged your side with her elbow as you can’t tear yourself away from his stature. The filming seems to go by fast with him changing multiple times. Lights behind him glow red in the dimly lit space in his name. Chills run down your spine as you acknowledge this wasn’t a Christmas song. He went against his manager again. Though instead of being worried for him…you wanted him to keep doing this kind of thing. It made him seem more…alive. More him. His voice was blaring and controlling in the resonant space. Extras and staff stared on in awe as his emotion grew and the room filled with a sense of perseverance. A gospel scene is next and you feel awful as you feel the searing desire fill your veins. And who are you kidding? A whorehouse? He knew what he was doing at that point!

The filming ends as soon as it starts and claps erupt in the studio as he stands in absolute disarray of emotions. His life was hanging in the balance of this but you could see how much he tended to the melody of this special. Individuals are being placed back by the stage as Elvis grins. He waves you over and your skin is alight with craving at the short action.

“Did ya like it, baby? I still feel like I’m shakin’.” He allowed you to wander aside from him to his dressing room. You peek around to make sure no one was tracking you both or just observing. Your eyes dart up to where Elvis was gaping earlier and make eye contact with Elvis’ manager. His eyes bore voids through you as Elvis clutches your hand.

“I-It was great, E. Um, are you still filming today or was this just a trick by Emily and your friend?” Elvis lowers your hand and chuckles.

“I do have a little filmin’ yet to do. Though mostly it was to trick you back into my life. I was worried you weren’t ever gonna talk to me, princess.” He began to unbutton his pants as you stood there frozen.

“I-I didn’t think you’d want me. I mean we met once! I just wanted to give you an out-“ His lips are fierce against yours as his hand sifted through your H/C hair. You sigh as he jerks his fingers scarcely. His desire spills into your mouth, your fingers grip the collar of his shirt severely.

“I want you so bad that it hurts, princess. I need you to want me just as badly. God, darlin’.” His gaze never leaves your lips as his statement dangles in the air. Your fingers shake as you help unbutton his shirt. What the hell were you doing? Your fingers curled around the red scarf wrapped around his throat. 

“I want you, Elvis. Please, just- I’ll come to wherever your stayin’ after your filmin’ is done, alright?” Elvis’ face lights up and a brief kiss is laid upon your cheek.

“I’m gonna film this so quick, darlin’!”

“Don’t ruin your filmin’, Elvis!”

“C’mon!”

———————

“Soooo, bar time? Or suga’ daddy time, Y/N?” Emily fixes her pant leg as the two of you begin to walk out of the venue. Jerry is standing next to an expensive black car and waves at you fondly.

“Um, screw it! I’m gonna sleep with Elvis Presley.” You state confidently as Emily hoots and hollers.

“Well, you go have fun, chick! Call me and tell me everythin’!” You nod as you step into the car and thank Jerry. The ride is quiet but comfortable as you drive to Elvis. Jerry keeps small talk at a minimum as you feel your nerves rise within your body. Your skin feels hot as your body shakes.

“We’re here, Y/N.” Jerry helps you to the door of Elvis’ room and then excuses himself as he hears his friend’s footsteps beyond the door. Elvis is all smiles as he opens it. You follow him inside and he stops by a vanity in the corner. He takes a swig of whiskey and looks at you from the mirror.

“Look at you, princess. I think you should’ve come in this.” Your skin heated as he turned to you. He was wearing a robe once again but he had pajama pants on. Sadly. Stop it, Y/N. Polaroids fall out of his hands and scatter to the floor. You knew Emily was going to utilize those against you.

“My best friend told me her aunt needed a model. That’s all. How did you even get those?”

“Mm, I need one too. How about you model to me what you’ve got under that cute little piece you’ve got on.” He leans against the wall with a smirk as your eyes widened. You were going to kill Emily once this was over. How the hell did she even get those to Elvis?

“I-I’m not um. Wearin’ nothin' cute.”

“I think anythin' on your pretty body is cute, darlin’,” he walks towards you as you try to collect your thoughts. His large hands are warm as they gather at your waist. His skin burning through your clothes,” I want you so bad, lil' mama. Please, let me have you.” You nod as his body presses against you. Your conscience flying out the window.

“Fuck me, Elvis.”

“Who?”

“Please, daddy.”

“That’s my girl.” His hands are calloused and rough as they lay against your throat. Leading you to lie against the bed in his room. It’s adorned in silk sheets and velvety pillows. You smile up at him as your arms wrap around the nape of his neck.

“You bring these fancy things with you everywhere?” He laughs and places a chaste kiss on your lips. A playful smirk glistens on his face.

“Only when I know I’ve got a pretty lil’ thing in my sight. Now I need to have you, princess.” His lips are soft and wet as he ravages your neck. You grasp a tuft of his hair as you let out a loud cry. His teeth scrape at the sensitive spot on your neck, shivers of desire running down your spine.

“E-Elvis, I’ve never-“ he interrupts you as he slips your shirt off your body. You stutter as he bites his lip, taking you all in.

“I know, lil’ mama. I’ll be gentle. God, you look divine.” You nod and grab his shoulders holding him close.

“I-I got myself r-ready before seeing you, daddy.” Elvis’ eyes roll into the back of his head as a broken whine etches from his mouth. He lifts your skirt and rips your tights apart. His finger circled around your clit. Your thighs shake as his eyes blacken observing you plunge into lust within moments. His lips are urging against your throat, lapping at the newly made marks.

“God, with that mouth. I gotta have you right now, baby.” You nod as you writhe around the pillows. The sensation of his finger alone has you begging for him.

“Please, I need your cock, daddy. Please. I’ll be good.” His hand finds solace around your throat and he bites his lip. He finally strips down and runs his cock between your folds.

“You gotta be kiddin’! I really wanted to be nice, darlin’! Fuck-“ Elvis plunged inside of you and your breath hitched. Your heart races as you get used to being filled up all at once.

“Elvis-“

“Breathe baby. You’re doin’ so good. That’s my good girl.” His hands rest on your waist as he continues to push inside of you. Your nails take down his back and he hisses in pain. He pants as you squeeze him tighter. His cock throbs within you.

“I-I,” you take a deep breath as you try to get used to the feeling of being split open,” you’re too big, daddy.” Your legs shook against his waist as his hips bucked forward. His resolve was dissolving as your bare skin rubbed against his. Your innocence was fleeting as your stripped body drew him in.

“You’re gonna kill me, doll,” his lip tight between his teeth as he stares down at you,” Fuck, can I move, darlin’?” He huffs out a shaky soft moan as you try to adjust yourself to his size.

“Please, I wanna feel you.” A deep growl thunders deep in his chest as he desperately clutches at your waist.

“I gotta have you now, princess.” His eyes are dark and commanding as he thrusts forward harshly. Your back arches and he compels you back down onto the delicate sheets. Your skin is burning against his as he lays his body against yours. His hips are furious among yours as he pumps his cock in and out of you. Watching as your pussy swallows his whole cock, your name drips off his lips as he cries out.

“Fuck! Elvis, you feel so good,” you grasp at his back, your manicured nails raking down his back. Hissing, Elvis bites your shoulder as his pace picks up,” please, more, daddy-“ his voice is deep, layered in need as he howls into your collarbone. His intoxicating need is being smudged in purple across your chest. His eyes never leave your body as he commits every single curve and every dip. You were made to be his sugar baby. Made to be his everything.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N. You’re mine. My baby. My baby to spoil, right?” He accented his words with deep, harsh thrusts. You yelp as he flips the two of you over. Your body is on full display over the top of him now. His hands gripping your ass as you whine at the new angle of his cock. Your walls flutter around his cock as the desire in your core tightens.

“Yes, yours. All yours, daddy. Please, I wanna cum.” He nods as he slips his thumb to rub your clit. His eyes never leave your bouncing tits as you chase your neverending high on his dick. You roll your hips hungrily wanting to be marked as his as deep as possible. His thumb circled your desperate clit rapidly.

“Oh, baby. That’s it. My pretty little pussy. Such a good girl for daddy.” That’s it. Your body quivers with warmth and pleasure as you throw your head back. His hands wrap around your waist trying to keep you grounded. Your body convulsed as your orgasm seeps through you. A cry rips from your throat as he arranges his legs beneath you to pound into your dripping cunt. His legs shuddered underneath you as if he didn’t want this moment to end. His hand envelops your throat, you hold his arm as you try to anchor yourself. Another orgasm rips through you as quickly as it came. Your body shakes above his, grabbing you he brings you closer to his chest. Your bodies rubbing against each other.

“Please. Please. Cum inside me. I want it!” Continuous babbling falls from your lips as drool begins to pool on your skin. Elvis groans and his hips begin to stutter as his release begins. He’s grasping at your body like you’ll leave the minute he comes to. His teeth gnashing and gnawing on any expanse of your body that isn’t bruised and red. His hips continue to pump slowly in and out of you as his clarity slowly returns.

“That was not the way I planned our first time together, darlin’. God, you're still so wet. I’m sorry-“ you cut him off with a quick kiss on his nose.

“Well, you can show me for our second time together, Elvis.” You wink as you let his length slip out of you. He winces at the overstimulation and grabs a towel on the bedside table. He cleans you off softly, as he bites his lip. His seed poured out of you onto his sheets. You cover your face as he tickles you. Your giggles filling the space.

“Mm, I’m gonna stay your sugar daddy?”

“Have you found a reason not to spoil me?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Then no! Thank you, Mister Presley.”

“Mm, Round 2?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Elvis.”

Sugar Daddy Blues Taglist: @austinbutlersgirlfriend @marriedtoeddie @el-velvis @kaitaesupremacy @eliseinmemphis @suspiciousmidge @godlypresley

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 337. brb x oc

a/n: sometimes you just gotta get drunk with your wife (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

/316/317/318/319/320/321/322/323/324/325/326/327/328/329/330/331/332/333/334/335/336

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @louisahale @leobabbyyy @booklover2sblog @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

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-

She smiles as she puts the pictures aside, inhaling the scent of their home as she sits on the couch, Jolene by her feet, huge head on her paws as she snores quietly. She inhales as she stretches her arms upwards, just in time to see Rooster coming down the stairs, “Hey.”

He smiles back at her,”Hey,” he replies as he reaches the first floor, “They are out cold. Who knew a whole day in Disneyland would do that,huh?”

Beatrice chuckled, "It's like it casts a spell of joy and exhaustion simultaneously."

Rooster joined her on the couch, a satisfied smile on his face. "They're the happiest when they're tired from all the fun. Did you enjoy going through the pictures?"

Beatrice nodded, gesturing to them on the coffee table. "Yeah, it was nice to reminisce about our Disneyland adventure. Look at this one." She pointed to a picture of Nikki wearing her Minnie Mouse ears, a bright grin on her face as she held Rooster's hand.

Rooster chuckled, "She was on cloud nine the entire time. And the twins, too—they seemed fascinated by everything."

Beatrice's eyes softened, "Aurora did hate her ears though.” she chuckles, “Even if they weren’t on her head and I just held in front of her.” she says, pilling the pictures up and then sighing as she leans into him, “I’m tired too but,I’m not in the mood to sleep yet.”

“Hm.”

“You too?”

“I kinda napped in Nikki’s room, you know, on her chair? That’s why I took a while.”

Beatrice chuckled, "Ah, the perks of being a dad. Napping on tiny chairs and feeling totally refreshed afterward."

Rooster grinned, "You have no idea. It's surprisingly comfortable." but he does adjust himself on the couch with a grunt before he leans on her just like she did. He inhales softly, “...you want wine?”

Her eyes blink open and she looks at him, “What?”

“Been a while since we had it.”

“Do we even have a bottle,Roos?”

“Oho,” he chuckles, “Ohoho, gorgeous, do we?” he leaps out of the couch and walks backwards to the kitchen, “Stay there, don’t move,I’ll be right back.” and he disappears from her sight, leaving her speechless yet incredibly amused.

Beatrice chuckled at Rooster's enthusiasm, watching as he disappeared into the kitchen with her hand holding her head up as she tucks her knees under herself. Rooster returned moments later, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. He presented them with a flourish, "Voilà! A little something to unwind, my lady."

Beatrice couldn't help but laugh at his theatrical presentation,covering her mouth as she shook her head. "Where did you even find a bottle of wine in our seemingly kid-centric household?"

Rooster winked, "Ah, a magician never reveals his secrets. But rest assured, I have my ways."

“Uh-huh.”

“I asked Mav.” He popped the cork with a satisfying pop, and the rich aroma of the wine filled the air. Pouring the deep red liquid into the glasses, Rooster handed one to Beatrice “Told him that the only drinks we have are formulas and juice right now, which,” he holds a finger, “To be honest, don’t taste bad at all.”

“And don’t forget baby food.” she smiles, “Which is also really good.”

Rooster grinned, raising his glass. "To our versatile beverage selection, but tonight, we savor the grape."

Beatrice clinked her glass with his, the sound resonating in the living room. The first sip of wine brought a cascade of flavors, and she savored it, the warmth spreading through her. Rooster settled back on the couch, leaning against the armrest, and they enjoyed the quiet moment. “...I missed this.”

He hums, his sip was larger than hers, “...fuck me too.” he takes another sip, “Adult beverages,am I right? And I also missed doing this with you.” he smiles,kissing her cheek as they redden like the wine on his glass, “And Jojo,” the pitbull just rolled on her side and snored, “In her own way.”

Jolene's snores from the floor served as evidence of the dog's sweet dreams. Beatrice grinned, "She mastered the art of napping. That’s for sure." she looked back at him, “...you know something?” he arches his brows, lips touching the glass, “Have we ever talked about our very first hangover?”

He blinked, “... I don’t think so, gorgeous.”

Beatrice chuckled, swirling the wine in her glass before taking another sip. "Well, buckle up, because it's quite the story."

Rooster leaned back, intrigued. "Oh?I'm all ears. Lay it on me."

"You first.”

“Me? Oh,gorgeous.” he chuckles, ‘Baby I got drunk at an empty parking lot, with cheap bourbon. It’s not that great.” but she smiled more, “...oh you want the details then.”

“Always LC.”

Rooster sighed, setting his glass down. "Alright, here's the scoop. It was back when I was still in high school. “ she gasps, one hand on her chest, mouthing the words ‘illegal drinking?’ “My friends and I had just finished a particularly grueling week of finals, and we decided to blow off some steam."

Beatrice leaned in, “Oh,this sounds promising already."

He chuckled, "We found ourselves in his house, he opened his dad’s liquor cabinet.” he smirks, “My mom didn’t drink,so, well, we had to get it somewhere. And we rushed away before anyone could see us.”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, "Starting classy, I see."

Rooster grinned, "Oh, you have no idea. So, we're sipping on this stuff, trying to ignore the fact that it tastes like lighter fluid, and then my friend, being the daredevil he is, suggests a drinking contest. Shots, one after another, until one of us gives up."

"And let me guess, neither of you gave up until..."

"Until he threw up," Rooster finished, shaking his head. "We were so determined not to lose that we lost track of time, and by the time we stumbled out of that place, the sun was rising, and we were in no shape to walk home."

Beatrice burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. "Sorry!” she giggles more “W-what happened next?"

Rooster grinned, reminiscing about the wild antics of his youth. "We were a couple of stumbling messes, trying to act sober while failing miserably. The world was spinning, and every step felt like a victory. We thought we were on top of the world." he arches his brows up "We decided we needed some 'fresh air,'" he air-quoted, "so we stumbled our way to the nearest park. That's when things took a turn. We found an empty playground, you know, swings, slides, the whole shebang."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, "Please tell me you didn't attempt to reenact your childhood adventures while intoxicated."

Rooster laughed, "Oh, no. It was much worse. We decided to see who could swing the highest. I don't know why we thought that was a good idea."

"Rooster."

"It gets better. So, we're swinging like a couple of maniacs, convinced we're breaking some kind of speed record. And then, it happened."

"What happened?"

"One of us—I won't say who, but it wasn't me—decided to jump off the swing mid-air."

Beatrice's eyes widened, "Rooster!."

Rooster shook his head, "I said it wasn’t me! He thought he could land on his feet, like some kind of superhero. Instead, he face-planted into the sand."

Beatrice burst into laughter again, "Oh my god, Roos. What did you do?"

"I... I laughed. We both did. It was so absurd, like a scene out of a comedy movie. But then, reality hit us. We were drunk teenagers in a public park at sunrise, and we had to get home before someone discovered our escapade."

"And how did you manage that?"

"Pure luck. We stumbled our way back home, avoiding main roads like a pair of secret agents. By the time we got back, we were a mess—sand in our hair, grass stains on our clothes, and a lingering smell of regret." he pauses, “And vomit.”

“Did your mom find out?” he snorts “I take that’s a yes.”

Rooster chuckled, "Oh, she found out, alright. The moment I walked through the door, trying to act all nonchalant, she took one look at me and burst into laughter. I must have looked like a sorry excuse for a teenager."

Beatrice grinned, her gaze softening as she tilted her head at him  "I can just picture that. What did she say?"

"She called me a 'walking disaster,' which, to be fair, wasn't entirely inaccurate at the time. She gave me that look—half amusement, half disapproval—and told me to go clean up before she decided what my punishment would be."

Beatrice laughed, "She was just worried about you."

Rooster nodded, his eyes sparkling with fondness. "Yeah, she was.” his face got serious for a second, “...I was really fucked up mentally back then,I told you that before. I think she knew that the best way to teach me a lesson was to make me realize the absurdity of my own actions."

“And it worked.”

"I mean,sure," Rooster agreed. "And you know what the ironic part is? Despite that chaotic night, my friend and I somehow managed to pass our finals with decent grades. It was like a bizarre good luck charm."

Beatrice shook her head in mock disbelief, "So, your lesson from that night was that reckless adventures might lead to academic success?"

Rooster laughed, shaking his finger  "No, no. The lesson was more like, 'Don't let your teenage impulses get the better of you, but if they do, find the humor in it and learn from the consequences.' And don’t die.”

"I see, a lesson in balance," Beatrice mused. "Did you ever attempt a drinking contest again?"

Rooster smirked, "Not with shots, but there was this one time in college when my buddies and I tried to out-eat each other at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Let's just say, that didn't end well either. Anyway, your turn." he sips his wine loudly, “Don’t give me those pretty eyes,I want to know how it was for you.”

Beatrice leaned back, pursing her lips while rubbing her finger on the glass’ rim. "Alright, let me think. Well, during my sophomore year of college, Shells and I decided to take a spontaneous road trip. We had this crazy idea to drive to the nearest beach, which was about six hours away. Mind you, none of us had a proper plan or even a reliable car."

“Shells didn’t ask for Penny’s car?"

"Nope.So, there were me,Shells,Ev and Carmen. The four of us crammed into this old, beat-up car that Carmen’s mom owned. It had seen better days, but we were convinced it could handle a beach trip. I was so nervous, this was back when I was working with my uncle and still living with my parents, before the Hard Deck."

“And…god, We set off early in the morning, armed with nothing but a playlist of very questionable music and a cooler filled with snacks. The first few hours were smooth; we were high on excitement and the anticipation of a beach day."

Rooster raised an eyebrow, "What was on that playlist?"

Beatrice laughed, "Oh, you know, a mix of cheesy pop songs, some old-school rock, and, of course, a few guilty pleasure tracks. It was a road trip playlist, after all."

“Oh,come on, tell me.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes, “Backstreet Boys.”

“Nice.”

"Anyway, as we got closer to the beach, the car started making these weird sounds. Carmen insisted it was normal for her mom's car, but the rest of us exchanged nervous glances." she frowns, “Most of us,Shells didn’t care.”

Rooster leaned back, taking a sip of his wine. "That doesn't sound promising."

"It wasn't. Just when we thought we could ignore the sounds, the car suddenly jerked, and a thick cloud of smoke started billowing from the hood. We pulled over to the side of the road, and there we were—a stranded group of college students with a smoking car in the middle of nowhere."

Rooster chuckled, "I can’t believe you never told me that.”

Beatrice nodded, "Oh, it gets better. We popped the hood, as if any of us had the slightest idea about fixing cars. Shells, in a burst of misguided confidence as often, declared, 'I've seen this on tv a million times; I got this.' Long story short, she did not have it."

Rooster laughed, "I love how every bad car situation involves someone saying, 'I got this.'"

Beatrice grinned, cheeks flushing because of the window  "It's a classic move. Anyway, after a futile attempt to diagnose the issue, we realized we needed help. None of us had a reliable phone signal, so we had to flag down passing cars. No one stopped, obviously…so…we sat down,by the road and Shells just yanked this huge bottle of tequila from her bag.”

Rooster leaned forward, his eyes widening in surprise. "Tequila? Stranded on the side of the road, and Shells decides it's tequila time?"

“I mean…it’s Shells.”

He blinks, then shrugs, “True.”

Beatrice laughed, "Yes, exactly. Shells believed in turning any situation into a party. So, there we were, sitting on the side of the road, passing around a bottle of tequila. It was like our own little impromptu beach party, minus the beach and the working car."

"That's one way to handle a breakdown."

"It gets crazier. As we sipped tequila and laughed about the absurdity of the situation, a tow truck finally stopped for us. The driver, this burly guy with a thick mustache, took one look at our makeshift party on the side of the road and just shook his head. He towed the car to the nearest repair shop, and we rode with him."

Rooster smirked, "Did the tow truck driver join the party?"

Beatrice grinned, "Not exactly. He did share a few jokes with us, though. The repair shop turned out to be run by an old mechanic named Gus. He looked at the car, shook his head, and said, 'Kids these days.'" she laughs softly, “...in the end, he told us to call someone because he didn’t know when it’d be ready. And I obviously called Leo, in tears, apologizing– God and Guillermo was in Cali at that time, can you imagine how dangerous this was?”

“Your closest brother having to hide you got drunk from your overprotective older brother?” he shakes his head, “I can’t imagine.”

Beatrice nodded, "Exactly. Leo was furious at first, especially since Guillermo was with him in California. He was worried sick, not knowing what happened to us. When he finally arrived to pick us up, there we were, four slightly tipsy college students, surrounded by a tow truck and an old repair shop."

“Question,” he holds up a finger, “Did Leo manage to ditch Guillermo?”

“Amazingly, yes, I don’t know how but…Leo's face was a mix of relief and annoyance.He was too nervous to scold me and he just wanted to take me home, shove me into the house through the back door…literally, he shoved me and I had to run to the best of my ability upstairs and try to sleep."

Rooster chuckled, picturing the scene in his mind. "I bet Guillermo had questions."

“Well…he never found out.”

Her husband gasps loudly, “Beatrice,I cannot believe you hid that.”

Beatrice shrugged playfully, "What happens on a stranded road in the middle of nowhere stays on a stranded road in the middle of nowhere. Besides, you know how Guillermo is.”

Rooster laughed,  and his eyes softened immediately "I love that…we’ve been together for so long and I still find things out about you.”

Beatrice smiled, "Same here Roos, and all we need is some good wine.”

“True.” he hums, “...wanna finish the bottle?”

“Only if you join me doing it.”

‘Ah,gorgeous.” he smiles while pouring the wine on her glass, “You aren’t getting rid of me so easily, I told you that.”

“And I LC, wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[judgementdaysunshine]

Hi babes!!! I have another Naomi request for you. You have free reign to go crazy.

Oo

Birthday surprises

Pairing: Naomi x Fem reader

Description: You surprise Naomi many times for her Birthday

You giggle while hugging the twins and Solo backstage watching your fiance's tag team match with Sasha Banks. This was the first of quite a few surprises you had in store for her in the next few days for her birthday, she walks backstage on cloud nine stopping when she sees you with a stunned look before grabbing and holding you "Oh my god baby what are you doing here?!" smiling as she kisses your cheek leaving you giggling, the next day you put plans for the second surprise in motion while she was out running errands for the day clapping your hands together as you wait for her to come home "Baby I'm ba-" Naomi stops seeing the rose petals on the floor slowly following them with a smile forming across her face recognizing the smell of her candle in the bedroom seeing wine and fruits on a tray and the bathtub filled with rose petals and bubbles "What's all this sweetie?" you smile as she strips and gets in the tub. "All for you for your birthday baby, me surprising you before backstage and all the things that are coming and on your birthday" she feels like she could burst from the unconditional love and domestic bliss of the moment. After drinking wine, eating dinner plus fruits, and watching movies you wake up that next morning and slowly wait for her to wake up walking up with juice and breakfast "Morning babydoll!" she shakes her head with a fond smile as you share breakfast before heading off to train and spend time with the family, the next night after returning home from regular family dinner you decide to give one of the last two gifts and surprises you have for her since tomorrow was her birthday first pulling in for a gentle tender kiss before things grew heated leading to her panting, moaning, and even whimpering from you biting and kissing her body and lapping nonstop below not even stopping like you normally did leaving her a sexed out, dazed, and tired mess as you clean her up and head to bed, she wakes up to see you with breakfast and a letter you wrote for her. The two of you head out celebrating the day together with shopping, lunch, cooking out with all of the family and swimming giving everyone the secret signal for the last surprise you had for her as Jey grabs her saying they made a cake for her everyone grabbing bites and having champagne before clicking your glass for the toast "You have been the greatest and most unexpected joy in my life and i cannot think of my life over these past two years without you in it and I want you and everyone in this room to know how much I really love you, so baby" her eyes widen and everyone is holding onto each other with smiles, squeals, and laughs of joy watching you get down on your knee "Will you marry me Trin?" she laughs tearfully before pulling you up and kissing you nodding and saying yes quite a few times as everyone is cheering and yelling in joy before you're both being hugged by everyone as pictured are taken and she learns that you not only had been planning on proposing to her after your one year anniversary but that you had Solo help you since he was the closest thing to a brother you both had and was absolutely honored to help you plan the surprise "This was the best birthday I've ever had babe I love you" you smile sharing a delicate kiss as the two of you lay in bed together ready for what the future will bring.

[whirlybirbs]

          (  this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan​ from this beautiful set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

       (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST   |   NEXT  )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.  

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

[mitsukui]

late night experiences | g.w.

Pairing: George Weasley x female reader.

Summary:  learning new things is always better when it is done with someone else.

Word Count: 2,7k.

Warnings: smut! Masturbation, mentions of innocence kink.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention ❤

Masterlist!

Your last year at Hogwarts rushed into your life without warning — and so did your sexual hormones. You swore to Merlin you could feel them tingling all over your body whenever you solely looked at George Weasley, your majestic boyfriend. And apparently, he felt the same way towards you. Wondering the reason behind it all, you were quick to blame the fact that the two of you had just turned 18.

You had been together for a little while now: around nine months or so. But nothing had ever happened, and you were not quite sure why. You two had, supposedly, everything needed: steamy make-out sessions, wandering hands, lustful thoughts, privacy, and all that jazz. Yet, there you were: ground zero.

However, things were about to change even though you still were unconscious about it.

“Psst!” Your favorite quill stopped scribbling your Herbology notes. “Oi!” Your eyes gazed at the direction from which came the voice only to realize it was one of your classmates, Angelina Johnson. “I’ve discovered something last night which I thought you might be interested in.” A mischievous smirk painted her lips as you leaned in closer, already feeling eager to listen to whatever she had to say. She was one of those people who made anyone pay attention to them whenever they said something.

Her hushed whispers filled the existing silence between you two in the Study Area once more. “The boys were talking in our common room last night, and rumor has it George can’t keep his hands off of his cock whenever he thinks of you.”

Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet giggled like little girls when she finally finished her speech. You could feel your cheeks getting embraced by a deep and violent warmness. Uh-oh.

Your mind suddenly produced images by itself: George’s chest going up and down quickly as he moaned under his breath. He had his long and slender fingers wrapped around his dick and, sweet Merlin, he was big. Big and thick and veiny. His eyelashes fluttered as his hand pumped up and down a few times, precum leaking from his tip.

Heaven probably looked like that. What a lovely sight. You would give anything to actually see the great George Weasley in such a position. But, again: ground zero.

Still, the possibility of him pleasuring himself at the thought of you seemed to awake something new inside your chest and offer you a novel tingling sensation. You felt a burning flame in your loins, and it was almost as if your entire body were on fire.

You wanted him to jerk off thinking of you. You wanted his hands to get dirty from his own seed because of you.

You gulped. Snapping fingers brought you back to reality. “Girl, it’s high time you gave that poor lad some love, you know.”

The next few days felt slow and eternal. George Weasley and George Weasley’s thick dick were the only things occupying your mind. Of course, you had fantasized about him before; but it had never been that vivid. Things are always better when they are real, after all.

And you wanted to do something about it. Your soul ached for him to share his hidden and erotic reality with you. Your flesh longed to be painfully close to his. Your body and your hands desired to tease him and give him something to be unbearably hard over. You obviously would not feel in peace until you got what you wanted.

That is why the suggestion of a late night meeting in the Prefect’s Bathroom came to life. It was discussed during another of your studying session with Angelina, Alicia and Katie, being first brought on by Angelina, of course. That girl had many wild cards up her sleeve.

“I happen to know the password. Got it from a Slytherin guy, after giving him a few galleons.”

“And a blowjob, too.” Alicia responded with her eyebrows raised and a mischievous grin hanging on her lips.

As the three other girls laughed carelessly, seeming to be extremely relaxed and confident to talk about such a topic, you chewed on your bottom lip. Jittery feelings bubbled up within your veins while concern clouded your mind. You had a severe lack of inexperience when it came down to anything sexual.

Your temporary anxiety was sharply noticed by Katie, who positioned her hand over yours in a comforting act. Her fingers soothed your skin, her next words slipping out of her lips as motherly advice.

“Don’t feel pressured to do anything, honestly. George is one of the most understanding people I have ever met. But I think a little bit of intimacy would work wonders on you, both of you.” Her grip on your hand became a bit tighter, and her warmth was incredibly pacifying. “You know, just suggest going to the Prefect’s Bathroom tomorrow night. He will surely accept, once he is heads over heels for you. Get in the warm, bubbly water. Kiss him, if you feel comfortable enough for that. And just see where it goes.”

Your other two friends nodded, assuring you everything was alright and that you could always count on them for support and advice. The conversation went on for a little longer, they sharing intimacy tips and encouraging you.

Luckily enough, the next morning was one that you had classes with George. You brought on the subject in the end of the lesson, while he gathered his material quietly.

His lips opened up in a bright smile in the moment you appeared in front of him, but his expression was soon destroyed by your visible tensed posture.

“Hey, gorgeous. Are you alright?”

You sighed shortly, trying to relieve some of your internalized insecurities. The suggestion came out of your lips in a mere murmur, but he was smart enough to grasp onto all of your words. His eyes noticed your dodging gaze and your fidgeting fingers, playing with the hem of your tie. You looked absolutely adorable to him.

“See you later tonight, then. Prefect’s Bathroom, 12AM sharp. I won’t be late.”

The rest of the day felt like an eternity. Perhaps, it was the uncertainty of it all, given that there was no way to predict how the scenario would take place later on. But the time for your meeting agonizingly came, and you were forced to leave your dormitory.

The weather was unpleasantly hot, and it was hard for you to tell whether it was due to the time of the year you were going through, or to the fact you were walking towards your own doom.

You had been curious and tempted to get to know his darker and more lustful façade but, at the same time, you were ashamed of how much you craved him despite being your first time feeling anything like that. Those same novel tingles from before returned to your loins as your made your way to the fifth floor.

Underneath your favorite carmine red pleated skirt and a muggle band T-shirt, you wore a set of lingerie that had not received much attention when previously picked out, which was a simple white bra paired with white panties, covered in tiny pink strawberries. When you were about to reach your destination, you came down to the realization of how childish your underwear looked. You inhaled sharply, concluding you had ruined everything.

Eventually, you and George met, and entered the bathroom hand in hand.

Although you had heard of its wonderful interiors, seeing everything with your own eyes for the first time made you gasp. Your gaze traveled through the place, and you wished to engrave every detail in your heart. The white marble grandness awoke a sense of greatness and admiration inside you, and you almost fell to your knees right then and there.

A tad of small talk was exchanged between you and your boyfriend, until he approached you at last. His big hands cupped your delicate face, and he leaned down to kiss you.

His lips were so terribly gentle that they sent butterflies to your stomach. He showed no shyness in the second his hands roamed down your body and found your back, giving your ass a light squeeze. Unable to control yourself, you moaned and pressed your body against his.

A steamy make out moment was held between the two of you until the moment for the truth hovered over your heads. He rested his forehead against yours, and looked at you with loving eyes as his thumb ran over your lips.

“Tell me why we are here, darling.”

“It’s just that…There had been this rumor, you know?” A shy chuckle escaped your lips, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out all the filthy images suddenly appearing in your mind. “People have been saying that you jerk off thinking about me. But I’m not sure if it’s true or not, because we have –“

“It is true.” The coolness in his voice caught you off guard, and you blinked at him in a mixture of shock and self-induced accomplishment: your boyfriend touched himself at the thought of you.

Your eyelashes fluttered until your eyes were shut, and a sigh escaped your lips. Your mind knew no restrains at that moment, and the images you had been blocking out came to life all at once, violently crashing against your insides, almost like agitated waves at a beach.

Silence embraced the two of you again, but neither of you felt bothered by it. You took your time to let the sinful images sink in, and he took his time to study your face. You had been clearly affected by the truth he had just spilled out, and he secretly enjoyed such thing. He could read you like the palm of his hand, and he knew you were thinking about him with his dick out.

As he breathed heavily, fearing air would forever leave his lungs after what he was about to do, he prepared himself for what was about to come. His thumb ran over your slightly swollen lips but, this time, he parted them with a gentle tug on your lower lip. George timidly shoved his thumb into your mouth, and you, with your eyes still closed, took all of it.

Your tongue swirl against his finger, the feeling of your saliva dancing against his skin sending electrical waves down his spine. You continued on sucking him until your cheeks finally hollowed, and he pulled his finger out with a low ‘pop’ noise.

You opened your eyes in a deep frustration, but he could no longer take it. His cock was hard inside his trousers and it battled for its freedom. He breathed unsteadily and with a bit of difficulty, his mind starting to wonder how your lips would feel wrapped around his tip.

The realization that you two had never done anything before hit him hard, and he felt himself twitching while precum started wetting the fabric of his underwear.

Would it be selfish of him to think he would probably be the first one ever to taste your cunt? The first one to penetrate you, the first one to end your innocence for eternity, the first one to feel your walls clenching around him, the first one to make you cum.

George was forced to step back and groan in bitterness. He really wanted to fuck you, but he would never disrespect you or your limits. Plus, on top of that, he really did not know how he could express his urges.

“S-Sorry, darling. I-I-I don’t know what’d gotten into me, I guess I just lo-“

“Can you show me how you touch yourself?”

The question hung on air for one or two moments. You could not believe what you had just said. You were drunk on a new dizzying and exciting sensation, one that left your panties secretly wet and your clit throbbing, and one which made you ask your boyfriend to masturbate right in front of you.

So he did it. Apparently, Katie was right: George Weasley would gladly accept anything you asked him.

After the enormous bathtub had been filled with water and bubbles, he undressed and you lost all of your senses for a bit.

His fair skin carried grand amounts of both freckles and small scars. His entire silhouette was outlined by groups of yet developing muscles, but each one of them caused more wetness to pool in your strawberries ridiculously covered panties. George was so tall, his shoulders were so broad, and his dick was indeed so big.

When all of his being finally became bare in front of you, you rubbed your thighs together, the need for friction creeping inside your body for the first time ever.

You stood still exactly where you were, but he made his way to the tub, sitting on the edge of the white porcelain. He lowered his dark eyes to his throbbing member and his touch caused a relieved sigh to leave his lips. His hand moved up and down a few times until he looked at you again.

There was something different on his face. His eyelids seemed to be a tad heavier, and the sounds slipping out of his slightly parted lips were the most delicious thing you had ever heard.

George Weasley was jerking off right in front of you. He was moaning only for you. And you hoped he would cum just for you, too.

As the minutes slowly went by the two of you, you watched him quietly. However, it was impossible for him to keep quiet. By now, his moans were loud and shameless. He whispered your name every now and then, the thought of you bouncing up and down his dick providing all the fuel he needed to orgasm only for you.

That was entirely new for you. You felt so dirty, so sinful, so misbehaved, but you were living for it. You wanted more of him, and you also wanted to give George more of you. And that was exactly the reason why you said your next sentence out loud.

“Can I touch myself?”

His ears convinced himself that he had heard it incorrectly, but the way your fingers tugged on your T-shirt, and your thighs rubbed together, he knew he was not mistaken. A new rush of pleasure ran through his veins and he pumped his hand faster. Unable to form coherent sentences, he mumbled something along the lines of ‘please’ and nodded vehemently.

In the blink of an eye, both of your bodies were unclothed and both of you played with your intimacies. George’s right hand applied all the pressure that could possibly resemble your tight cunt wrapped around his cock, and your fingers helped the squelching sounds coming from your wetness to echo in the bathroom. You had never thought that so many lustful sensations could occupy your body all at once and, yet, there you were: masturbating at the sight of your boyfriend doing the exact same.

By now, you also had problems breathing and the tight knot inside your body screamed for a break. You pulled your hand away from your dripping cunt, but you remained connect to your womanhood by a very thin and almost invisible string of your juices.

George obviously noticed that tiny detail and it was too much for him. He announced he was close and, soon enough, his skin was stained by the pleasure you had given him. His eyes were closed as he felt his heartbeat increasing and the images of you still haunting his mind.

The way he accepted and let his orgasm work on his body made you move your hand against your clit faster and you followed him in a matter of seconds. Your body trembled and you could not stop whining.

You had never experienced something so astonishingly sensational.

Your pants filled the bathroom for a little while before his body finally slipped into the still warm water. The comfort offered by the setting relaxed his existence and he weakly called and asked you to join him, which you happily agreed with.

He touched your hips and pulled you closer, placing your body against his chest. With his lips pressed against your temple, he whispered a series of ‘thank you’ and ‘you are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen’.

However, his final words changed the mood completely and you hated him for it.

“That’s a nice pair of panties, by the way.”

Tag list! ❤️  @efyra​ @writingsomewrongs​ @kellsslut​ @pineapplesandpinas​ @fiction-is-the-new-reality​ @hufflepuff5972​ @amourtentiaa​ @emmaev​ @asthmax​ @anchoeritic​ @eunoia-kth​

[seijorhi]

Cry-Baby

A commissioned continuation of this soulmate AU by the lovely @pokemonfreak666 - thanks for your patience, bby!!

Bakugou Katsuki x Female Reader, Kirishima Eijiro x Female Reader

TW non-con, nsfw, double penetration, rough fucking, minor mentions of blood, kidnapping

The water’s not hot enough. 

It should be; it should burn. The knob’s twisted all the way up, steam rising in billowing clouds, fogging up the bathroom mirror, but it’s not hot enough. You can still feel them on you. Everything else – the blood, saliva, their cum, you’d watched it swirl down the drain, sitting on the shower floor, arms curled tightly around yourself as if that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart and shattering entirely.

But the water’s scalding, and you can still feel your soulmates’ hands crawling over you…  their mouths… their cocks tearing you apart from the inside out. Why won’t it wash away? You’ve scrubbed and scrubbed, your skin’s red and raw but the filthy feeling won’t go.

And they’re just outside. Sitting in your bedroom, or maybe wandering around your living room, sprawled across your couch flipping through channels on the TV. Maybe they’re out there looking at the pictures that line your walls, you and your family, your friends. Fuck, maybe they’re in your kitchen, rifling through your fridge for a late night snack after fucking their soulmate six ways from Sunday.

You can’t go back out there. You don’t want to see them.

Is it awful to hope for some kind of horrifying villain attack or massive accident to force them to go and leave you in peace?

… Would they? 

You can’t imagine Pro Heroes not running off to do their duty, but before a few hours ago, you couldn’t imagine them holding somebody down and raping them either, and clearly they had no qualms about doing that, so maybe your Heroes aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. 

Then again, what difference would leaving make? They know where you live, probably where you work. There’s no anonymity anymore, it’s not like you can just slip away and hide from them. 

You’ve been in the bathroom too long already, you know that – you can almost feel their anxious energy seeping through the crack in the door. Too much longer and they’ll surely come bursting in. 

Patience clearly wasn’t their strong point, and it’s nothing short of a miracle they let you come in and shower alone. Kirishima at least had been more than eager to come join you, grinning widely and tugging you by the arm towards the bathroom– it’d been Bakugou, watching you pale and flinch through red, unreadable eyes who’d reined him back in. 

Maybe he saw how scared you were, how fragile the thread that was holding you together was. Maybe he thought that gifting you these precious minutes alone after what they did would in any way come close to starting to mend the damage they’d just wrought. 

Maybe he just hadn’t cared enough beyond getting his dick wet. 

You’d grown up thinking your soulmates would make you happy, love you in a way that nobody else ever could. The possibility of ever deliberately hurting them seemed like such a foreign and uncomfortable concept to you. But obviously they didn’t care enough about your feelings or your lack of consent to stop them from forcing themselves onto you, maybe you were nothing but an object to them. Something to take and fuck, because naturally you were made for them.

What did it matter if you didn’t want it? 

Your eyes drift down to the timers on your wrists, run down to zero. A quaking sob rips from your throat and you bite down harshly on your bottom lip to stifle it. 

“Why am I even here? In less than an hour you’re gonna meet them, and what am I supposed to do then, hmm?” your friend had asked with a laugh. “Be the world’s most awkward fourth wheel?”

You’d laughed with her, knocking your shoulders against hers with a fond little smile, “Well if they’re gonna be in my life for the long haul, don't you think it’s important that they meet the person who matters to me the most right off the bat?”

You’re terrified of going back out there and facing them, but what other option do you have? The only window in the bathroom is too high and too small to squeeze through, and even if you could, getting an apartment on the seventh floor had seemed like a great idea at the time, but it doesn’t exactly lend itself to an easy getaway. 

The flimsy lock on the bathroom door is all that’s keeping them out – with their strength it’s hardly much of a barrier at all, but it’s all you have.

Here in your bathroom, under the scalding water, you’re safe. They can’t hurt you.

You’d like to think that now they’ve gotten what they wanted, now that they know that you can’t run and their reputations can’t be tarnished, they’ll go. And there’s a little voice inside your head that tells you it’s a stupid, foolish hope. You know that the moment you set foot outside that door, things’ll never be the same again.

A few years back, you read an article on some tabloid website about an up and coming Hero who’d disappeared out of the blue after joining Hawks’ agency as an intern. Supposedly, they were soulmates, and once the Pro realised it, he’d swooped her up and taken her to some secret safe house to hide her away from the rest of the world, supposedly ‘for her own protection’. It was all rumours, of course. No way for them to actually prove the theory – and no one actually cared about some missing, low level Hero at the end of the day. It was news for a week and then everybody moved on.

Are they gonna do the same thing to you?

Spirit you away to some hideout where they can keep you all to themselves – so they can fuck you whenever they want without having to worry about you running off? You’ll never see your family again, or your friends… they’ll be your entire world, and just like that intern, everybody else will forget you ever existed.

Or maybe they’ll be satisfied enough just forcing themselves into your life, letting you go back to your job, your boring, mundane nine to five, never knowing when they’re going to pop up and take what they want. They’ll come over and play house, acting as if this is a normal relationship, waiting for you to come around and accept them. 

Love them. 

The thoughts makes bile rise in your throat. Your entire body aches from inside out. There’s bitemarks and bruises littering your skin, marks that won’t fade for days… you can’t let them do this to you again.

As if they can hear your panicked thoughts, a knock sounds on the bathroom door, and your heart clenches.

“Hey, babe?” Kirishima calls out, “You okay? You’ve kinda been in there a while…” 

That same voice, chanting breathlessly above you, “I love you, I love you– f-fuck– I love you!”

Panic, cloying and sharp tears at you. You try to answer, tell him to leave you alone, that you need more time, but the words catch in your throat and all that comes out is a pitiful squeak and he knocks again, louder, more insistent and it’s too much.

They're gonna break down the door and hurt you again. Hot tears well up and spill down your cheeks with an audible sob, and you clutch at yourself tighter, willing them away–

“Babe? Talk to us, sweetheart, you’re making us worried.”

The door handle jiggles insistently, and you bury your face between your knees breathing rapidly, they’re gonna break it down, they’re gonna break it down, they’re gonna–

“Move, Kiri,” Bakugou snaps.

You don’t register the snap of the lock breaking or the frantic footsteps that approach, the harsh sound of your heaving gasps drowning out all else. Then suddenly there’s strong, muscular arms pulling you out from the water with a muffled curse.

It’s Kirishima who’s holding you, you realise as a flash of blond darts back behind you to turn the shower off. And it’s suffocating, the way he clutches at you, big hands running along your back, pulling you closer, holding you tighter, words of comfort you can’t hear over the pounding of your own heart spilling from his lips. 

And then Bakugou’s face is filling your vision, the scowl on his face growing more pronounced as he studies you – shaking, teary, eyes wide and swimming with fear– 

Something inside of you just gives and you don’t fight it when the darkness swallows you whole.

—

When you come to, you’re lying on something soft – a bed, you realise, but not your own. There’s an arm slung over your waist; corded with muscles, tan, covered in fine, golden hair and faint white scars; Bakugou’s.

Which means that the warm breath gently tickling at your neck must belong to him as well. 

You’re not naked at least; a quick glance down at your body revealing they’d dressed you in one of your old tees and a pair of panties. You’re not sure whether that observation is supposed to calm or unnerve you; you’d rather be clothed than not, but the thought of your soulmates rifling through your things, dressing you while you were unconscious… is not a pleasant one. 

“You’re awake.” It’s an observation, not a question.  His voice is gruff, an edge of sleepiness clinging to the words, but it lacks the heat you’ve come to expect from the explosive Hero. He sounds comfortable almost – at least that’s the sense you get as his face presses up against the nape of your neck, his arm drawing you closer with a low groan.

Still, you haven’t uttered a sound. 

It feels surreal, lying there in your captor’s arms – and he is your captor, soulmate or no, there’s no denying that fact anymore. There’s a part of you that realises that you should be panicking, kicking scratching and clawing because you don’t know where you are, but it’s certainly not your apartment and you definitely don’t want him touching you after what he’s already put you through. 

But rather than the sheer, unrelenting panic that had gripped you before, it’s just… nothing. Dormant, lying simmering just below the surface, and you’re almost scared to draw breath, to shatter the sweet, tender facade between the two of you.

There’s no point in asking where you are, no point in demanding he let you go. They’ve shown you that what you want doesn’t matter here, so instead you ask the obvious question.

“Where’s Kirishima?”

Bakugou grunts, burrowing himself closer. It’s not cold in the room, but his bare skin burns like a furnace, just on the wrong side of comfortable. “Makin’ breakfast.”

Breakfast. 

You swallow tightly, but Bakugou isn’t done. 

“Scared the shit out of us, fainting like that,” he scoffs. “Should’a fuckin’ known you’d need us to come take care of you.”

His fingers, resting over your stomach, dip lower, sliding roughly beneath the hem of your panties as he grinds his hips along your ass. He’s hard already, you can feel every inch of it, long and thick pressing insistently up against you. 

Shame and indignation flare up like a match struck, but before you can even open your mouth to snap a retort, Bakugou yanks his hand out of your underwear to stuff his fingers inside your mouth.

Your first instinct is to bite down, but the blond at your back just growls, “Suck,” and you’re not stupid enough to think that hurting him (or trying to at least) is going to stop what’s about to happen.

Or maybe you’re just scared to test exactly how far you can push them before they really hurt you. 

Obediently, your tongue swirls around his thick digits, hollowing out your cheeks and earning a grunt of appreciation from your soulmate. 

“Always thought that my soulmate was gonna be someone strong,” he mutters, his hips still rocking up against yours. “Somebody who could keep up with Kiri ‘n me, hold their own in a fight. Never thought you’d be some weak as shit, quirkless little cry-baby.”

It stings more than it has any right to. 

Slowly, his fingers slide from your lips, a long, thin glistening strand of saliva connecting the two. It’s hard to fight the whine that escapes you as they return to your pussy, angrily shoving aside your panties before thinking better of it and ripping them off of you completely. The warm puff of breath that ghosts across your skin sends shivers down your spine, and though you can’t see his face when he speaks next you can tell that he’s grinning.

“But fuck, sweetheart, you’re goddamn perfect – everythin’ we didn’t know we needed.”

He kisses you as his index and middle fingers plunge eagerly into your cunt, not the rough, biting kisses he’d gifted you with the night before, no. These are almost tender, sweet – or at least as sweet as a monster like Bakugou is capable of – entirely at odds with way his calloused fingers curl inside of you, fucking you, stretching you out while he cruelly thumbs at your clit.

Katsuki wants you strung out and whining for him. For Kirishima.

He wants you helpless.

“We’re gonna keep you nice ‘n safe, baby. Won’t have to worry about a goddamn fucking thing ‘cept keepin’ your soulmates happy.”

It sounds more like the passing of a sentence than a reassurance, but you can’t tell him that you don’t want this. He knows – he has to by now. He just doesn't care.

You don’t hear it when Kiri comes back, not when Bakugou’s sucking at your neck, your pussy throbbing with need as his fingers drive relentlessly into you, hitting your g-spot with every flick of his wrist.

You might not have noticed the redhead lingering in the doorway, his cock tenting in his pants, eyes dark and glazed over as he watches the show unfolding before him, but Bakugou certainly does.

“Oi, shitty hair. You just gonna stand there and watch or are you actually gonna fucking do something?” His voice is rough and a little breathless, closer to a growl than speech – it makes your gut clench, a shiver run down along your spine.

When your eyes finally do meet Kirishima’s, your heart squeezes, your stomach flipping. Kirishima’s staring at you like a wolf readying itself to pounce, like he wants to devour every inch of you and savour the taste.

He grins widely, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Bakugou’s the one with the bad reputation – as explosive as his quirk, brash at the best of times and overly aggressive even with his friends – you have every reason to be terrified of him, even before he broke into your home to take you. 

Kirishima might be kinder, gentler with his touches (at least, he tries to be), but you’re a fool if you think you’re any safer with the redhead. 

“Thought you said you were gonna wait,” he says, advancing towards the two of you as he kicks out of his shorts, but the grin on his face doesn’t waver for a second. He’s not nearly as put out as he pretends. “I could hear the pretty little thing moaning all the way in the kitchen.”

Shame would be enough to flood your cheeks with heat, but it’s the sight of Kiri’s cock, flushed an angry red, veiny and thick, hanging heavy between his muscular thighs that does the job. The spit in your mouth dries, your heart thumping unevenly even as pleasure pools in your gut courtesy of Bakugou’s attention. You let out a sharp shriek as he quickens his pace, one hand reaching to grab at his wrist, the other clutching desperately for purchase at the bedsheets, but it’s not enough. 

Heat burns at your core, and unwittingly, you find your hips bucking up against him, fervently searching for more.

At your back, the blond chuckles, you feel the deep vibrations echoing through your chest, “Yeah, well you were taking too long.” 

There might be more that he says, but at that moment he slides a third finger into your dripping cunt, calloused fingertips slamming against your tight, gummy walls and you’re robbed of the ability to think. 

Your first orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, the building pleasure snapping like an elastic band stretched too far. A strangled moan slips out of your lips, and you don’t even notice the teeth sinking into your shoulder, Bakugou once more staking his claim as you cum for him. You quiver and quake in his grip, your cunt tightening around his digits and sucking them in further with a lewd squelching sound that you might be more embarrassed about if you could focus on anything but the pleasurable aftershocks of your peak.

All the while, Kirishima drinks you in, salivating at the sight of your drooling, fucked out expression, the syrupy slick that’s all but dripping out around Bakugou’s thick fingers, still stuffed deep inside of your pussy.

And maybe if he were a better man, he might allow you a moment to breathe and hurtle back down to earth, but patience has never been a virtue of his. He lunges forward faster than a man of his size has any right to, jumping onto the bed and all but tearing you out of Bakugou’s hold. You’re still reeling, panting and sore and dizzy with pleasure as Kirishima’s lips crash against yours, stealing what little breath you have left in a burning kiss.

Your attention’s caught on the way his tongue’s sliding against yours, trying to coax you into kissing back, the sharp, minty taste of him – you miss the way he grasps at his flushed, leaking cock, dragging it along your puffy slit. You miss the sound of Bakugou shedding his own pants.

You’re still weakly trying to push at his chest when Kiri slides his cock into your warm, welcoming cunt, his low, guttural moan lost to your lips. And despite Bakugou’s attempts at preparing you, it still burns, the sheer girth of his fat cock filling you up and stretching you uncomfortably. Tears sting at your eyes, a whimper catching in your throat as he hums in pleasure, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer, impaling you further onto his length.

Yet you’re not given a moment to accommodate the massive cock inside of you – not as you feel another blunt, flushed cockhead pressing up against your already stuffed pussy. Realisation hits a moment too late, your face blanching, your heart skipping a beat as panic – sheer panic – chokes at you.

You try to push back from Kiri’s embrace, only to feel Bakugou once again pressing up against your back, trapping you between them. You squirm in vain, trying to kick and push, fighting even as the blond’s cock, not as girthy as Kirishima’s but still far too big for you to take with Kiri still inside of you, starts to force its way into your plush, velvety walls.

“F-fuck, she’s tight,” he grunts as you arch up against Kiri, your tits, still covered by your thin, cotton tee, squishing up against his bare chest in an attempt to writhe away from the overwhelming feeling of fullness, the burning, stinging, throbbing pain between your legs.

But your soulmates are far from considerate, not even as you start to wail, your nails raking down the redhead’s broad shoulders. 

“Your pussy’s a fuckin’ dream,” he continues, swearing with a hiss as he finally bottoms out.

It’s too much, you feel like you’re being split in two. Every twitch and throb of their dicks, every vein, every inch of them is pressed too tightly against you, your walls struggling to take them both. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, oh god it hurts so fucking bad, but neither one of them care as you start to sob–

No, Kiri just kisses away your tears, taking your face in his large hands and cooing sweetly when you beg them through gasping, heaving sobs to stop.

“You’re doing so good for us, baby. Look how well you’re taking our cocks – it’s like you were made for us,” he laughs at his own stupid joke, and all you can focus on is the pain as he starts to draw his hips back, your oversensitive walls screaming in protest. “We’re gonna make you feel so fucking amazing, just wait.”

And it’s not his wide, beaming grin that shatters you, or even the hunger blazing in those crimson depths. It’s not Bakugou panting at your back, his hands coming up to shove your top up so he can palm greedily at your tits, or even the lewd almost feral sounds the explosion Hero’s making as he and Kirishima settle into a maddening rhythm, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath and steady yourself as they fuck you.

No, it’s the sheer, feverish love you can see written across his face clear as day, the softness with which he holds you, even as he chases his own pleasure.

This is their version of love, and you – quirkless, weak as shit and entirely at their mercy – have no hope in hell of escaping it. 

[televisionboy]

this gif is everything skdjdjfn and this is my first alphabet! so give me love and constructive criticism.

taglist: @punkgeekchic @visionsofsweettea @adoresobs @am4sawa @reblogsfandom @evarolines @somethingstuffy

Timothee Chalamet Fluff Alphabet

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Dates with Timothee are very very comforting and new at the same time. He LOVES getting out of the house and going to a city where shops are lining every corner and small cafes with coffee to die for. But he also loves to cook you dinner and rehash your days. He’s quite a domestic person.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Timothee finds all of you attractive. But his favorite thing to do is whenever you’re reading a book or the two of you are watching TV, and you’re at one end of the couch and he’s at the other end, he loves to run his hands up and down your legs while they rest in his lap. Drumming his fingers against your knees is like a calming thing

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He doesn’t talk, at all. He’s an incredibly patient boyfriend who will sit there with you and sync your breathing while hugging you. He will listen for hours and hours to you talk about it. And if not, he makes tea for you and offers cuddles and comfortable silences. I mean, either way he always makes tea.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He would love a family with you, he knows you’d be an incredible parent to his children. But he’s content being young, having new experiences and getting to be spontaneous. If he had to think about it, he’d like one or two children and maybe a dog. Living in a cozy but spacious home, of course there’s a pool in the back.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

well, when he’s in the mood, jealous/mad he definitely will be dominant (and especially in bed) but he’s in no way so dominant that you will feel like his maid or a child. But he really doesn’t want to consider your relationship to be that way. Both of you are just you and treat each other equally. 

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He gets cold when he’s fighting with you. Timothee’s a bit like a younger sibling while fighting, he knows how to push your buttons and won’t stop until he see’s a reaction. But he has that guilty feeling wash over him so fast. He’s very very easy to forgive you because how could he say no to someone like you??

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

SO GRATEFUL. He spoils like no other. If you point out that you like a pair of earrings, they’re yours (it doesn’t matter that they’re pure diamonds) you mentioned that you want to see Italy? Tickets booked. And a great thing about him, on top of being a good listener is that he has a great eye. And he picks up on things and is quick to notice them. Which is a big reason he’s so successful in acting. Even if it’s something as simple as washing the dishes so he can relax, to something as kind as making him your very own fan gift.. he melts every time.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Mmm, he certainly tries not to but everyone keeps secrets. There are things that both of you prefer to keep private but he wouldn’t keep something like him kissing another woman a secret.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You’ve inspired him and fueled him to become a stronger actor even if you’re not one yourself. Some of your advice is seriously helpful, and some are unhelpful but hilarious. No matter what you will tell him, he knows you’re waiting at home or even at his set with open arms, waiting for him to win an award and fangirl online to other Timmy fans. It makes him blush and cause a billion butterflies to erupt in his stomach.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He trusts you 100% that you would never leave him, and he doesn’t want to be one of those boyfriends who restricts their partner. But there’s a part of him that’s incredibly insecure and is convinced you can do better. There are some parts that WANT you to leave him and do better. He would never ever show it in public, but you can read him well. You’ll put a hand on his bouncing knee and kiss his jaw.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like? 

He knows he’s a damn good kisser as well as charmer. You had been on a couple of dates with him, on one you mentioned that it was on your bucket list to be kissed in the rain. He made sure to schedule a date when there would be rain and he took you on a picnic. Towards the end, it had started to pour and you were trying to run back to the car but he grabbed your face and kissed you so hard but so passionately. His curls were dripping and the sandwiches were ruined but the feeling was incredible. 

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Rightttt after that kiss, in the car you were drying off and laughing with him while the radio was on in the background. The car was on but he wasn’t driving. Instead, he turned to you and told you he was in love with you. Both of you had said “love you” but never “i’m in love with you”

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He’s on the fence about babies but he knows for certain that he wants to marry you. You know that scene in The Office where Jim shows the engagement ring for Pam and is like “I got it 3 weeks into dating”? That’s Timmy. 

He brings you to a premire of one of his movies and at the end when all the credit’s are rolling, it says “y/n will you marry me?” and when you turn back around, Timmy is on one knee and Armie is most likely behind him crying his eyes out. 

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

“Babe” “Baby” “Mon cherie” When you two are married, he’ll join you in the kitchen while cooking dinner and call you “Mrs Chalamet” before kissing your shoulder and beginning to chop veggies. It’s just incredibly domestic 

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

so so so obvious and so in love. He shows you off as much as possible and talks about you on talk shows until he’s sure that the audience is annoyed and SNL mocks him (and even then, he’ll continue)

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

he brags but he does know when to dial it back for your own privacy and humility. BUT that doesn’t mean he won’t hold your hand in public, or banter with you on a twitter thread even if you both are right next to each other on the couch playing footsie

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He has a great eye and is quick to pick up on things. It’s almost as if he has certain senses and can tell when you’re having a bad day or upset. He just knows. It’s incredible. He’ll run you a bath and order cake to indulge yourself in before you even get home.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

The most sickley, fluffy, romantic, boyfriend that it makes me sick. Timothee would dye his hair rainbow and cut of his toes if it meant you would smile. On a more romantic note, he pulls out all the stops but it’s a bit more subtle?? Like he is very romantic but it’s not overwhelming. There’s no string quartet and private dining room but there will be jazz and dancing at midnight or a homemade “restaurant” with Timothee as a one man (messy) staff but it’s the best thing you could have ever come home to

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He’s your head cheerleader and the most selfless human ever. Will cheer for you until his voice goes mute and even then, he’s the one clapping the loudest and crying the most. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

both! Timothee is like a dog in some ways. He’s energetic and needs new things, to be outside, to be social. But he craves hugs and cuddling, he adores late night talks with you or watching you make him breakfast while he scrolls through Instagram. Like I said, a very domestic guy.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He know’s you like the back of his hand and he could spot you with his eyes closed and only by feeling your face. He knows your habits, and the food you hate, your terrible cooking skills, and the kind of dad jokes you tell, the anxiety ticks, and what shows you’ll watch over and over again.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

He’d go insane without you. You’re addictive because you have a pure heart and a dirty mind and he falls in love the more you show that. He brings you back the weirdest things that remind him of you. Stationary cards with odd quotes, an antique necklace from the 40′s, peach earrings (because he enables your teasing)

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He’s like the real version of “JOEY DOESN’T SHARE FOOD” but a little more loving lol “I love you, but I’m willing to defend my fries”

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

I said that he’s like a puppy! he needs kisses and scratches to his head (free scalp massage) and he’s a clingy puppy too. i mean, look at his eyes for the love of god. 

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

he aches so bad. He is your cheerleader but he can’t function without you. You’re his cup of coffee, an antidepressant. He’s fangirling inside for your new project but when he sees your mug or reaches to bring you close to his chest and you’re not there, he’s unable to fall asleep or make a cup of coffee.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He’d travel to Mars and back if you asked him to. Just ask him, and he does it. One time, he was working on a movie with an actress who was quite snippy to you and he quit immediately, feeling incredibly guilty and nauseous. He got you very  expensive lox and bagels one morning because you were whining about it the previous night. He doesn’t want to close his eyes at night because there’s so many things he wants to do before he goes on to the next day. But when he closes his eyes at night, it’s all you, you, you, you, you and how much he’s overwhelmed with total adoration for you

[heli0s-writes]

Clumsy

Summary: Serendipity, it’s the only way Steve can describe it. His ma was right: he’d always been slow.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

A/N: Fluff with a tiny sprinkle of Steve angst because I love one sad boi. Written for @wkemeup​​‘s 4K Challenge like an entire year ago!! I’m so sorry, Kas!! The prompt was Bright Eyes’ “First Day of My Life”. 2.8k words.

It was supposed to rain.

Thunderclaps rolled in the distance all morning. Moisture hung heavy in the air and the earth smelled like wet already--- salty, thick, sweet. The app on his phone blinked gray clouds straight across the screen. Seventy-three degrees and a nine-five percent chance of precipitation. Winds NE 20 miles per hour.

But at 2:30 in the afternoon when Steve slides into the car, it’s clear and blue.

So he figures it’s coincidence and poor meteorology when the engine quietly rumbles to life. He fixes the collar of his shirt, checks for hotels around the midway point, and sends an uneasy look to the empty passenger seat.

Then, he makes his way to where you are.

-

The two-lane country road stretches on. Winding and curving, pitch-black and howling with wind and wildlife. Bugs splatter on the windshield and he mechanically sprays a bit of fluid, wiping them off, the squeaks giving his radio a bit of rhythm in all this late-night talk. It’ll be another half hour before he gets to the hotel and he’s still wrestling with himself if he should even break.

No reason to now. He can drive all night. No reason to other than his pride.

“So what is it?”

There’s an imprint in the seat. An outline of a warm body folding soft creases in the leather. Late night talk radio fizzles out, and he’s tired, so he can’t get too upset at his brain for seeing the shape even though it’s been months since anyone’s sat there.

He chances a look over, then quickly back ahead because sure—the sedan is small, but this tiny strip of pavement feels even smaller. Too right and he’ll careen into the woods, too left and if another car’s coming around the bend Steve would roll out alive, but he’d be the only one.

He looks again.

Legs folded. Bare feet. Ankles crossed on the dash. Casually sitting with one hand on your phone and the other one behind your head, face lit incandescent by the screen. It was the first time he’d been alone with you after New York; he remembers this.

You hadn’t even given a glance sideways at him, still fixed on the screen, thumb sliding up and focused on mission details in a perfect picture of indifference.

“Your whole thing. Mister Red-White-and-Broody, most eligible bachelor in all of America—which, by the way, is so far up your ass all fifty states might as well be coming out of your mouth—”

“Stop it.”

“Okay, Rogers.” A smirk. His last name slipping between your lips like military title. “Fine, you’re all gilded in the front, suffering in the back. So—” You turned finally, pulled your feet back and tucked them under your body, “What is it?”

Steve pretended to think, left hand clenching a fraction tighter on the wheel, feeling its strength beneath his grip. His face remained impassive and dedicated forward, turning the seconds in his head, counting down the appropriate time for his reply.

It was a game, certainly. Your assertion, your poise, hand propping up your head—all of it. Your entire being was a foil to one Steven Grant Rogers and he was strapped with you for half a week. Already the car ride was beginning to foreshadow what was quickly seeming to be a long assignment.

“It’s my job—”

“So weak.”

“I’m busy—”

“Are you even trying to lie?”

You were known to do this: lay out a path of questions that only gave your company the pretense of a genuine conversation. You’d lead them like a wrangler leading horses to water, knowing they wouldn’t drink, but giving them just enough time to stare at their own reflection in the pool before you’d yank the harness elsewhere.

It was always a short path, but what you lacked in subtlety you made up for with honesty.

Agitated, Steve snapped before he could rein himself back in.

“What are you, my psychologist?” Horse.

“You don’t have one. You are the only Avengers Tower resident who has run off every psychologist on Stark’s payroll. So--” a twist of your torso, your back pressed up against the door handle as you stared at the outline of his side profile. Wrangler.

The question dangled in front of his gritted teeth. The answer he’d known long ago was behind two perfect calcium rows, pressed up, trying to find its way through the cracks.

What’s your thing? We fought together. We live together. We suffered a cataclysmic event in the form of aliens together---so why doesn’t anybody know you?

You leaned forward, body tilting until it almost touched your former footrest. Your head sloped to find his face and when he flicked his eyes sharply to yours, Steve knew it wasn’t sharp enough.

“You don’t want to be vulnerable.”

You’d led him through the brief route of your inquisition and had seen all you cared to see. Your voice bounced off the window when you closed your eyes and turned away.

“Steve,” you sighed, mouth going to the side in a smile. “Vulnerability is clumsy, but it’s the only thing worth anything.”

He had thought: No, it isn’t. He’d spent too long being vulnerable already, and he couldn’t afford it again. Twenty years of a miserable half-life and seventy years of sleep and suddenly the world was new and different and strange. Coming back into his body was new and different and strange but it was the body that afforded him invulnerability.

Mostly, anyway.

Steve decided, then, at least he could make up for that lump of mortality—that lump of weakness—with performance.

So, he became the blacksmith to his feeble Brooklyn boy heart. Forged carbon steel, gold-plated, immaculately polished like his own shield at press conferences. Smoothed himself into a monumental display of impeccable posturing and hid the boy away where no one could reach him. Let him go back to sleep, too. Frozen in a time long passed, long forgotten.

He wasn’t Steve Rogers anymore because no one knew Steve Rogers anymore; it was the only way he could carry on. Didn’t you know?

No, he supposed, you didn’t.

On the ride back you surrendered yourself to the backseat, laying down in the most comfortable position the sedan would allow, and chatted his ear off the entire ride home. Called him Steve and looked at him through the rearview mirror. Eyes met eyes, and yours crinkled at the edges with some secret knowledge.

By the end of it, all he could think about was how he didn’t mind the conversation and that his first name even sounded a little nice coming out of your mouth.

You shimmer in the passenger side until your hair hangs a little longer. His brown leather jacket is around your shoulders. A stretch of your arms. A stretch of your lips. Months passed and Rogers befell the man you knew during the Manhattan Crisis while he became Steve.

Steve on missions and in the field—On your six, Steve! Keep up, old boy. Steve at the tower and Steve in the gym— don’t touch my weights, Steve, you’ll throw your back out.

Steve getting the door and pouring the whiskey and letting you wear his jacket when you were cold. Finding you across rooms at parties because there was an easiness to your presence that calmed the crowd. Shooting pool and watching movies. Up late and out late and laughing until the early hours.

He was Steve, your friend, because he finally allowed himself to have a friend.

You change. Shimmer again until your hair is pulled back from your swollen face. A hospital gown crinkled around your shoulders. Asleep, cold. Too close to death, too close to him. He couldn’t even sit by your bedside, only standing by the door, shuffling from one wall to the other and watched the monitors with a too-loud and static-filled brain.

He was hesitantly Steve when you stepped too close to him on the balcony nights later, hand precariously hovering over that fragile boy heart, finally pressing down on it, feeling his delicate pulse thawing and crawling towards you. Tipsy smile and you tasted like whiskey and easy joy.

The kiss was clumsy, like you’d said. Vulnerability threw him back to the 40’s, all gangly limbed and ill, his lungs malfunctioning, his breath smothered in his mouth. He stumbled, but the banister held him up.

You didn’t mind that his knees felt boneless. You chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your still-bruised cheek abruptly burned down his throat—warm and smooth and cataclysmic until he caught sight of the way you winced as his hand cupped your tender face. Steve stepped back, then, and apologized for what he said should have never happened.

There was a small quiver from your shoulder before you quietly went back inside.

He cursed himself on the balcony. Cursed letting it all happen in the first place. Captain Rogers watched your retreating steps, burying the spark and the fire. And the boy must have cried in his ice-block coffin when he buried him again, too.

“Don’t look at me like that.” God, he’s going crazy. Poor night-vision and an addled brain causing him to scold an empty seat. “You stopped talking to me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens the way it does when you’re too deep in his head and he can’t get you out. Days without hearing from you smeared together in careful steps of a cagey dance. Comments always presented as half-truths—riddles he struggled to deconstruct. Breadcrumbs never leaving enough of a trail to lead him anywhere. He wants the harness back. Wants back your confident hand.

“You could have said something.” Steve scoffs, because you always had something to say. “Anything. You could have said anything. We were—friends.”

And hell, doesn’t that sound stupid out loud? Maybe it’s best that he’s got nothing but infinity beyond the sedan’s glaring brights and a million thoughts of unsaid words. It’s all useless, anyway. Best that he can get it all out now, talking to your ghost. It keeps all his thoughts in his head and keeps him from yelling every time he sees you not-looking, not-smiling, not-talking to him.

Steve flicks the wipers on again. Shuts off the radio. Shuts off the navigation. Takes the car off cruise-control to give himself something to do. He’ll stop overnight, after all.

Suddenly then, in the distance, two glowing eyes greet him steadily. Measured paces, in a firm and crisp trajectory, growing closer and closer. Glaring and vivid, beating the monotonous grind of nighttime out of him. His pinky moves, and his high beams flip to low beams, white giving way to yellow and the glistening road signs and tree-shadows in the distance slowly diminish.

Bleached spectral glaring of leaves and road signs soften ochre and brown, indigo dark. For a fleeting moment, even Steve’s enhanced eyes feel half-blind again as he readjusts to the pitch-black night barely lit. The car coming toward him does the same, highs blinking low and they pass each other in quiet understanding. In blind trust on the dark road, dependent on each other’s good faith to see it through.

He thinks of Sarah Rogers in a tiny Brooklyn kitchen, floral wallpaper yellowed and peeling behind her. One hand on an apron-clad hip, cooking interrupted by her son stumbling in dripping blood down his shirt, her other hand clenched around a wet kitchen rag.

“Steven Grant Rogers! Oh—wretched! What else can I say,” she’d sigh as she pressed it to his nose, “You do whatever you please, anyhow. You just put this on your face—and don’t think it’ll get you out of doing the dishes, either.”

“But—” he’d attempt.

She’d put up her hand, “Lord have mercy on any young woman that’ll have you. May she have your poor mother’s patient heart.”

His ma always called him slow. A dolt through and through. Quick to temper, but laborious to do much else. Common sense always took its sweet time-- took the long path home to get to Steve Rogers. In seventy-odd years, he hasn’t changed.

Better than coincidence and better than poor meteorology. Serendipity. It’s the only way he can describe it.

Like finding a crumpled up twenty in his pocket—or in his case, a five—enough then for a week’s worth of meals. Like having that nightmare— the one right before the plane crashes and instead of going down with it, he wakes up. Like expecting to drive five hours through a storm and stopping overnight, but instead it’s clear and blue as far as he can see.

The rush, the relief, the deafening joy that shuts everything else up and out.

Sarah Rogers was right: he’d always been slow.

So he careens back onto the highway from the service road, steadying his foot on the pedal and flies about fifteen miles faster than the speed limit says he should. The car is vibrating to a thrilled beat inside his chest. Steve can’t help smiling.

-

It was supposed to rain. All the way to the next mid-morning but the sky parts a brilliant orange sunrise and he nearly sprints to the door. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before he barrels in. A sliver of parting wood is enough, and Steve throws it wide with his enormous shoulders, kicking it shut firmly with his boot.

The imprint of your body on the couch is still warm—you, halfway across the room in alarm—real and even warmer when Steve gathers you into his arms. He’s been awake for over 24 hours, talking to himself, talking to your hallucination, so he apologizes when his teeth click against yours in a frantic kiss.

“Rogers--!”

You pull away, dazed, a little bit pissed off, but you cow the swirl of emotions into professionalism. “What are you—you’re not supposed to be here until late—did you drive through--”

“Steve,” he interrupts, “Steve.”

He’s so tired of the long road. Can’t stand another second of maneuvering in the dark down winding paths or broken streetlight avenues you’re not at the end of so he keeps his next phrase short: “I really like you.”

You raise your brow and brush the back of your knuckles over your lips, the light from the balcony streaming over your face. His hand tenderly brushes your cheek, the same one he touched all those months ago and you blink in surprise. Quick, calculating movements even as you lean gently into his touch.

“Steve…” you say slowly before your mouth pinches together in a poor attempt to hide the smirk threatening to surface. “You drove all night to… ask me to call you Steve.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “And the mission.”

“Right, the mission. The debrief didn’t mention that it required a lot of… kissing.”

“It came up recently; I haven’t adjusted the file yet.” He grins at your rolling eyes, your swollen lips peeling back to reveal a joyful display of teeth at his stubborn defiance.

“Took you long enough,” you mumble.

You place your hand over his chest, over his heart.

You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you’re not letting go, and he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it paints him in the most galvanized care. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut, like he’s being laid to rest. And maybe he is. Finally weary of lugging around all his armor, all his pretense.  

The boy emerges, thawing toward his name held sweetly in your mouth.

He fumbles with his awkward limbs—a newly birthed foal trying to find its footing—but you’re patient and enduring. He takes in his trembling body—knobby knees and gangly elbows. Inept gait still learning how to be. He takes the sights—white casting over the balcony. You, even brighter.

It was supposed to rain, but you link your fingers through his, leading him toward the open doors, smiling against a backdrop of sherbet swirls. He stumbles, but you’ve got him. A few short steps, just a few more, and Steve kisses you again in the sunbathed daybreak, resurrected and anew.

[redriotbaby]

finding out their s/o is pregnant ft. haikyuu

Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x female! reader, Hinata Shouyo x female! Reader, Kozume Kenma x female! reader, Miya Atsumu x female! reader, Oikawa Tooru x female! reader, Sawamura Daichi x female! reader, Tendou Satori x female! reader

Rating: pg 13?

Genre: PURE FLUFF, established relationships, mood swing, a tiny fight with slight jealousy on Oikawa’s part, and some crackheadedness :) 

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and anxiety

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary/ Request: “hi hi hi !! i just found your page and i love it it's so cute uwu🤩

could i request hc/drabble (anything really) of finding out their s/o is pregnant with tendou, daichi, hinata, bokuto, atsumu, kenma, oikawa

just a crumb of something to itch my brain please 👉🏻👈🏻”

A/n: Hello, thank you so much for requesting this. I had such a lovely time writing this and being all mushy. Just like all my other works, I had to find a way to make it a teeny bit of crackheaded. I hope you enjoy this work and thank you again. Also thank you to @meowstea​ for helping me brainstorm this (I adore you). Thank you to @plutointhestars​ and @jeonsjiddies​ for beta reading this for me. Requests are open, just please read my rules before sending in an ask. Also, if there’s any other warnings that need to be added, please let me know. I’ll be happy to add them for y’all. Hope y’all enjoy, any feedback would be greatly appreciated :)

Bokuto Koutarou 

It was your five-year anniversary with Bokuto and instead of going out, Bokuto wanted to be your personal chef for the night.

Weeks prior to your anniversary date, Bokuto spent his free time watching cooking videos and memorizing recipes of foods that had your eyes glimmer. 

Seeing all his hard work and puppy eyes, how could you say no. 

So here you were, admiring the love of your life happily cook a meal for you.

The delightful aroma causes you to unconsciously rub your growing tummy, the aroma making your mouth water.

You were currently twelve weeks pregnant and you’ve thought of ways to tell Bokuto but all ideas that came through your head didn’t seem like enough.

“Hey, honey? Did you hear me?”

“Sorry Bo, what did you say?”

“I was thinking now that we are married, you know, we could maybe start trying for a baby?”His words had you freeze in your spot. 

You weren’t sure if you felt relieved or a bit terrified of being put on the spot.

Almost if he sensed your silence, he turned around with the frying pan in hand starting to mutter apologies for being blunt.

Before he could get any more words out, you interrupted him but didn’t meet his eyes.

“We are pregnant, Bo.” You whispered and closed your eyes as you waited for anything to ease you. 

Instead of being met with his words, you heard the frying pan clatter on the floor.

“What?”

You took a deep breath and prepared to meet his disappointed face but instead, you were met with a teary-eyed Bokuto. 

Quickly, you made your way to your husband and pulled him towards you. 

You sat him down on the chair you were in and you took his large hand in yours to place a kiss on his knuckles before directing his palm to rest on your growing tummy. 

Bokuto’s eyes fluttered shut as he started to fully process it, his large hand on your tummy making you feel happy. 

Once his eyes opened, Bokuto pulled you into his lap and covered your face with sweet kisses while whispering the sweetest words only for your ears.

“Baby, I love you so much! Thank you for making me so damn happy!”

Your heart was full of utter warmth and happiness that you felt like you were on cloud nine.

Hinata Shouyo 

Hinata treated you like a queen. He always wanted to take you to the most beautiful restaurants with a perfect scenery just to see you glow in happiness.

Of course, you mentioned that you were happy with just being cuddled against his warm body at home but he always said that his queen deserves the best.

So that brings you to one of the fanciest restaurants that you have ever been to. 

You felt a bit uncomfortable because of how your fancy clothes clung to your growing belly. Your worried mind raced through different scenarios that you completely missed the waiter asking you what you would like to drink.

“We would like a bottle of wine. Tonight feels like a special night.”

Without thinking you answered, “No, I can’t drink alcohol for nine months. It’s bad for the baby.”

“Nine months? Baby?” Hinata muttered under his breath until it hit him. 

The waiter and Hinata looked at you with wide eyes and it took you a moment to realize what you had said.

“Surprise?” You shyly giggled at their reactions. 

Before you could say anything more, Hinata jumped out of his chair to pull you into his arms.

“Hey everyone, I’m going to be a dad!” The waiter and the people that were sitting near you congratulated the two of you.

Hinata’s hands cupped your face and placed a loving kiss on your lips and thanked you for making him the happiest person in the universe. 

Kozume Kenma

It was Kenma’s birthday and by his request, it was just a day at home. He wanted to spend his special day with the most important person to him in the comfort of your shared home. 

And of course, you could not deny his request.

You planned to make his favorite food while he played a few of his favorite games. 

While you waited for the food to simmer, you pulled out Kenma’s special gift and opened it to make sure everything was perfect for the thousandth time.

Today was the day you were finally going to tell him that you were carrying his child. You didn’t know how much longer you could continue to hide it since your belly was starting to show as each week passed.

You set up the dining table and called Kenma to come to eat with you.

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw your boyfriend walk into the dining room with a smile on his face.

“Happy Birthday, baby! Before we eat, I do have a really special gift for you.”

With shaky hands, you handed Kenma the gift. You carefully watched his every move as he opened the box in his hands. 

“Player three is coming in 2022?”

He read out loud, clearly confused as he looked up at you.“We are having another person in our relationship?”

Kenma looked like a puppy that’s been kicked as his eyes watered and you panicked.

“Baby, no! Look at the rest of the box.” Your hand caressed his cheek as he pulled out an ultrasound picture from the box. 

Once it hit him, Kenma giggled and pulled you to sit on his lap. He nuzzled his face on the crook of your neck and sighed happily.

“So that’s why you have been wearing my clothes lately. Thank you, baby. I love you so much.” Kenma whispered contently against your neck.

Miya Atsumu 

It was the last set of the game. One more point and your boyfriend’s team would win the team.

It was the last game of the season and Atsumu asked you to come to see him play. 

He wanted to go to the game with you by his side but you had other plans for him. 

Of course, there was no way he didn’t leave the house with a huge pout on his face. So you had to bribe him with cooking his favorite meal when you came home together. 

Almost immediately when he left, your best friend, Osamu’s girlfriend, pulled up to your parking lot, waiting for you to head to Atsumu's big game.

“The poster’s in the back seat, I wrote what you sent in the last text and before you ask, the ultrasound is there too.”

Your nerves grew as you saw your boyfriend prepare to set the last point. You closed your eyes as you tried to calm your nerves.

Once you opened your eyes, you saw that Atsumu was looking right at you and smiled when your eyes met. He immediately hit the ball and scored right away.

When Atsumu scored the winning point, his teammates rushed up to him to celebrate.

Osamu’s girlfriend nudged your side as you both made your way to your boyfriend on the court.

Osamu saw the two of you head closer to the court and he called his twin over, already knowing what was going to happen.

Your body shook with nerves as you turned the poster around to let Atsumu read it.

“Congratulations Dad?”

Shaking his head at his twin, Osamu smacked the back of Atsumu’s head as he pointed to the ultrasound. 

When it clicked in his head, Atsumu dropped himself onto his knees and nuzzled his face onto your baby bump.

“My beautiful prize, thank you.” 

Oikawa Tooru

You knew it wasn’t Oikawa’s fault but who would stay calm when the waiter wouldn’t stop flirting with your husband right in front of you. 

It surely didn’t help that your pregnancy heightened almost all of your emotions.

Oikawa knew you were no longer enjoying the meal when he saw you unintentionally playing with your food.

He tried to talk to you but all he would get was really short answers. He could no longer sit there when he saw you get teary-eyed so he held your hand and walked out of the restaurant after he paid for the meal.

The ride to your shared home was silent, you avoided your husband’s concerned eyes by looking outside the passenger window.

Once you got home, you kept on walking ahead of Oikawa and the feeling of his eyes burning the back of your head riled you so much more.

“Baby, let’s talk. What’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong.”

“No, I don’t. Baby, you’re acting like a pregnant woman.”

“That’s because I am, you giant idiot.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened at your words as his mouth trembled.

“You what?” 

“You know what I said, you big dummy.”

His arm reached out to you and pulled you into his chest. He placed one of his hands on the nape of your neck while the other rested on your lower back.

“I know, baby. Just wanted to hear you say it again just to make sure that I’m not dreaming.”

“I am carrying your child, Tooru.”

His hold on your body became tighter as you said it again. 

“My dream has become true, thank you.” 

Sawamura Daichi

Nothing about today seemed out of the ordinary, just another casual day where you took a stroll in the park, hand in hand with Daichi.

Every step you took had you feeling sudden happiness that made your eyes tear up.

There were days where you would feel like this but those days were starting to feel like they were happening very often. 

You took the time to not only admire the beautiful park but your boyfriend. 

He seemed very distracted by whatever he was looking at so you followed his gaze and it led you to a playground full of toddlers. 

Your heart fluttered at the sight of Daichi unconsciously smiling.

The endearing moment came to an end when a little boy ran up to you with a woman running right behind him.

“Congrats, you have a child in there!” The little boy pointed at your tummy before turning back to the woman who was a few steps away.

Daichi’s eyes were stuck on your stomach while you started recalling the tiniest of things. 

Your hold on Daichi’s hand tightened when you remembered that your period hasn’t come.

Your eyes met your boyfriend’s and it’s as if you both had the same thought.

That’s what led you to this moment, Daichi sitting along with you on the bathroom floor as you wait for the results of three pregnancy tests.

The timer on your phone went off and your heart pounded violently against your chest as you turned the timer off. 

Your boyfriend’s hand reached for yours as if telling you that he’d be by your side regardless of the situation.

His free hand reached for the pregnancy tests sitting beside you and counted to three to see the final results

One…

Two…

And three positive tests that had Daichi’s eyes and yours simultaneously tear up.

Before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours as he cupped your face in the palm of his hands.

“I’ll be here for the two of you, always and forever.”

Tendou Satori

Your husband, Tendou, went out to go buy a couple of things needed at home and medicine since you were feeling a bit under the weather. 

But the thing you didn’t tell him was that you were late. 

One of your friends had come over minutes after Tendou left to give you a few pregnancy tests because you wanted to make sure before you told him anything. 

You couldn’t bear to spend every minute sitting down by the tests so you paced around the bed until your alarm went off. 

Without peeking at the pregnancy tests, you sat down on Tendou’s side of the bed and held his pillow in your arms, his scent instantly calming you.

When you felt ready, you flipped each test around to be met with a bold “Pregnant” on the screen.

You stayed frozen on the bed as you continued to stare at the tests in slight disbelief.

You couldn’t tell how long you stayed frozen but you knew it was a while when your husband walked through the door, rambling.

“Hey, Princess. I found these really cute shoes that couldn’t wait for the future.”

“Princess, what are you- Oh!”

His eyes landed on the positive pregnancy tests and he softly cooed at you. Tendou sat right in front of you and caressed the apple of your cheeks as he whispered sweet words to comfort you.

He gently laid on the bed with you right against him and peppered tiny kisses on your forehead.

“I knew those baby shoes were calling to me for some reason.”

[this-is-spn20]

FLUFF ALPHABET! Sam Winchester!

A/N: Here’s Sammy boy! My small adorable baby! Let me know what you guys think about this! 

-Marissa

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A ctivities- What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Sam is a pretty laid-back man. When he sees a chance at relaxing with you, he snatches as quickly as possible. Whether it’s just walking or driving around towns, going to the local library (cause God knows the only book they have at the bunker are the Wizard of Oz books, and the men of letters’ books.), to looking up fun recipes to try with you. The man will always keep you occupied!

B eauty- What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Sam likes that despite you being very soft-spoken, you’re nowhere near dumb. You’re also very confident. Of course, you’ll still ask Sam what he thinks if you piece together a somewhat bold outfit. But you might as well call him Bruno Mars cause- well you know.

 I feel like if you are an artist of some sort, he might decide to pick up your art of choice as a hobby for when he has no research or hunts. Maybe if you draw, he’ll buy both of you sketchbooks and pencils. Or if you use a tablet he might buy you a better one. He’ll try doing simple drawings to start off with a tree or two. An eye here and there. He struggling and he’s probably gonna get a bit upset with himself if his skills don’t pick up like yours. But he’s trying really hard! If you like making music, he might ask you to play guitar. He might even ask you to teach him how to sing! But be patient, he can barely carry a tune but he’s so happy to learn! Might take him almost a year to get the hang of it, but once he does, he is an absolute Beast with some strings!

C omfort- How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Sam has anxiety himself so he knows the signs when one is coming on. He’s been around stressful things/people/events all his life. His father was abusive throughout his and Dean’s childhood. When he ran away to go to college, he had to learn to interact with new environments and people. In conclusion, the man KNOWS what anxiety is. And how to handle it. He’ll have you sit down and close your eyes. He won’t touch you just in case it makes you more nervous. He’ll breathe slowly with you, serving as a guide to get your bearings. Once you’ve slowed your breathing he knows you can’t hold anything so he gets you a glass of water with a straw and holds the glass for you. He knows you probably won’t want to eat anything so he just picks you up when you say he can, and brings you to bed, and reads you to sleep while holding you close. 

D reams- How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Sam knows for sure he wants to marry you. He also wants kids with you but the risk of being raised in the life he kept him up at night. Now don’t get him wrong, he knows that whatever happens, family will take care of it. They always do. But he’s not sure if that’s a risk worth taking. He just wants to have the apple pie life. He’d kill every monster with his bare hands just to have that with you. 

E qual- Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Sam is quite dominant in the relationship. He always takes care of everything for you. He doesn't buy into the stereotype that women should be doing everything for their partners. He tries to help you out with everything and he doesn't take no for an answer. You've known for a while that Sam's love language is Acts of Service. All he's done all his life is help people, so it just seeps into the relationship. Sure he believes that a relationship should be a healthy balance of 50\50, but at the same time, he can't help take over and take care of you. This man is just precious. 

F ight- Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Depending on what the fight was about Sam would be pretty open to forgiving you pretty quickly. However sweet Sam can be, if he believes that he has even a pinky toe to stand on in the fight, he’ll stick to it. It’s only when the shouting has gotten too much for you that you walk away that he may see where you’re coming from. Give him a or two. That way you both had time to cool down. You’ll spend the rest of the day talking it through, seeing each other’s perspectives. Even if you guys can’t agree with each other, you’ll know how to better handle the situation next time. 

G ratitude- How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Even though he mostly does mundane things for you, you try to help out as much as he’ll let you. For example, if you noticed that he has a lot of research to do, while he’s sleeping or is on a supply run, you’ll continue his research so that he’ll have more time to relax and let loose a bit more. You think he doesn’t notice but he does, and he appreciates it. It makes him feel like he hasn’t been ‘slacking off’, or that he hasn’t wasted too much time doing other things. Sometimes you’ll even finish the research and he’ll have nothing much to do for a while. Except relaxing with you of course!

H onesty- Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Sam doesn’t have to hide much from you. You’re a damn good hunter. He would even go as far as to say you were better than him and Dean. He knows damn well you can take care of yourself and that you don’t like being babied often. He knows your secrets as well as you know his. It takes a big weight off his shoulders, knowing he doesn’t have to hide who he is with you. 

I nspiration- Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You were always an adventurous and carefree person. You always had a hard time balancing fun and work. Sometimes it got you into trouble. Sam noticed this when you two first met and as your relationship got more serious and tried to help you with the balence. By all means you aren’t magically better, but you’re learning. Sam on the other hand, had the same issue. The work and fun balance is a tricky one to master. You help Sam have more fun, like you he’s getting better at having more fun. But again it’s not going to happen overnight. Oh and you eat a salad of two once a month now!

J ealousy- Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

On the rare occasion the Sam gets extremely jealous, it's usually when someone tries to touch. Regardless of whether you let it happen (for fun) or not, he can’t help himself. He wants you all to himself. No Sharing!!

K iss- Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Sam is a very good kisser. He always kisses you like he hasn’t seen you in years. Most of the time his kisses are very rough but intimate. The first kiss was after four dates. Yes that’s a long time but you wanted to make sure you did this right with Sam. Plus he reassured you that he’d wait as long as you wanted to. You were sitting next to Sam in the Library doing some light research since most of it had gotten done earlier that week. The tension had been building up all week, you were finally ready to kiss Sam. Despite this not being your first kiss, you hadn’t kissed many people so understandably, you were nervous. You reached your arm over his and gently closed his laptop and angled your body toward his. You leaned over to him slowly, creeping your hand to his shoulder and finally your lips connected. Sam’s hand softly grabbed your hand on his shoulder and you both stayed like that until you both needed air. That was one of, if not, the most intimate moment you’ve had with Sam so far.

L ove Confession- How would they confess to their s/o?

Sam would be a bundle of nerves when he tries to confess. He’s tried to do it at least three times but each time he either got too nervous or something would interrupt him. Eventually settled for being simple, yet intimate. He had invited you to come to the library with him to sit and read for a while. It was about an hour and a half of you both being immersed in your own books that he told you he was going to the coffee shop in the bookstore to get a coffee. He got you your favorite drink. He had the barista give him a sharpie before they made your drink, then he wrote his message to you and bought you the drink when the order was done. You could see Sam was shaking and fidgeting but you couldn’t tell why.You figured you’d let him tell you when he’s ready. If only you know. You were only a few sips into your drink when you noticed some writing on the cup. Curious, you read the message which read; 

(Y/n), I have loved you from the best of times to the worst. Would you do the honor of going on a date with me?

-Sam

You sat up, a bit stunned. You looked at Sam to see him smiling shyly at you. You couldn’t do much but giggle and nod at the giant softie. 

M arriage- Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Marriage is something Sam and you have talked a lot about it. You two know you definitely want to get married but the question was when. You want to do it sooner rather than later. While Sam agrees, he also feels like that it should be a sign of both of you leaving life for good. Sam is a very nostalgic person, which means he’ll most likely recreate him asking you out and your first date. At the end of the night he’d get down on one knee and before he gets to say one word you burst into tears. When he finishes his speech, you of course say yes and the night continues...elsewhere. 

N icknames- What do they call their s/o?

Sugar is used more often than not. Baby and babygirl are pretty prevalent. Honey Bunch is used less but when he does call you that usually puppy dog eyes are shortly behind. 

O n Cloud Nine- What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When Sam is in love it’s less obvious to everyone, but if they know Sam, they’ll notice the little things. Things like Sam now has permanent smile lines and his shoulders don’t hold so much tension anymore. If you didn’t come on a hunt with him and Dean he always has Dean stop off to get a bouquet of flowers. Of course he gets shit from Dean but he still does it everytime cause he is a good big brother.

P DA- Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

While Sam will let anyone know that you’re together (if need be), he’s pretty subtle about it. There is the subtle hand on your thigh or around your waist. Maybe a little quick forehead kiss but other than that unless they knew you, someone wouldn’t be able to guess you two are together. 

Q uirk- Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Sam has this really deep, rich, raspy type of voice. That makes him the BEST narrator ever! He often reads you to sleep when you two spend a lazy night in or if you have a nightmare. He’s there with a book you’ve been reading and he reads you a chapter or two before you’re out like a light. 

R omance- How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Sam is the KING of romance. When he plans something for you, he goes all out! When it comes to making you happy, he’ll do whatever it takes. There are almost no limits to his love. He lives by the term “Happy Wife, Happy Life.”. Sam is pretty nostalgic so he’ll be cliche, but he’ll be creative and add his own twist to it! So you could say he’s pretty creative. 

S upport- Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Sam loves learning about your goals and helping you achieve them. If you have 5 different goals, he's all there for you, helping you learn ways to achieve them quicker. If you want to. If you feel like those goals are impossible to reach, he’s there to help you see nothing’s impossible.

T hrill- Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

While Sam likes to have a solid routine, he tries to keep things *spicy* when it comes to your relationship. Whether it's something mundane or outrageous, you and Sam try your best to keep things fun for the both of you. 

U nderstanding- How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

You and Sam know each other so well it's gotten to the point where if you or him need something, you know what’s needed and how much before the other even opened their mouth. When this happens, Dean just kinda stares at the both of you with a “what the actual fuck?’ look. 

Sam: *sees you walking into the kitchen* Hey babe we-

Y/N: We need to get some milk today. You wanna leave at 11?

Sam: *goes back to drinking his coffee* Yep.

Dean: *freaking the fuck out*

V alue- How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Sam knew from the first date that his life would be in your hands. He trusts you with everything he has. What’s your relationship worth to him? More than any diamonds, jewels, or power. Nothing can ever be worth more than you. 

W ild Card-  A random Fluff Headcanon.

Sam took you to an event at a bar one night for a date. The theme that night was ‘50’s and 60’s dance night!’ He bought you a dress that would be worn in that era and he wore his brand new tux he bought, just for tonight. Just for you. Your feet were screaming in your heels but you and Sam were having too much fun to leave the dance floor. When you guys got home that night Sam gave you the BEST foot rub ever. 

X OXO- Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

In private, Sam will smother you with kisses and cuddles. The man can almost never let you go. The poor touch starved baby.

Y earning- How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Sam likes to log in to your Spotify, he knows most likely wherever you are, you’re listening to your music. He likes to listen to your playlists with you. It makes him feel closer to you. 

(He’ll never admit it but you have better taste in music than him.) 

Z eal- Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

It’ll be a close call but if he had to choose to save Dean or you, he’d choose you. It’d break him for a while, but he knows his brother wants him to have the apple pie life with you. And in the end, he’d always do it. No matter how hard it’d be for him and you every time, he wouldn’t change a thing. 

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A/N: Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Requests are always open!

Spread Love!

-Marissa

[imaginethathaikyuu]

kinktober - day five

iwaizumi hajime - role reversal 

kinktober faq kinktober prompt list  

NSFW warning featuring: the reversal of roles, begging, riding, stress relieving sex, dirty talk other tags: established relationship, Working Man Iwa, Tired Iwa, fluff  fem reader

word count: 1952

-

There weren’t many days when Hajime came home and immediately went to bed. And there weren’t many days that he got home from work until after ten pm. And there definitely weren’t many days that he turned down your offer of being his stress reliever. 

Today was one of those days. 

You had gone straight to bed with him and made yourself comfortable on top of him. It was easy for you to get him riled up with a few kisses to his neck and rocks of your hips, but by now he’d have you underneath him. 

You knew he’d had a long day. So, you asked him, “Do you need to relieve some frustration, Iwa?” and he knew what you meant. It was a nice thought, but… 

“I’m tired, babe,” Hajime told you, looking up at you with remnants of a flirtatious grin. 

“Too tired for me?” you asked, and he was completely enamoured by the show you were putting on for him. 

His eyes wandered lower to your hips which had just started their dance against his own, and even though he could hardly keep his eyes open to watch, he wouldn’t let himself look away. 

Whispers of a moan, then, “You tell me,” as his hips jerked up once solely so you could feel the problem you caused. Just the sight of you straddling him was enough to convince Hajime that he was fine losing half an hour of sleep tonight. 

“You don’t seem very tired,” you told him. 

He sighed. “I’m honestly exhausted, baby,” and your pout was too cute for him to handle. 

“Then let me take care of you tonight,” you said. “Can I?” 

“I’d love that,” he replied. “You always know what I need.” 

“I should pay you back for how well you take care of me,” you said. “What do you want?” 

Dozens of ideas ran through Hajime’s head. He’d love to have a night full of teasing you, controlling you, loving you; of telling you what to do and making sure you’d regret disobeying; of putting all of his energy into showing you exactly who owns you. 

But the view from where he lied was much too pretty to stop looking at, and the throbbing in his shorts did nothing to take his mind of the aching he felt everywhere else. He wasn’t sure he even had the energy to sit up straight, let alone enough to put into dominating you tonight. 

So he’d be honest with himself and with you. “Just want you to ride me tonight, baby.” 

“That’s it?” you cooed. “Don’t want me to suck you off first, at least?” 

“No,” he said as he pulled you up to stand on your knees, giving him enough room to lift his hips up and tug his underwear down. “I don’t need your mouth - just need your cunt. Come on, baby, ride me.” 

“But Hajime,” you said with a whine, “I want to have more fun than just riding you.” 

“I don’t care,” he said. “I’ve had a long day - I want to get to the point. Come on, get these off.” 

“It’s not going to be that easy.” 

“Y/N.”

“Hajime.” 

“This isn’t funny.” 

“What are you going to do about it?” 

You offered a good point; honestly, he didn’t feel like doing anything. All he wanted was to be taken care of, because that’s exactly what his busy day called for, so tonight there would be no repercussions for you. He couldn’t just flip you over and punish you - as much as he’d like to, he was so tired that he couldn’t even hold himself up. 

So, really, there was nothing he could do about this. He just had to lie there and wait for you to take pity on him. 

“I don’t know,” he replied with a sigh, and you smirked down at him. 

“Beg for it.” 

“What?” 

Your hips came down, connecting with his. “You heard me. Beg. I have to beg you for everything, so it’s your turn now. Beg me to ride you, Hajime.” 

“I’m not going to beg,” he said, but then you started rocking your hips, and the feeling was just enough to convince him. “Fuck - please, baby.” 

“That’s not good enough,” you whispered, and Hajime had never felt so frustrated in his life. 

And you weren’t done teasing him yet, that was obvious when you started giving him the slowest strokes possible; it was almost painful. 

“Goddammit.” He swallowed his pride and he buried his dominance, because for once, that was the only way of getting what he wanted. 

You watched with bated breath, knowing at any second you could be flipped onto your back and thrown into the position you were always in - submitting to him, letting him take control, and begging him to show at least a little bit of mercy in his punishment for you. 

You knew you were walking on thin ice, and you loved it. The risk of pushing Hajime’s buttons was one you were willing to take. 

He looked up at you with stone eyes, and what you were expecting to happen didn’t. 

“Please,” he said, and although it was quiet, your entire body heard him. “Please, baby, just give me what I need. I need you - I need your tight cunt more than anything, princess, so please - please just fuck me. I’m begging you to fuck me.” 

You had to take a second to make sure you heard him correctly, because you never expected to hear those words fall from Hajime’s lips. 

And you liked it. 

“You need me that bad?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, watching with wide eyes as you tugged your underwear off. He tried pulling your shirt up to get a glimpse at what it was hiding, but you swatted his hands away. 

“You’re just so cute begging for me to fuck you, Hajime. You must’ve had such a long day, so I’ll give you what you want.” 

You just had to give in to him - you didn’t want to drag this out too much. After all, he did deserve to be taken care of. He always works so hard for you, so you wanted to work just as hard for him. 

You didn’t make him wait any longer; when your hips came back down to connect with his again, he’d gotten exactly what he needed. 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, throwing his head back in attempt to keep his moans in. “Move, baby, fuck.” 

“Give me a second,” you told him, trying your best to adjust to his size. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you replied, brushing his concern off with a light laugh. 

“Come here,” he said as he pulled your hips forward, forcing you into a better position. You felt him even deeper now that you were at a different angle; the discomfort you felt before disappeared. “That’s it - feels so fucking good like this, princess, you feel how deep I’m inside you, baby? Move, please fucking move - oh, fuck.”  

You swirled your hips once and that’s all it took for both of you to get completely lost. All of your movements felt like pure instinct, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do to bring the man under you to cloud nine. 

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he told you, grabbing the hem of your shirt and holding it out of the way so he could watch as his cock disappeared inside of you with every one of your thrusts. “Too fucking good.” 

You slowed down, just enough to give him the show you knew he wanted; enough so he could feel every inch of his cock being enveloped by you. “You think so?” 

“Yeah,” and he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried. “Keep doing that - fuck - just like that, princess.”

It was like all of his stress from the day was melting away; he was having the time of his life and he didn’t even have to lift a finger for it. Hajime always had a suspicion that you were too good for him - now, he knew it was a fact. 

He was edging closer to his peak, and you knew it. And every time Hajime had ripped an orgasm away from you seemed to play in your mind like a picture show; that feeling was hell. You didn’t want to put him through that, did you? 

“What the fuck - why did you stop?” 

You actually laughed at him, and Hajime was so mad that he almost pushed you off of him just so he could finish himself off. 

“Poor thing,” you cooed, and your pretend sympathy had him seeing red. But you were already starting to move again, albeit slow, and it calmed him down enough. 

You leaned down and kissed him, which he hardly reciprocated, before amping it up again. 

“Touch me,” you said, and he didn’t hesitate at all to listen to your command. You weren’t sure what felt better: having him do as you told him, or his thumb swirling your clit at such a fast pace. 

Either way, it was exactly what you needed to keep you chasing your own pleasure and leaving Hajime’s behind; you didn’t have the same willpower as him to keep this game going all night, and you knew what it was like to be on the other side of this imbalance. 

So if he came with you, you’d have no complaints. You’d let him have it. 

And there was no way he couldn’t; the way you were fucking him, calling his name as what felt like your entire body squeezed him tight, he had no way of holding it back. The only thing he could do was lie there and let you take him wherever you wanted to go, and he was sure that he came harder than he ever has. 

When you collapsed on his chest, he knew you’d worked too hard for him. He didn’t even know how you went as long as you did - he was honestly impressed. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you said, a mumbled response that wasn’t too convincing. “My legs hurt like hell.” 

“Here, baby, get up.” He pulled you off of him and slid you onto the bed, then sat up just enough so his lips could reach your forehead. “Need some water?” 

“No, it’s fine, I can get it,” but Hajime was getting up anyway. 

“I’ll get you a warm towel - take your shirt off, that one’s all sweaty, I’ll bring you one of mine to sleep in.” 

You tried sitting up, tried arguing with him to let you do it, tried convincing him that he didn’t have to do this for you after the bad day he had. But he didn’t listen, he didn’t care. 

Because what you’d done for him was enough, and he wasn’t going to just roll over and sleep while you cleaned yourself up. He wouldn’t let you think, even for a second, that he didn’t care about taking care of you - even on his bad days; even on the days when you have to take care of him. 

“It’s alright,” he told you, pulling your shirt off of you because you weren’t removing it fast enough. He pressed another kiss to your forehead and ran a hand through your messy hair. “I’ve got it.” 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to tonight, Iwa.” 

He knew that - and even though he didn’t have to, he wanted to. He wanted to take care of you, because you took care of him. And even though he wished he didn’t have to remind you, he knew that he’d do it for as long as he had to. 

“I’ve got you.”

- 

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 6: impregnation